by Merry Farmer
“Nonsense.” Diana sat in the pew beside her. Bea expected her to launch into a tirade of some sort, but instead, she let out a heavy breath, her shoulders sinking. “This is what comes of not allowing women to have any sort of profession or interests outside of the domestic sphere,” she said, picking at a spot of dirt on her skirt. “Without any sort of serious purpose, we’re left with nothing to occupy our minds but fantasies and fussing.”
Bea cracked into a wry grin. “We’re relegated to this, and then men turn around and say that our minds are not fit for any sort of seriousness or employment.”
Diana let out a sullen laugh. “They have created the very situation they revile us for.”
“I don’t want to be a ninny,” Bea said, with all due seriousness. “I’m sure there are a thousand more productive things I could apply my mind to besides worrying whether Harrison will propose or not.”
“And my intellectual capabilities are much better suited toward steering this country and our world in a progressive direction than they are toward worrying whether some silly man is playing pranks on orphans,” Diana agreed. “Which is precisely why it is so important that the May Flowers takes a stand for the rights of women.” She stood, as if to prove her point, and Bea stood with her. “That is why, as soon as this Christmas event is over, I am going to take a stand, once and for all, and ally the May Flowers with any and all of the new organizations supporting the rights of women that have been forming of late.”
“Hear, hear,” Bea said, cheering her on.
“I will begin those efforts as soon as I figure out what John was up to by meddling with these donations.” Diana turned and started picking her way through the boxes and baskets lining the front pew.
Bea sighed, tempted to laugh. They had come so close to putting their minds and effort toward something noble. But old habits died hard. She glanced toward the chapel’s door, half wishing Harrison would waltz back through with his arms outstretched and a proposal on his lips.
That thought had her laughing at herself as she followed Diana across the front of the chapel. It was one thing to be high-minded, but love had plans of its own, especially when one had a heart that felt purpose-built to love.
She was on the verge of telling Diana that they didn’t truly have a way to discover what the men had been looking for and to give up her efforts so that they could return to Clerkenwell when she spotted a thick string dangling down from the ceiling in the middle of the scaffolding in the corner of the chapel. Perplexed, she stepped closer to get a good look. She hadn’t given the scaffolding much thought when they’d entered the room. Wondering what Harrison was doing had most of her attention then. She couldn’t recall if the string had been there before. There was something intriguing about the way it was tied, though. It was somehow fastened to the ceiling, though she couldn’t quite tell how. The end was close enough for her to reach. She grabbed it, and fueled by the sort of undeniable curiosity that killed cats, she pulled.
Something clicked above her, and in a flash, a wide trapdoor opened, and a cascade of brown, foul-smelling, ice-cold water splashed down on her.
Bea screamed as the dirty water instantly soaked her from head to toe, chilling her to the bone.
“Dear God!” Diana shouted, rushing toward her and pulling Bea out of the way of the stream of filth that continued to rain down. “Help! Help!” she called.
Once she was out of the direct assault of the water, details began to fall into place. Not only was the water filthy, it was mixed with dead leaves, sticks, and even bits of old newspapers. Chances were that it was run-off from gutters around the church’s roof. Whatever it was, Bea let out a miserable yelp and shook her arms as if she could brush the refuse away.
“I knew it,” Diana growled, pulling Bea toward the aisle as Sister Constance and a handful of young nuns dashed into the room. “I knew that they were up to no good.”
“Mercy’s sake, what is going on in here?” Sister Constance boomed as she dashed up the aisle.
“Those so-called gentlemen that you let invade your establishment have pulled the most horrid prank,” Diana answered, leaping to the side to grab a donated shirt from one of the racks of clothes. She used it to swab Bea’s face, though Bea felt rather like she was being battered in the process. “They rigged the ceiling to collapse,” Diana went on.
“Oh, dear,” one of the nuns said as she came to a stop at the bottom of the scaffolding. “I knew we should have prioritized fixing the drains.”
