His Rebellious Lass

by Callie Hutton

  Not likely.

  “One is close to, but outside of, St. Giles, and the other is nearer to Burrough’s Market. Not the best neighborhoods to be sure, but not the worst, either. The one we are seeing this morning is just outside St. Giles. You mentioned your women would be employed to maintain themselves, so I thought closer to the business areas would be a good choice.”

  “Yes, indeed. I recently had a note from a woman who had learned of my idea for a safe house. She was the sister of a woman who works in a millinery and was most grateful for someone who took an interest in unfortunate women’s plights. The poor woman’s sister was so very worried about her. I believe she will be one of our first residents after the house is up and running.”

  A thought occurred to her that she should have considered long before now. “A question, my lord. What’s to happen if we find a building? My money is still tied up until I turn three and twenty.”

  “Or marry,” Cam added.

  “Yes. Well, how will I buy a building?”

  “I am interested in this project myself. I will loan you the money to purchase the building and get it set up.”

  Bridget gasped. “Oh, my. That’s wonderful.”

  His eyes softened. “As I said, I am interested in this project myself. While I have been focusing on veterans’ concerns, I am grateful that you brought this problem to my attention.” He shook his head. “I had no idea women were at such a risk from those who had sworn to protect them.”

  Her smile grew brighter. “I am glad to hear that. Unfortunately, too many men who are in a position to actually help merely turn a blind eye.”

  “However,” he added, with a smirk. “I intend to hold you to your part of the bargain.”

  “Considering suitors?”

  “Precisely.”

  At least he didn’t demand she settle on someone. He was a generous man, and despite his arrogance and overbearing attitude, he did have a soft heart.

  Cam settled back in his seat, stretching out his legs, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Tell me a bit more about these women. I assume from what you’ve said so far that they are not of the ladybird ilk.”

  Bridget was surprised Cam was willing to discuss this part of it with her and did not wish to be involved in only the finance end of it. And mentioning ladybirds was inappropriate, but she was thankful that he understood she could not help these poor women if she were squeamish. She’d never been the type of young girl who reached for her vinaigrette every time someone mentioned a word that supposedly offended gently bred ladies’ sensibilities.

  In fact, she’d never even owned a vinaigrette. Nor did she possess said gently bred ladies’ sensibilities.

  Her mama had died giving birth to a boy, who also had not survived, when Bridget had been quite young. Being raised on an estate without female supervision before she’d been sent away to school, she’d seen much more than most young ladies of her class. One only had to observe male and female animals together to have a general idea of what procreation was all about.

  “No. While I know prostitutes’ plights are quite sorrowful, I am more interested in the working-class woman who returns home each night after a hard day’s work and is greeted with a drunk and irate husband anxious to put his hands on her money to buy liquor. She is someone with no one to turn to for help, most likely with children that need food, clothing, and shelter that she cannot provide on her own.”

  “Personally, my lady, I think someone of your class should not be involving herself in this sort of thing,” Mrs. Dressel huffed. Her companion had made her opinion known before now, but Bridget waved her off.

  “No one is helping them, Mrs. Dressel. If I don’t become involved, who will?”

  “That is something the government should be taking up.”

  Bridget turned to Cam. “Tell me, my lord, is the plight of women something Parliament is currently studying?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. While I am actively attempting to obtain more benefits for our veterans and their families, I must admit I was unaware of the problem you have presented.”

  “Veterans are a very noble cause, as well. There are numerous families who suffer from abuse because there is no money.” Bridget turned to her companion. “You see, Mrs. Dressel, there is no government help for these women.”

  Mrs. Dressel harrumphed. “Most likely they are in these positions because of the life they led. And perhaps some women deserve a trouncing.”

  Bridget and Cam sat in stunned silence. Bridget was appalled that someone she thought she knew so well could hold such hateful and false ideas. Unfortunately, there were many others who felt the same way, which was why most people turned their eyes from those who were suffering.

  Well, not her. She might have been blind herself until Minerva’s death. No more. There were far too many women who could not protect themselves from the very husbands who had vowed to do just that.

  …

  Cam turned his thoughts inward after the conversation with Bridget. He remembered too well what it felt like to have the person God had intended to protect him be the very one who’d beaten him numerous times. Some that had left scars on his back.

  A toss down the stairs one time had not resulted in death like Bridget’s friend, Lady Davenport, but he had ended up with a broken arm. Despite the years that separated him from his father and his tyrannical treatment, Cam still suffered knots in his stomach, thinking about the beatings and rants he’d been subjected to. A summons from the former marquess had been sufficient for his childhood self to break into a sweat and enter the man’s presence trembling, trying to hide it, so as not to enrage his father more.

  Parenthood was certainly not for the likes of him.

  The one thing he’d always been grateful for was his father’s tendency to inflict only verbal abuse on his sisters. As many times as Cam had witnessed his sisters flee the room in tears, it was far better than watching them take the thrashings he received. He wondered if his mother had been the one to shield Constance but had simply been unable to protect her son.

