“Watcha’ do with the ship?”
“I import spices and silks.” He gestured to the tub. “I will leave you to bathe.”
She frowned at the water. “There’s no soap, or cloth to dry me with.”
“I will fetch some.” Turning on his heel he left in search of the requested supplies, closing the door behind him. It didn’t take him long to acquire the items and he returned to find the door locked. He rapped on it and waited. No one opened it. This time he banged on the door with more force. “Finny?”
“Who’s there?”
“Lord Dowell. I have your soap and towel.”
“Don’t want none,” she called from the other side.
Devon pounded on the door. “Open the door.”
“No.”
“Bloody hell! What kind of jest is this?” He shook his head.
“I’m not bathin’. I’m goin’ t’sleep. You go home now.”
“Open the door this instant!”
“No, I don’t wanna go to Newgate, clean or dirty.”
Devon groaned and stomped back down the hall in search of the establishment’s owner. He finally found the elderly man and convinced him to give him the key to the room with the explanation his guest accidentally locked the door. Returning to the room he slipped the key in the lock and entered. A movement to his left made him pause. Out of the corner of his eye he spied the woman lift the coal bucket above her head, bringing it down toward him. He dodged and it glanced harmlessly off his shoulder, clattering to the rough wooden floor, scattering coal across the room.
“Bloody hell! What was that for?” He slammed the door and fixed the scrawny woman with a malevolent stare.
She backed up against the far wall, wringing her hands in distress. “I’ll not go to prison for me father’s misdeeds, gov’ner.”
He tossed the soap, towel and a simple gingham dress to her. She caught all but the soap which bounced and then slid across the floor to land at her feet. “You will not end up in Newgate if you clean yourself up. Looking as you do I have no hope of finding you a suitable position to earn your keep.”
Crossing to the tub she dipped a finger in the water and licked her lips. “Fine, I’ll bathe. Now get out.” She shot a brief look at the narrow window above the bed.
It wasn’t hard to figure out what she was thinking. Pulling a chair away from the wall he straddled it and sat. “I think I will stay right here and make sure you do as you are told.”
She gasped. “Ye wouldn’t.”
“I will.”
Stubbornly she crossed her arms and stared him down. “I’ll not bathe then.”
Fed up with her games he stood and stalked over to her. Without a word he wrenched the towel and dress from her hands, scooped her off her feet and dumped her unceremoniously into the tub. With a shriek loud enough to wake the dead she flailed in the scented water. “You miserable wretch! I oughtta—”
“Bathe?” he interrupted before she could finish her threat. “Good idea. Now if you would like to co-operate I will gladly turn my back to allow you some privacy.” He picked up the bar of soap and tossed it into the water with her. Then without another word he returned to his chair, turned it to face the door and sat.
“Ooh!”
It was silent for a minute before he heard the slop of wet garments hitting the floor and the rhythmic sloshing of water indicating the woman was indeed washing herself.
“Damn!”
He half turned to frown at her over his shoulder. “What is the matter?”
Blushing she slid down in the tub up to her neck. “I’ve lost the bloody soap.”
Puzzled he lifted a brow. “Lost it?”
She nodded, splashing water over the side of the tub. Slowly she reached up feeling the massive mat of mahogany color hair at her neck. “I tried t’wash me hair and … well … the soap’s stuck.”
A chuckle threatened to escape him as he stood and crossed to the tub. In haste she dropped her hands, crossing them over her breasts under the soapy water. He refrained from reassuring her he could see nothing of her body under the thick bubbles floating on the water’s surface, and reached for her hair. The massive mat was impossibly tangled, oily and gritty. As he felt for the sliver of soap in it he looked closer. Good Lord! Her hair is crawling with lice and nits. “I see no other help but to cut your hair.”
Pulling away she slanted him a suspicious look. “Why?”
“Your hair is crawling with vermin.”
She put a hand to her head and scratched. “Is that why me head’s itchy?”
