by Wolf, Bree
As she watched Sarah disappear around the side of the building, Caroline swore that she would never forget. That she would never turn a blind eye. That she would do all she could to help.
As expected, her governess was beside herself when Caroline finally reappeared. Fortunately, the red-faced woman had yet to alert Caroline’s mother. “What were you thinking, Miss? Darting off like that? I don’t even want to imagine all that could have happened to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Caroline apologized, trying to appease the flustered woman. “I wanted to see where the girl was running.” There was no point in lying.
Staring at Caroline as though she’d just stated her intention of traveling to the moon, her governess swallowed. “What on earth possessed you, Miss? I beg you, forget that dirty street urchin for your mother will not like to hear of this…endeavor.” She drew in a long breath, trying to compose herself. “You shall be a lady, one day, and ladies do not concern themselves with…with these matters.”
Caroline sighed. “What do ladies do all day?”
Taking her charge’s interest as a good sign, her governess smiled. “They manage their husband’s household, bear his children and uphold the family name with all the graces and decorum befitting a lady of their station.”
Caroline could not deny that that sounded dreadfully meaningless. Indeed, her mother did spend her days shopping, visiting and socializing, always concerned about their family’s standing within society. As Caroline’s father had not been born into the peerage, her parents fought every day to get closer to that illustrious circle, to be accepted by it, to elevate themselves.
Often did her mother dream of the wonderful future awaiting them. She spoke with delight about Caroline’s chances to win the attentions of a peer, certain her daughter would be a lady one day.
Caroline’s lips thinned. Well, if that was the case, if married women were restricted to home and family, then she would simply not marry.
It was as simple as that, wasn’t it?
Of course, her mother wouldn’t be happy. In fact, she’d be furious with her above all. Perhaps, one could find a way around it though.
All Caroline needed was a plan.
Chapter One
A Clever Woman
London, summer 1812
Seven Years Later
Seated in Lady Brockton’s lavish drawing room, Caroline pushed the thick spectacles higher up her nose as she bent over the fine embroidery in her hands.
“I must commend you on your diligence, my dear Miss Hawkins,” Lady Brockton remarked, a kind smile upon her wrinkled face. “Please, take a short reprieve if your eyes are plaguing you.” She glanced at her own work. “It is, indeed, a strenuous activity at times.”
“You’re too kind, Lady Brockton,” Caroline trilled, blinking her eyes behind the thick glasses that hindered rather than improved her eyesight. “Some days, it is most taxing. However, I do so enjoy your company.”
A delighted murmur went through the small circle of women seated in Lady Brockton’s drawing room, and Caroline found more than one smile cast her way. Their little needlepoint circle met thrice a week at Lady Brockton’s townhouse as her drawing room housed them easily. All of the women here were either married or widowed, with children grown, and time on their hands. Caroline was the only unmarried, young woman among them. She’d gained their favor and entrance into their exclusive little circle through an elaborate plan that had been years in the making.
Dressed in yet another colorless, grey-blue frock, Caroline sat next to Lady Prambling and Lady Woodward. Her golden-brown tresses had been pulled back into a severe-looking chignon and treated with a special powder that robbed them of their natural glow. On her nose rested a pair of spectacles that dulled her blue eyes and made her seem bookish and unappealing.
A perfect getup as far as Caroline was concerned.
“I spoke to my husband about making a donation,” Lady Prambling told Caroline as her hands guided the needle through the fabric, her eyes as sharp as ever. “You were very right, my dear Miss Hawkins. Considering our good fortune, it is only right we give something back to those less fortunate.”
“Oh, I’m grateful my words encouraged you, Lady Prambling,” Caroline praised loudly. “However, it was no doubt the kind and generous heart in your chest that made this decision. You’re truly an inspiration to us all.”
Listening intently, the other ladies chimed in, offering their approval and admiration. In turn, Lady Prambling beamed with pride.
Caroline congratulated herself.
Considered one of them, she was in the perfect position to influence these women; women who possessed large fortunes and great influence among the ton. What they deemed right and honorable, others strove to emulate.
“I’m afraid there is no point in continuing,” Caroline lamented with feigned sadness, pinching the bridge of her nose as she blinked her eyes fervently. “I can barely see the stitches.”
Lady Brockton sighed with regret. “I do hope you’ll be fit to join us again next week, my dear.”