  He shook himself out of his reverie as they drew up to the address on Charing Cross Road. He would have preferred to attend to this part of the business himself, but he knew it would cause him only more grief, since his stubborn ward had made it clear she had every intention of being a part of the entire project.

  After he’d heard about her plan to help abused women, he had to admit it was indeed a splendid idea, and one he knew Parliament was not prepared to take up. He was having enough trouble trying to rally support for his veteran bill.

  After helping her from the carriage, Bridget examined the building from the outside. It was hard to tell what her initial thoughts were from her blank expression. He checked the surrounding area, which was an older and crumbling working-class section of London.

  “My lady, if you don’t mind, I prefer to stay with the driver and carriage. I’m afraid my old bones are aching today, and being out in the dampness will not help them,” Mrs. Dressel called to Bridget from her comfortable seat in the vehicle, where she was wrapped snugly in a large woolen blanket.

  “That is fine, Mrs. Dressel. I am sure his lordship and I can take the tour alone.” Bridget tossed the words over her shoulder, never glancing back, so interested in the building was she. Cam followed her up the stairs and produced the key Dunston had given him.

  He turned the latch and pushed the door open. A strong odor of something nasty assailed them immediately. “Oh dear.” Bridget stepped back, withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket, and held it over her nose. “It smells as if something died in here.”

  “Most likely a small animal.” Cam took her elbow and led her into the entrance hall. Despite the strong odor, the place appeared quite clean. From where they stood, the visible walls had been freshly painted. The floors were worn but well scrubbed. “Come.” H
e moved them forward.

  Instead of a building, which was what he’d expected, the structure was a very old house. They climbed the stairs and surveyed the first floor of empty rooms that were apparently meant to be a drawing room, music room, and library. As in all older houses, the kitchen was most likely separate from the main structure and located outside at the back of the building. On the second floor they viewed four bedchambers, with two smaller rooms in the attic above it, most likely for servants when the area had been wealthier. Or for children and their nanny.

  “We, of course, do not need a library or a music room, so if we decided on this building, we could use those as bedchambers, also.” Bridget walked the rooms, seeing the place entirely differently than he did.

  “In fact, we could even turn one of the rooms—perhaps the library—into a schoolroom for the children who come with their mothers.”

  “Had you thought far enough into the future to determine how long each woman would stay here? Is this to be a permanent residence or a temporary one?”

  Bridget tapped her chin with her fingernail. “I don’t believe I have thought that far. I’ve been so anxious to help these women secure a safe place for them and their children. We would be able to help so many more women if this was a temporary place.” She turned to him. “What do you think?”

  He took her elbow again and walked her down the steps to the entrance hall. “That would surely be something to consider. Have you also thought of the issue that a man—like it or not—has a legal right to his wife? That he can appear before a judge and demand she return to his house?”

  “Yes. I have thought of that. However, this would be a secret place, so the husbands would not know where their wives were. Besides, the men we’re speaking of would never be sober enough to appear before a judge. Most of them are avoiding the law.”

  “Then what about work? Did you not say these women have jobs? What’s to stop the husbands from going to their employment and even following them home from there?”

  Bridget blew out a breath of air. “So many problems.” She turned to him, her brows furrowed. “All I want to do is help. I don’t want to break the law or cause more trouble.”

  Cam reached out and touched her soft cheek. “I know. But these are all things that need to be considered before you begin such an undertaking. It’s not just the money needed to purchase and maintain a safe place for women, but what happens once they arrive?”

  His stomach muscles tightened at her somber expression after the enthusiasm she’d shown throughout the tour. But she needed to understand the complexity of the problem she wanted to solve.

  “Come, let us leave now and discuss this away from here. I’m afraid the smell is getting to me. I must mention this to Dunston when he returns the key to the owner of the building.”

  Bridget took one more look around and turned to leave, when she gave a slight squeak. “I believe we have found the source of our odor, my lord.”

  He followed her finger pointing at a dead rat lying in the corner between the entrance door and a wall. “Poor fellow.”

  Bridget shuddered. “I hate rats.”

  Mrs. Dressel was fast asleep when they climbed back into the carriage. Cam settled into his seat and began to mull over what he wanted to say to Bridget about her disaster at Covent Gardens the other night. He wanted to impress upon her the chance she had taken by not paying attention to where she was being led. He had no idea how much contact she’d had with men while living on her father’s estate in Scotland. Whatever it was, she would not know the intentions of some of the men in London. Gentlemen desperate for money were more than willing to trap a woman into marriage, as much as an ambitious young girl would work to appear “compromised” by a man with a title.