Nodding, he pulled his knife from its sheath at his waist.
With a soft cry she ducked under the water.
Sighing he waited for her to run out of air. Seconds later she bobbed to the surface and he grasped the mat before she could retreat again and began to chop it off.
“You can’t cut off me hair! I’ll look a fright I will.” She flailed about, giving him a more than modest glimpse of her perky white breasts.
“Be still lest you unwittingly bare me all you have to show.”
With a gulp she stilled, returning her arms to her breasts under the water.
Grinning he returned to sawing, cutting the hair as close to the scalp as possible to help rid her of the nasty vermin crawling in the tresses. By the time he was done a large mound of filthy hair lay on the floor at his feet. “Sit still,” he ordered. When he was sure she would listen he crossed to the gas lamp on the wall. Carefully he unscrewed the glass kerosene reservoir at its base. The lamp flickered as he poured some in the empty coal bucket and then reassembled the lamp. He returned to the tub and knelt beside it. “Close your eyes and tip back your head. You do not want to get this in your eyes.” When she dutifully obeyed he poured the liquid over her head, massaging it into the fuzz remaining of her hair.
“Stop! It burns!” She swatted at his hands, her nose wrinkling in discomfort.
“Be still. ’Tis the only way to kill the nits and rid you of the lice.”
“I don’t believe you.” She pouted her lower lip, sliding out in a childish expression.
“I do not care.”
She snorted, but remained still as he scrubbed her scalp with the harsh chemical and rinsed it clean. When he was done he dipped his hands in the dirty water to wash off the kerosene and dried them on the towel. After draping the towel on the edge of the tub he sauntered back to his chair and sat, staring at the closed door. “You had best get out now before you wrinkle like an old grandmother.”
“It be yer fault anyways, gov’ner.”
“My name is Lord Dowell.”
“Ye some hoity toity knight?”
He chuckled. “No, I am soon to be an impoverished earl, according to my stepmother that is.” Water sloshed, heralding her exit from the tub. The soft swish of the towel against skin reached his ears.
“I suppose my pa fleeced ye dry and ye want me to make up fer it, eh?”
There was a pause and then came the sound of stiff material sliding against skin. “No, I am simply doing a good deed. I never met your father until tonight.”
It was quiet for a moment. “Ye can turn ’round now.”
Devon stood and pivoted. His eye settled on the young woman who stood in front of the fire. The corner of her lips twitched into a shy smile as she rubbed a hand over her nearly bald pate. She was really quite pretty, he mused. She dropped her hand, twisting her fingers in the simple pink dress flaring over her wide hips, loose around her tiny waist, but tight against her full breasts. A bit scrawny perhaps, but a little food would put some flesh on her bones. She looked down at her bare feet, her thick brown eyelashes lying against high, flushed cheekbones. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent in the fire’s light. A complexion most debutantes would envy. He smiled as she sucked in a full red lip and chewed on it. Yes, quite pretty.
“Well gov’ner, think I pass yer inspection?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, that is to say you look and, I
daresay, smell much better now, Finny.”
Again she rubbed a hand across the fuzz on her head. “I feel naked without me hair.”
“It will grow back again.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “I bet it feels better though.”
She smiled, showing a set of surprisingly nice teeth. “It sure does. Thank ye gov’ner.”
“You are most welcome. Now I just have to figure out what to do with you.”
Chapter Three
“I don’t understand, gov’ner. Why’re we ’ere?” Finny scowled out the open door of the carriage his lordship summoned to collect them in the early hours of the morning. A small church greeted her glare. “I tol’ ye I’ll not be some nun in a stuffy black sack.”
He tossed her an annoyed look, his soft chestnut brows bunching above brooding eyes. “Trust me Finny, no convent would have you.”