“We can barely afford to feed the children,” one of the others said as she, too, examined the mess around the scaffolding. “I’m surprised it didn’t leak long before this.”
“It did,” the first nun said. “That’s what Sister Francine was trying to fix this morning.”
“She wouldn’t have caused this, though, would she?”
“It wasn’t Sister Francine, it was Lord Whitlock,” Diana insisted in a rage. “He and his accomplice were meddling with the scaffolding, and who knows what else in the room, just moments before Bea was doused. In fact, stand back.” She held out her arms, glaring suspiciously at the donations around her. “They could have planted any number of traps in the rest of these things.”
“What sort of nonsense are you on about, my lady?” Sister Constance said, frowning at Diana as though she were another of her orphans.
“Don’t you see?” Diana stepped closer to her. “It all makes sense. Lord Whitlock and Lord Landsbury are the pranksters that have been menacing several orphanages in the last few days.”
“My lady.” Sister Constance fixed Diana with a scolding look. “Why in heaven’s name would two noblemen, one of them a viscount, for Christ’s sake, stoop so low as to cause mischief in orphanages.”
Bea’s eyes snapped wide at the nun’s bit of blasphemy before her mouth twitched into a grin. There was no telling who or what Sister Constance had been before taking her vows.
The wild thought gave her the courage to stand up to Diana and say, “I think Sister Constance it right. Pranks might not be beneath Harrison and John in our circles, but they would never resort to teasing orphans.”
“Quite right, my lady.” Sister Constance nodded in approval.
“But John and Harrison were present at each of the orphanages that were pranked,” Diana said, tilting her chin up as though offended no one believed her. “They were just at Mr. Siddel’s orphanage when that box of ferrets was let loose—”
“A box of ferrets?” one of the nuns asked in horror.
“Dozens of them,” Bea said.
“—and they were at Hope Orphanage yesterday,” Diana went on.
“Were they at St. Joseph’s the day before that?” Bea asked, wadding the damp shirt she’d used to clean her face into a ball and wondering if she could use it to clean her coat. It was likely that the unfortunate garment was ruined.
“I would be willing to wager they were,” Diana said.
“Here, my lady.” Sister Constance stepped forward, hands outstretched. “Let me take that spoiled thing off of you. Sisters Katherine and Angelica will take you somewhere you can wash your face and hair. And we can lend you something to keep you warm on your journey home.”
“Thank you,” Bea said, as gracious as she could be as the nun helped her to remove her coat. At the last minute, she remembered the parcel Annie from Mr. Siddel’s orphanage had given her and reached into the pocket to retrieve it. “I’m afraid that poor thing is ruined,” she sighed as she turned the parcel over and over in her hands. “It will probably need to be burned.”
“Nonsense,” Sister Constance said, handing the coat to one of the nuns. “We’ll get the stink out and return it to you.”
“Or you could sell it,” Bea suggested. “Consider it my donation to your establishment.”
The nun who received Bea’s coat brightened at the prospect and turned to carry the offensive garment away.
“Yes, this is all well and good,” Diana said impatiently. “
But we need to plot a way to expose John and Harrison for the blackguards they are.”
Sister Constance pursed her lips and sent Diana a flat look.
Bea was busy trying to figure out if the package she was supposed to return to Harrison would fit in any of the pockets of her skirts. “Diana, you need to move on to greener pastures. The gents didn’t do this.” She sucked in a breath as a thought hit her. “It was probably that little scamp, Burt. He was at each of the orphanages where pranks were pulled as well.”
“If he was, it was only because he was in John’s employ,” Diana said. A slow grin spread across her face. “But I know just the thing to expose the villain once and for all.”
Bea was filled with a feeling of dread that went ten times deeper than anything she’d felt when the icy gutter water splashed down on her. “Oh, dear,” she sighed, sending Sister Constance a long-suffering look.