“I hope so as well.” Caroline smiled kindly as she packed up her small embroidery frame. Then she took her leave, relieved to pull the spectacles off her nose once she’d stepped out into the large hall.
Instantly, her eyes cleared and the throbbing pain in her temple lessened. She allowed her gaze to linger here and there, reveling in the unblurred images.
“Are you ready to leave, Miss?”
Turning to Sarah, Caroline nodded, then handed her embroidery bag to her lady’s maid. “I’m afraid my eyesight is particularly poor today,” she said with a deep sigh for all potentially nearby servants to hear before she set her spectacles back onto her nose.
Instantly, her sight blurred.
Sarah took the bag and, together, they departed.
Seven years had passed since Caroline and Sarah had first met that day at the market. Seven long years, which had turned two strangers into close friends. Seven years, in which both their lives had changed.
After her promise to Sarah, Caroline had worked day and night on a plan to do what she deemed right without alerting her parents to her intentions. In the end, she’d reasoned that if she acted the obedient daughter at all times, her parents would grant her greater freedom, never once expecting her to use it in ways of which they would not approve.
Sunday after Sunday, Caroline had brought Sarah food and clothes, staying longer and longer to talk and listen. Before long, she’d begun to teach Sarah all she knew, starting with the basics of speech as well as the written word to more elaborate items such as etiquette and formal address. In return, Sarah had shared her own life, the loss of her parents, the daily fight of providing for herself, the rules of the street.
When Sarah had been old enough, Caroline had groomed her to become her lady’s maid. She’d forged recommendations and whispered in her parents’ ears of all the wonderful things she’d heard about Sarah. In the end, her father had been rather disinterested with the topic in general and her mother had trusted her beyond the shadow of a doubt to hire whomever she saw fit.
Walking down the pavement side by side, Caroline sighed and pushed the spectacles down to the tip of her nose. “Ah, better.”
Sarah chuckled. “Do you truly believe it is imperative you wear these?” Her green eyes swept over Caroline’s colorless dress. “I should think these drab clothes as well as that awful powder you have me put on your hair each day already do the trick.”
Caroline gleaned over her spectacles as they made to cross the street. “Since I cannot be certain of that, I’d rather be too careful than too careless.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll ruin your eyes?”
Whenever the throbbing in her head began, Caroline did on occasion wonder if she was risking too much. However, if her father actually managed to find her a suitor, she would no longer be able to lead her life the way she herself saw fit. Caroline would never risk that. Too much was at stake. Too ma
ny lives depended on her.
“I’ll be fine,” was all she said, ignoring the way Sarah rolled her eyes at her.
“All I’m saying,” her rather opinionated lady’s maid continued, “is that you cannot even remember the last time anyone’s asked you to dance, is that not so?”
“True,” Caroline admitted with a bit of triumph.
“Clearly, your plan is working well. You have them all fooled, including your parents.” Sarah snickered. “Every once in a while, your mother sighs in regret, but other than that she does nothing, does she? And your father is too busy trying to find a suitor for Rebecca.”
Indeed, Caroline’s cousin, Rebecca, who had come to live with them after losing her own parents six years ago, was a stunning beauty. She possessed dark auburn hair and eyes of the deepest green Caroline had ever seen. Heads turned and conversations stopped whenever she walked past. Indeed, her father would have no trouble finding Rebecca a husband. As a matter of fact, it seemed he had already decided on one, namely Viscount Coleridge. The man was as dull and boring as Rebecca was passionate and spirited. They were like fire and water, the worst match imaginable.
At least as far as their characters were concerned. However, Caroline’s father did not care for such nonsense. What he cared about was that the man was titled. It was as simple as that.
All her life, Caroline had fought to be spared such a fate, to be pawned off to the highest bidder. And her plan had worked. It was working. Unfortunately, her dear cousin was not as fortunate.
“Still, if Rebecca marries a titled man,” Caroline replied as they turned the corner and then headed down the street leading them away from the nobler neighborhoods of London, “I’m afraid it will elevate my status as well. Some men might be tempted to see past my appearance and only consider my dowry as well as my family’s connections. I cannot risk that.”
Sarah nodded, the smile on her face dimming.
“I know you mean well,” Caroline told her affectionately, “but I’d rather be cautious.”
Casting her a lopsided grin, Sarah sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Still, I cannot help but fantasize about the day I will crush those glasses under my boot.”
