“What shall we do to pass the time?” she asked.
“Right now?”
“No.” She laughed. “On our way to London.”
“Ah. Mostly, I’ll be concentrating on staying upright in the saddle. It’s a long trip.”
“Oh.” Deflated, and hoping he wouldn’t notice, she made a show of looking out the window. “You’ll be on horseback, then.”
“For the most part.” He pointed out the window as the carriage topped a small rise and the prison came into view. “That it?”
Because there was nothing she could do about Gideon’s decision to ride alongside the carriage instead of in it, she set the matter aside and wrinkled her nose at the hulking mass of dark stone. “Yes. Hideous, isn’t it?”
Gideon leaned forward for a slightly closer inspection. “Not as ugly as Newgate. Newer as well, isn’t it? I imagine it smells better.”
She turned from the window to give him an incredulous look. “Smells better? That’s all you have to say about that monstrosity? It stinks less?”
“A dubious distinction, I grant.” He settled back against the cushions. “Except for those who have had the misfortune of spending time in both.”
“I . . .” She hated to admit he had a point. “It’s still a prison. No place for a boy.”
“You’ll have no argument from me on that score.” He tilted his head at her. “How is it you met this Thomas? I thought you mended the shirts of guards.”
“We mended the shirts of anyone able to pay for the service, including the prisoners.”
“Interesting,” he said in a cool tone, “that you should forget to mention that.”
She hadn’t forgotten. It just hadn’t seemed wise to make a point of it. “Hmm. At any rate, one of the prisoners with funds enough to wear a decent shirt is named Connor. He’s being held on chargers of highway robbery, but I don’t think he’s guilty. He—”
“Highway robbery?” Gideon’s face went blank for a split second before he lifted his cane and pounded on the roof of the carriage. “Stop!”
She scooted forward on her seat as the carriage slowed. “What? What are you doing?”
The driver’s voice sounded from overhead. “Something wrong, my lord?”
“Yes! No! A moment, Peter!” Gideon dropped his arm and turned to her, his face a mask of stone. “Highway robbery? That is a hanging offense, Winnefred. What were you thinking associating with a man—?”
“I was thinking how much I needed the coin,” she retorted and was gratified to see his mouth snap shut. “I met Thomas because he was put in the cell next to Connor and his men.”
“His men,” Gideon repeated slowly. “Wonderful.”
“They are, in fact. They’ve been very kind to Thomas.”
“You believe they show the boy kindness for selfless reasons?” he scoffed.
“There isn’t a selfless bone in Connor’s body, that I can see,” she admitted. “But an alliance with Connor, however selfishly offered, will serve Thomas better in prison than a handful of letters taught by me out of pity or—”
He held a hand up to cut her off, but it was a moment more before he spoke. She used that moment to watch a muscle work in his jaw.
“You’re right,” he finally ground out. “But on that point only. What do you think will become of Thomas when he is released?”
“I . . .” She shifted in her seat. “I may have offered him temporary shelter at Murdoch House.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. “Five pounds a year and you—”
“Temporary shelter. Only until he was able to find work and a home of his own.” She shifted again. “What was I to do? He’s only a child.”
From the hard set of his features, she expected him to begin a very long list of things she might have done instead, but he said nothing. He simply sat there, studying her, the muscle still working in his jaw.
“Are we going to continue on?” she ventured after a moment.
“Yes, eventually.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?”
“For me to decide whether or not I will allow you to step foot in that prison.”
“What?” She gaped at him. “But you promised.”
“I said I would take you to the prison, and so I shall.” He hesitated, then lifted the cane to bang on the roof once more. “But you’ll not meet with Connor and his men.”
“Of course I will. I’ve a shirt—”
“You may give it to one of the guards to deliver.”
“Thomas is in the next cell over. I can’t possibly meet with him and not—”
“I’ll see to it Thomas is brought to another room.”