“I’ll catch him out at the party tomorrow night,” Diana went on, a devious light in her eyes. “I’ll force him to confess in front of everyone just what kind of nuisance he is. That’ll show him.”
“This is precisely why I took orders,” Sister Constance said, rolling her eyes. “Men and love are far too much trouble.”
“I am not in love with John Darrow,” Diana said through clenched teeth.
“Of course, you aren’t, dearie,” Sister Constance said, patting Diana’s shoulders while sending Bea a sardonic look.
It was all Bea could do not to laugh, in spite of the cold and the smell surrounding her. Diana was as in love as she was.
Which gave her an idea. If Diana was determined to call John out for pranks—that Bea was certain he hadn’t pulled—at the party, then perhaps she could bring things to a head with Harrison as far as marriage was concerned. After all, Bianca had encouraged her to take things into her own hands. Seduction was one way to do that, but there were dozens of others she could try.
Chapter 8
The simple hall in Clerkenwell had undergone a complete transformation by the time Harrison arrived for the party on Christmas Eve. Its drab walls were hung with garlands of holly and pine accentuated by bright red bows and silver bells. More garlands had been strung from the rafters and decorated with paper snowflakes made by the orphans of the various institutions that the party was intended to support. The effect was almost as if they were in a snowy forest. Several Christmas trees had been brought in and decorated with shiny baubles of all descriptions. Some of the older boys stood guard over the trees, minding the candles that illuminated their boughs.
Dozens upon dozens of wrapped gifts were nestled under the trees, and already boys and girls of all ages were crowding around to gaze at them in wonder. A few of the bolder children even picked up the gifts to shake them, as though they could guess what was inside. They were minded by women, and a few men, as in the case of Stephen Siddel—who had as many youngsters crowded around him and gazing at him in awe as if he were Father Christmas himself—taking care that no serious harm came to the gifts. Each of them was decked out in what Harrison was certain were their very best clothes, though the circles of society that he ran in would likely say they looked shabby. They would have been wrong. Everyone in the hall appeared happy, and happiness was the most attractive garment of all.
Tables stretched along one wall containing refreshments of all sorts. Harrison recognized several members of the May Flowers, friends of his, manning the treats, including Henrietta O’Shea and Cecelia Marlowe. They were some of the highest-ranking women in the room, and yet they blended in with the middle- and working-class women as though they had all gone to school together.
It was as cheery a sight as Harrison could imagine and a testament to Bianca’s organizational skills, but Harrison’s heart was heavy for so many reasons, not least of which was the woman on his arm. His beloved grandmother had insisted on attending the party with him. By the looks of her, she was enjoying herself immensely, even though it was necessary for her to use a cane to get around in her old age. Harrison scanned the room for a chair where she could sit, but even as he spotted one, he had the feeling she wouldn’t be relegated to the corners of the room quietly.
“Where is that fetching sweetheart of yours?” she asked as Harrison steered her over to the Christmas trees so that she could watch the bright-faced and excited children. “I was given to believe she would be at this party.”
Harrison sent her a wary, sideways look. “I’m certain she’ll be here at any moment, Grandmama. She and Lady Diana were instrumental in carrying this whole thing off.”
His grandmother hummed and glanced up at him with a knowing smile. “I expect to see the darling creature wearing my ring when she arrives.”
Self-consciousness slithered down Harrison’s spine. “Yes, well, there may be a slight problem with that.”
His grandmother looked surprised. “You have proposed to her by now, haven’t you?”
“I intended to propose this evening,” he said, tugging at his collar. The room suddenly seemed entirely too warm with too many people crowding around.
“Intended to?” His grandmother looked shocked. “You mean you didn’t run straight to that angel’s house to drop down on one knee the moment I handed over Mother’s ring?”
Sweat began to creep down Harrison’s back. “Yes, well, you see, there was a slight hiccup with the whole process.”
He cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders, and scrambled for a way to confess he’d lost the family ring. More than that, he feared he would have to confess that it was gone forever. He and John hadn’t spotted so much as a glint of it, and they’d checked every box at every orphanage the donations had been taken to. The only explanation he could think of was that someone had discovered the ring and lifted it for their own financial gain. For all he knew, some middle-class housewife was about to unwrap the most precious Christmas present of her life, thanks to his carelessness. And now he had to confess all to his grandmother.
He opened his mouth, praying that he’d find the right words to make himself look foolish without appearing criminally stupid, but every thought blasted out of his head as he spotted Bea in the doorway. She was simply the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, so much so that the breath left his lungs. She wore a magnificent gown of festive red and had her red-gold hair caught up in the latest style, a glittering pin holding it in place. The cut of her gown showed off her shapely figure, and the expanse of skin it exposed across her chest and shoulders was as pure as porcelain. The blush that kissed her face was the stuff artists would have scrambled over each other to paint, and the hope in her eyes as she searched the room left him ready to leap into action or fall at her feet if she wanted him to.
As if she could hear his thoughts and feel the force of his love, she glanced right at him and smiled. If Harrison had trouble breathing before, that trouble was tenfold when he saw the way her eyes glittered, even across the room, as they met his.
His grandmother huffed a laugh at his side. “Well, my boy,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “You’d better stop dragging your feet and propose to that fine lady before one of the other gentlemen in this hall sees her and snatches her up.”
“Would that I could,” Harrison sighed before he could check himself.
His grandmother turned to him. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“I…um….”
Harrison was spared having to come up with an excuse, or confessing about losing her ring, when John strode up to him and clapped him on the back. “This isn’t fair at all,” he said with a rakish look for Grandmama. “How is it that this miscreant has snagged the finest lady in the room this evening?”
“Good evening yourself, Lord Whitlock,” Harrison’s grandmother said, sending John a look that said she was too old and had seen too much to fall for his tricks. She did, however, let go of Harrison’s arm so that she could tuck her hand into the crook of John’s elbow. “You always were a rascal,” she said with a chuckle.
&
nbsp; “A rascal with excellent taste in women, Lady Landsbury,” John said, leaning over to give Harrison’s grandmother a kiss. “Has this one been telling you all about the mischief we’ve been getting into?”
Harrison was only half paying attention to the exchange. He’d been watching Bea as she entered the room fully, greeting Bianca and Jack, who stood by the door, looking like Clerkenwell royalty. Bea was the personification of grace and cheer as she embraced Bianca and let Jack kiss her hand. She was considerate enough to turn to her father and sister—who Harrison only just noticed had accompanied her—as if making a formal introduction, though Harrison was certain they’d met before. He even spotted Diana arriving a moment behind Bea before John’s question dragged him back to the conversation right next to him.
“No,” Grandmama answered with a smirk. “My dear grandson has been close-lipped about everything he’s been up to since calling on me for a particular purpose earlier this week.” She arched an eyebrow for John, who met it with a conspiratorial look of his own. “You wouldn’t know why he has kept so silent, would you?”
“There’s nothing to report,” Harrison said with a nervous laugh, sending John a look that practically begged him to keep his mouth shut.
A contradiction of a different sort reared its head before Harrison could finish his defense. Lord Lichfield, Bea’s father, broke away from Bianca and Jack and his daughters, catching Harrison’s eye and marching straight across the increasingly crowded and noisy hall toward him. Harrison sucked in a breath and snapped as straight as he could, reminding himself that he was a marquess, he loved Bea and had every intention of asking for her hand as soon as possible, and that he and Lord Lichfield really did have the same aim.
“Good evening, Lady Landsbury.” Lord Lichfield greeted Harrison’s grandmother first, giving Harrison what he hoped were a few more moments of reprieve. “What a delight to see you at such a festive occasion this evening.”
“It was far more appealing to me than sitting through yet another long, dry Christmas Eve sermon, Lord Lichfield,” Grandmama said with a grin.