“Are ye makin’ fun of me again?” She crossed her arms and tilted her nose in the air. Just because he was better than her was no reason to belittle her. Though, it was almost worth putting up with to be near him. A sigh slipped from her lips before she could help it. He’s so handsome. Not caring if she appeared bold she let her eyes feast on his strong square jaw, full pouty lips and smoky gray eyes. He cut so fine a figure in his expensive clothes and shoes she almost drooled. Too bad a man of his ilk was not for the likes of her. She blushed as her papa’s words echoed in her mind. “I’ll not ’ave my baby gurl out whorin’ to the likes of every man who tosses ’er a coin, or a babble. Ye keep yer eyes on the ground lessen’ ye want t’be locked in yer room.” He made good on his promise when she smiled at Joseph MacGee. More than a year she had been locked in her room, only allowed out when her papa was home.
“Finny?”
She snapped back to the present and blinked. “Wot?”
“Come on down now.” He held out his hand and she looked behind to see what he wanted her to fetch. “Finny, I am waiting to help you from the carriage.”
“Oh, right.” Her face heated at her pathetic mistake. Placing her hand in his she stepped from the carriage, the stiff new shoes he purchased for her, pinching her feet.
When she turned to fetch the cage off the floor of the carriage he stilled her hand. “Leave the rat, Finny, we’ll be returning in short order.”
She hesitated and then shrugged. “Ye gonna tell me why we’re ’ere, gov’ner?”
With a grimace he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I told you Finny, I promised your father I would look after you and I mean to fulfill that promise as a way to cork my mother’s persistent nagging and claim my inheritance.”
They entered the church and the reverend came hurrying down the candle lit aisle way. “Can I be of service, Lord Dowell?”
“Ah, Father Michael, you can indeed be of service. Do you still have the special license my father requested upon his death?”
The reverend looked back and forth between them before answering, “Why yes, my lord. It is safe locked in my desk drawer.”
“Good. I have need of it now, Father.”
“Now, My Lord?” The reverend cast a critical eye over her. “With … her?”
The earl nodded. “Can you perform the ceremony this morning?”
“Well … yes … I suppose, but—”
“Good, let’s get on with it then.”
Finny bit her lip, chewing on the inside of it as the earl led her down the aisle in the reverend’s wake. Special license? The only special license she ever heard of was a marriage license. What could the earl want with one now? What did it matter? As long as she wasn’t being sold into prostitution, or a convent she didn’t much care what the man did. She frowned. Perhaps the governor sought to make her a lady’s maid to be in service to the woman he intended to marry. Yes, a lady’s maid would do nicely, though she wasn’t sure exactly what a lady’s maid did. A roof over her head and the prestigious position in service to some fine lady was more than a few steps up from the gutter from whence she came.
They entered the reverend’s study and he crossed to the desk, unlocked the top drawer and withdrew a parchment. He handed it to the earl who dipped a quill in the ink pot on the desk and signed it with a flourish. When he was done he pushed the paper in front of her and handed her the quill. She looked at in inquiringly.
“Sign your name.”
The smile slipped from her lips. “Me, gov’ner?”
“Yes, you. You do know how to sign your name?”
She nodded with pride. “Me pa taught me t’leave my mark. I can do sums too, Pa made me keep the books so’s he knew who owed him gamblin’ debts an’ all.”
The reverend looked at her aghast. “I beg your pardon, miss?”
The earl let out a low growl. “Just sign your name, Finny.”
Unsure of his disapproval of her skill she bit her lip, took the quill and painstakingly wrote the letter ‘J’. When she was done she handed the quill back to the earl who set it in the ink pot. He tossed a handful of coins on the desk top. “All right Father, let’s get on with this I have a pressing appointment this afternoon.”
The reverend opened the bible and began to read….
* * *
Finny looked down at the thin gold band on her finger and grinned. Who would have thought she, Finny Donelly, a common card shark’s daughter would be married to an earl, of all things. She glanced at the earl who sat across from her staring out the carriage window at the busy London streets beyond. Self-conscious she rubbed a hand across the fuzz remaining of her hair. She didn’t feel like a fancy princess, or whatever her new title was to be. Though she supposed anyone could dress up in expensive clothes and act the part. Yup, she would charm the knickers off her snooty mother-in-law with little effort. No one could resist Finny Donelly.