“You can’t do . . .” She remembered he was Lord Gideon Haverston, brother to the Marquess of Engsly. “Very well, you can, but it’s ridiculous, and I won’t agree to—”
“You’ll obey me on this, Winnefred.”
Obey?
“Of all the high-handed, preposterous ultimatums . . .” She squared her shoulders and glared at him. “I will meet with whom I see fit.”
If he was at all moved by her display of temper, it didn’t show. “I understand you are accustomed to doing as you please, but I cannot allow you to continue to put yourself in danger.”
“And I cannot allow you to continue under the misconception that you have any command over where I go and what I do. I requested your company today for Lilly’s sake, nothing more. You are not my guardian, not my father, and not my husband—”
He jabbed a finger at her. “In about two seconds, I am going to be the man who hauls you back to Murdoch House and locks you in your chambers.”
She sat back in her seat, folded her arms over her chest, and bestowed on him her most arrogant and defiant expression. It was, according to Lilly, a very impressive look indeed.
“Oh, do try,” she challenged.
To her surprise, and considerable irritation, she saw his lips twitch. It made her want to hitch her skirts up and kick him in the shins. “You find this amusing?”
“A bit, yes. I’ve not had a woman lay a physical challenge at my feet before.” The twitch grew into a smirk. “I’m twice your size, Winnefred.”
“I’m spry,” she ground out and looked at his cane pointedly. “And not above reaching for a weapon, you will recall.”
To her mounting annoyance, he laughed at her. “You would beat me with my own cane.”
No, but she hadn’t any qualms about threatening it. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing comment, but he stopped her by reaching out and tapping her gently under the chin with his finger. “Come now. It’s a disagreement, not a duel. Put your anger away.”
She pressed her lips together to silence the instinctive refusal sitting on the tip of her tongue. Though she felt her anger was warranted in light of his high-handed behavior, giving in to the urge to pummel the man wasn’t likely to advance her cause.
“I will agree to put my anger away”—or try, at any rate”—if you will agree to letting me go into the prison without a fuss.”
He shook his head and let his hand fall. “If I allow you to go in there and something happens to you, Lilly will never trust me again.”
“Lilly has met Connor. She knows he is of no danger to me. He and his men are . . .”
“Are what?” he prompted.
“They’re . . . not friends, exactly. But we are friendly.”
“Friendly,” he repeated. “You are friendly with highwaymen.”
“Oh, do stop saying highwaymen like that. I told you, I don’t think they’re guilty.” A new tactic occurred to her. “Besides, isn’t protection the point of having a gentleman present? Surely you can keep me safe from a man behind iron bars.”
His eyes flicked away. “I make a poor knight-errant.”
She disagreed wholeheartedly, but it didn’t seem the time to debate the matter. “I don’t require rescuing.”
“Not for lack of trying it would seem.”
> She would not, would not, lose her temper again. There was nothing to be gained by it. “You should at least let me introduce them to you before you pass judgment.”
The muscle began to work in his jaw again, and she wondered if that was a good sign, or bad. “Very well,” he finally announced. “I will on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“If, upon meeting these men, I decide you would be better off outside the prison—”
“It’s a prison. Everyone is better off outside—”
“If I tell you to leave,” he said coolly. “You will leave. Immediately. No arguments, Winnefred.”
“What of Thomas?”
“I’ve given you my terms. Do you agree to them?”
She considered it. Naturally, ceding to his demands was not an option. If Gideon thought he had the right to limit her freedom, he was sorely mistaken. But they were even now pulling in front of the prison gates. If she refused, he would turn the carriage around and take them back to Murdoch House. Possibly, he would attempt to lock her in her chambers. Certainly, she would resist. It would all be very ugly.
“I think it’s ridiculous, but I will leave today if you demand it.” And come back, she silently added, another time.
Because his eyes narrowed as if he suspected the direction of her thoughts, she made good her escape from the carriage the very second it stopped.
“Miss?” Bess’s voice called from atop the carriage, and Winnefred looked up to see the maid twisting a strand of strawberry blonde hair around her finger and eyeing the prison with obvious trepidation. “Am I to accompany you . . . in there?”