  On the other hand, he didn’t want to treat her like a recalcitrant child. She was a grown woman, resilient and capable. He had to be careful how he handled this. He smiled at Bridget, adopting a softer mien than he would have, had this conversation taken place that night. “I think it is time for our talk, my dear.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bridget immediately tensed. She did not take lectures easily, especially when they were about her behavior and came from her pompous guardian. Deciding an offense was better than a defense, she went on the attack. “I refuse to be lectured regarding Lord Chadwick. I believe I handled the situation quite well myself.”

  “Is that so?” His brows rose, but he said no more.

  “Yes. I put an end to his pawing and left him writhing on the ground in pain.” She raised her chin and regarded him.

  “And then what?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you handled it quite well. However, when I found you, you were completely turned around, with a torn bodice, and no idea how to remove yourself from the gardens without causing a scandal.”

  “I would have thought of something.”

  The smirk on his handsome face was his only answer. “Seeing that your attempt to distract me has failed, may I now proceed to remind you of a few things with regard to Society?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

  His smirk turned to seriousness. “You may relax. I do not intend to lecture you, Bridget. You are a woman grown, and I am sure, in most circumstances in your life you’ve been able to take care of yourself. However, just as I would no more drop you into a den of wolves—the animal kind—without the proper protection, pushing you into an unfamiliar life in London among men who are desperate for wealthy wives, or just a good—” He ran his palm down his face. “I just need to point out that what you did was reckless and could have ended up with you married to that despicable man.”

  “First of all, no matter what happened, I would never marry Chadwick. Second, I didn’t go with him to the garden on purpose, believe me. He had escorted me to the Prince’s Pavilion to enjoy the fireworks. After they had ended, he extended his arm to accompany me again, and I assumed we were returning to the supper boxes.”

  “Which is precisely why I have already spoken to your chaperone.”

  They both looked over to the now lightly snoring Mrs. Dressel.

  “A proper chaperone would never have allowed the situation to occur. I know you are fond of Mrs. Dressel, but I am afraid she is useless as a companion for a young lady in Society.”

  “Hopefully, you did not tell her that.”

  “No. I would not hurt her feelings, but we must consider hiring someone else and possibly pensioning Mrs. Dressel off.”

  They both sat silently for a few moments.

  Cam cleared his throat. “Also, you should never trust a man you don’t know or already have doubts about.” He leaned forward and reached across the space, taking her hands in his. “Even though you are at the great age of one and twenty years, you are a babe when it comes to the intricacies of Society.”

  “I hate Society. I never wanted to be a part of it. I managed to avoid it for three years.” To her dismay, her eyes filled with tears. “Please stop this compromise you offered and just leave me be for the next eighteen months until I inherit my father’s money.”

  Cam leaned back in his seat and sighed. “Ah, if only I could do that, Bridget. Even if I were dishonorable enough to turn my back on my duties as a guardian, what would you do with yourself until you turned three and twenty? You cannot be involved in your project without the protection of a man while you wander the streets of London, helping abused women. Either a husband or a guardian would have to be involved.”

  “But you said you would help me.”

  He grinned. “And I will, since you have managed to interest me in ill-treated women’s plight. However, that was the contingency of my compromise. I would help you if you made an effort to find a man you could tolerate over the breakfast table.”

  She raised her chin with all the dignity of a queen. �
��So we are back to that again?”

  “I’m afraid so. I know you to be a person of honor, so I have no doubt that you will hold up your end of the bargain. But on another note, here is something to cheer you up. We have been invited to a house party in the country at the estate of Lord and Lady Banfield. There will be men for you to look over, horses to ride, games to play, and picnics in the woods.”

  “Hmm. Suppose I skip over the men to look over and spend my time riding? I haven’t had a good run since I arrived in England.” She loved the frustrated look on his face. She actually liked the man and loved more than anything to tease him and give him trouble. Someone as stiff and rigid as Lord Campbell needed to be poked every once in a while. She was more than happy to fill that role.

  “There you have it. Something to keep you happy while you hold up your part of the bargain.”

  “Ah, yes. The bargain. I get what I want, and you get what you want, is that correct?” She hoped her mischievous smile gave him a sleepless night.

  …

  Toward the end of the afternoon, two days later, Cam’s carriage rolled to a stop in front of Banfield Manor. It had been a tedious one-day drive; the distance not being so great to allow for an overnight stay.

  Bridget had spent most of the time either working on her cursed embroidery that she was no good at or gazing out the window. She couldn’t read while she rode. It made her nauseous.

  The scenery had been splendid, the trees all turning a beautiful orange, red, and yellow. Autumn was her favorite time of the year. It also felt wonderful to be away from the city. She didn’t know how people remained there year after year.

  She would take the country any time. The air was cleaner and smelled better, and the view was certainly nicer on the eyes. While she desperately missed the peaks and valleys of Scotland, the English countryside was beautiful in its own way, with its rolling hills dotted with grazing sheep.

  A footman immediately opened the carriage door, allowing Cam to step out. He turned to assist her out of the vehicle.