When the conveyance pulled up in front of a mansion more opulent than any she ever dreamed of, she caught her breath. Her heart hammered in her chest as doubts assailed her mind. Mayhap she was not charming enough. Mayhap they would cast her off as too ugly to grace such an elegant house. The door opened and a footman dressed in a light blue uniform set the step down for them to alight. Her new husband preceded her before turning and offering his hand to assist. She rubbed her sweaty palm on the skirt of her simple gingham dress and then took his hand. After helping her down he released her and stalked up the stairs leaving her to trail in his wake. Taking a deep steadying breath, she followed.
An older man dressed much the same as the footman opened the door with a curious expression before assuming a bored air. “Good to have you home, my lord.”
“I am not staying, Smith. I merely stopped to ensure my things have been taken to my ship and say goodbye to my stepmother.”
“I see, my lord. Her ladyship is in the family parlor.” He nodded to a closed door off the foyer as he took his employer’s coat. His gaze swung to Finny before he turned away to hang up the garment.
“Come along, Finny.” The earl tipped his head and marched to the door. After rapping he opened it and stepped inside. When Finny hesitated on the threshold he gripped her elbow and drew her in.
A silver-haired woman perched with a regal air on a patterned settee, sipping from a delicate china cup. She looked up with an expectant expression and then sobered when her gaze locked with Finny’s. Finny looked away first, dropping her gaze to the plush oriental carpet beneath her stiff shoes. “I expected you at breakfast this morning, Devon.”
The earl crossed the room and placed a quick kiss on her cheek before plucking a dainty cucumber sandwich off the tray on the table beside her. “I was detained on an official matter.”
The woman arched a thin eyebrow. “I was not aware a visit to your courtesan was considered an official matter.”
“Really Adele, must you speak of things only fit for a man’s ears? And for the record I was not visiting my courtesan last eve, but on an official errand for the constables.” He gestured for Finny to sit and she perched on the edge of the closest chair.
�
��The constables? Oh dear.” The woman’s eyes grew wide. “I do hope you have not gotten yourself into any trouble.”
“Of course not.” The earl took a bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I was witness to an incident in the lower district that resulted in a man being killed.”
“Oh, my! You were not hurt I hope?” The earl’s stepmother lifted a thin hand to her mouth.
“No, no I am fine. However, the man that was killed asked me to see to his child and I was honor bound to scour Whitechapel until I found her.”
Her eyes returned to rest on Finny. “Please do not tell me this is the child in question?”
The earl’s eyes twinkled as he finished his morsel and reached for another. “She is not a child to be sure, but yes, she is the daughter in question. I brought her here.”
“Whatever for, Devon? I have no need for an untrained servant.”
“I did not bring her here to serve you, Adele. I brought her here for you to look after until I return from the Orient.”
The dowager duchess frowned. “I am not in the habit of taking in wayward street walkers.”
“She is not a street walker. Finny is my wife.”
The older woman let out a dainty shriek, turning pale and fanning herself with vigor. “God in heaven, Devon! Have you lost your mind? Oh dear God, I am feeling faint.”
“Calm yourself, Adele. I have done as you and father requested with little time to spare. You wanted me to find a wife and thereby secure the family fortune. Well, I have done just that.” The smirk on his lips left little doubt he was highly amused with himself. About just what Finny could not be sure.
“Absurd! Oh, my.” The older woman put a hand to her head, wobbled and then keeled over in a dead faint.
The earl groaned and yanked the bell pull beside her.
Within moments the funny little man who took his coat appeared in the doorway. “Yes, my lord?”
“My stepmother has fainted, Smith. Please fetch some smelling salts and summon a maid to ready a room for my wife.”
Rags to Romance Page 2