She had absolutely no idea.
“That won’t be necessary,” Gideon called out as he exited the carriage and handed Winnefred her basket. “You may stay here with Peter.”
“Aye, my lord.” Bess visibly relaxed in her seat. “Thank you.”
Winnefred waited until a guard showed them through the gates before glancing over her shoulder at the maid.
“Why did you let Bess stay with the carriage?” she asked Gideon.
“Because I didn’t fancy the idea of carrying her out again if she fainted.”
He took her arm and led her through the front door of the prison. The air inside was close and warm, despite the coolness of the day, and held the distinct scent of old straw, unwashed bodies, and mildew, none of which seemed to trouble Gideon in the least. He sniffed once and nodded.
“I was right. It smells better.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that.” She smiled when a young man with a long face and earnest blue eyes emerged from a room off the main hall to greet them. “Mr. Clarkson.”
Mr. Clarkson started and blinked at her, his eyes darted to Gideon, then back to her. “Miss Blythe?”
“As you see.” She laughed, realizing for the first time what a surprise her alteration in appearance must be to those who were accustomed to seeing her in her old gown. “Lord Gideon Haverston, Mr. Ronald Clarkson. Mr. Clarkson is to thank for granting Lilly and I permission to visit the . . .” She trailed off as Gideon’s eyes narrowed and Mr. Clarkson paled. “That is . . . How is your wife, Mr. Clarkson?”
“Very well. Very well, thank you. We have a son . . . Last week.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“Yes, I . . .” He glanced at Gideon again, cleared his throat and gestured down the hall. “I’ll just . . . I’ll just fetch someone to show you about, shall I?”
Winnefred turned to Gideon as Mr. Clarkson disappeared down the hall. “You frightened him.”
“I didn’t say a word to the man.”
“You didn’t need to.” She gestured at him with her free hand. “You just stand there, looking . . . foreboding. I’m sure it can be very disconcerting for some.”
“Can it?” He frowned a little in thought. “I find that surprisingly rewarding to hear.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed her basket at him. “Here. If you cannot be pleasant, you can at least be useful.”
Chapter 12
Gideon didn’t feel useful quite so much as he did self-conscious. There was something vaguely embarrassing about limping through a prison with a cane in one hand and a basket in the other.
The guard Mr. Clarkson assigned to them, a taciturn sort by the name of Mr. Holloway, led them down a series of windowless halls and through a number of locked doors, stopping here and there to allow Winnefred to exchange shirts for coins with guards.
Gideon had considered suggesting she return the shirts without accepting pay but knew she would refuse. Not because she wanted the coin, but because she wouldn’t want to insult the men who had agreed to pay. He wished now he had made an argument for it anyway. Every trade of money for goods felt like salt on a wound. He couldn’t help but wonder how often had she done this alone, and how often had Lilly stayed up late into the night, plying her thread and needle by the dim light of a single candle.
“Here you are, my lord, miss.” The guard unlocked another door. It opened with what Gideon considered an ominous creak of the hinges. “Just give a knock when you’re ready to leave.”
Gideon stepped through into a wide hall with three sets of long cells on each side. A narrow window, midway up the wall of each cell, let in stingy slivers of light. Men lounged about on the floor and in piles of straw. Some slept, a few paced the length of the cells. Those who spoke did so in muted tones.
Winnefred stepped in behind him and the quiet of the space was immediately lost. Men on each side stepped forward to greet her with good cheer and good-natured teasing. Winnefred greeted them each in return, but her attention, Gideon noted, was on the two cells on the far right. He assessed the occupants of the first with a quick but thorough glance. An elderly man sat lounging on a pile of straw. A middle-aged man with heavy jowls and a round middle sat in the cell’s only chair, and a tall man near his own age with dark blond hair stood leaning against the wall by the window.
Gideon’s gaze jumped to the second cell where a dark-haired boy with a cherub face stood looking out from the bars. It had to be Thomas, he thought. Winnefred was right—the boy was nowhere near to fifteen. He looked to be closer to twelve, and innocent with it. His enormous brown eyes reminded Gideon of his brother’s bloodhounds. Thomas’s bravado, however, reminded him of his boys aboard the Perseverance.
Thomas jerked his chin in Gideon’s direction. “Who’s that, then, Freddie?”
The tall man in the next cell smirked. “What’s the matter with you, Thomas, don’t you know a lord when you see one?”
“I know a mark,” the boy answered with a grin. “He a nob like you, then?”
“No.” The man crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s not like me.”
“Aye!” someone called jovially. “He’ll no have his neck stretched for one—!”
“Shut up, MacCurry!” Several people—including Winnefred—called at once and without much heat.
Winnefred turned to Gideon. “Lord Gideon Haverston, may I present Thomas Brown.” She gestured at the boy, then motioned to the tall man in the other cell. “And Connor . . . er, Connor . . .”
“Connor will do,” the man finished for her.
She gave him an annoyed look. “Fine. Connor Willdo. That’s Michael Birch in the chair, and the gentleman sitting on the pile of straw is Mr. Gregory O’Malley. Gentlemen, this is Lord Gideon Haverston.”
Gideon noticed she reserved the honorific for the elderly gentleman on the straw, but refrained from commenting. He nodded his head in acknowledgment but kept his eyes on Connor. Of all the men in the hall, Connor struck him as the most dangerous. And the most out of place. Gideon had expected to find a man like all the others in that wing of the prison—poor, coarse, and rough of manner, but Connor had the speech of an educated man and the fashionable, albeit worn, clothes of a gentleman.
Gideon wondered if he was a man of good birth fallen on hard times, or if he’d stolen the clothes off someone’s back.
&n
bsp; Michael Birch leaned back in his chair. “Lord Gideon Haverston, is it?”
“Yes,” Winnefred answered. “He is the brother of my guardian, Lord Engsly.”
“Guardian,” Conner repeated and flicked pale blue eyes at Gideon. “Bit late, aren’t you?”
“Very,” Gideon replied, uninterested in defending himself to a stranger. He gave Winnefred’s elbow a soft nudge toward the next cell. “Don’t you have a lesson?”
“Wait, lass.” Gregory held his hand up, then moved to dig through his pile of straw. “Wait. Look what I made for you.”
He stood up with a helping hand from Connor and stepped to the bars to present Winnefred with a small wooden carving of a woman with a young toddler on her hip. Gregory had captured perfectly the sleepy contentment of a well-loved child, but it was the woman who drew the eye. She held the child close, his head against her shoulder, her hand upon his hair in a gesture of love and protection. But her eyes stared at something in the distance. There was worry there, disappointment, and the very beginnings of fear.
“It’s beautiful,” Winnefred whispered. Gideon took hold of it through the bars and handed it to her. She held it carefully, turned it over in her hands. “Magnificent. You’ve outdone yourself, Gregory. Mr. McKeen would be a fool to pay you anything less than a half pound for this. Her face, her eyes . . . who is she? Is she real?”
“Sure and she’s real. It was Connor who was noticing her first. Staring out the window of a Saturday, not bothering to tell the rest of us there was something worth looking at. Sweet on her, our Connor.”
Connor acknowledged the small joke with a half smile that neither admitted nor denied the truth in what Gregory had said.
Gregory snorted, winked at Winnefred. “And that’s the most you’ll be getting out of Connor on the matter.”
“Is she the wife of one of the guards, do you think?”
“She’s not, no. She visits the debtor’s wing. Bringing the boy to see his da I think.”
“It’s a fine piece,” Gideon commented. And it would have taken a fine knife to fashion it. He took the carving from Winnefred and put it in her empty basket. “You’ll want to begin your lesson with Thomas if you mean to be done before dark.”
Nearly a Lady (Haverston Family Trilogy #1) Page 11