Caroline laughed, squeezing her friend’s hand as they rounded yet another corner, their eyes falling on a simple two-story building in dire need of repairs. At present, it housed one of London’s few children’s homes, providing food and shelter and the occasional lesson to a number of orphaned or abandoned girls and boys. Even from where Caroline stood on the pavement across the street, she could see the odd angle of the western roof. The façade crumbled in places and a number of windowpanes were broken, some boarded up while others had been left as they were.
“Goodness, what an awful sight!” Sarah exclaimed, a growl of anger tinging her voice as her hands balled into fists.
Caroline nodded, understanding only too well the outrage that filled her friend’s heart. No doubt memories of the many hardships of Sarah’s own childhood resurfaced whenever the two friends took on a new project. So far, they’d helped restore two orphanages, ensuring that the children had a safe roof over their heads and warm food in their bellies. Still, it was not enough.
It never would be enough.
Yet, Caroline could not stop, and neither could Sarah.
Three times a week, the two women had about two hours to look in on one of their projects while Caroline’s parents thought she was at her needlepoint circle. A pastime they greatly approved of!
Of course, Caroline attended thrice a week. She would only stay for a short while for then, sadly, her eyes would give out and she’d be forced to abandon her embroidery. To her great regret, of course! Not that she ever told her parents. That would simply be foolish.
Heading across the street, Caroline spent an hour listening to the orphanage’s director list all the necessary repairs. Then they were shown around the building, confirming for themselves that he was not exaggerating, and felt their stomachs plummet at the conditions under which these children lived. All wore rags, their hair unkempt and their little bodies no doubt crawling with lice.
Of course, Sarah had experienced worse, but that did not excuse the current state these children were in.
On their way home, Sarah leaned in. “He smelled of spirits.”
Caroline nodded. “I noticed it as well.”
“If we give him money, he will not spend it for the children.”
“I agree,” Caroline said as they approached her father’s townhouse. “We need to find a way to have food and material delivered and pay the necessary workers ourselves.”
Sarah scoffed. “First, we need to find the necessary money to do so, of course.”
“Of course,” Caroline replied with a feigned grin, knowing she could not so soon try to persuade another lady in her needlepoint circle to make a donation. This was treacherous terrain, and she had to tread lightly or be sucked down by the quicksand.
Chapter Two
A Knight of the Road
Pierce Byrne, Baron Markham, urged his black gelding deeper into the shadows.
London lay in darkness, and few people were about. Those who were belonged to the unsavory kind and did not deserve his mercy. Men who possessed more money than they could spend in a lifetime but still saw no need to offer some in support of those less fortunate than them. Men who only ever saw to their own needs, their own pleasures. Men who possessed no morals and precious little respect for anyone but themselves.
Pierce despised these men.
And he preyed on them.
The hackney coach pulled away from the brothel, swaying gently as it rumbled down the darkened street. Inside, no doubt, was a peer of the realm, a man who sought to hide his disreputable activities from his family as well as society at large. After all, among the ton, it was paramount to maintain an impeccable reputation. Whether or not it was deserved was a different matter.
And so, Pierce had come upon many unmarked coaches with many a noble within, who preferred a hired hackney coach over their own luxurious carriages simply because they did not bear their coat-of-arms and thus did not shine like a torch in the night sky.
Urging his gelding to follow, Pierce kept an eye out for others that moved in the dark like him. Fortunately, once they left behind the rowdier parts of town, voices drifted away and the stillness of the night fell over them. His gaze swept their surroundings, up and down the street lined by tall buildings. It seemed like a tunnel, and he could easily be boxed in from only two sides.
Still, few people knew of his nocturnal activities for those that did were the same ones who preferred to keep their own nightly life hidden.
None had ever dared accuse him.
A perfect plan!
Pulling up the dark hood, Pierce assured himself that the black mask covering half his face was still securely tied. Then he reached for the pistol fastened to his left side and spurred his gelding onward, its hoof beats now clearly audible on the cobblestone.
The moment he overtook the coach, Pierce leveled the pistol at the unsuspecting driver. “Halt!” he called in a tone that brooked no argument and had served him well countless times as it generally made those at the receiving end of it quake in their boots.
The driver’s eyes widened in panic, and he immediately jerked on the reins, bringing the coach to an abrupt standstill. The horse whinnied in complaint, tossing its head about and snorting loudly.
“Hey, w-whath going on out there?” a deeply inebriated voice called from inside the coach. “Why’d we s-stop?”
Pierce held the driver’s fearful gaze. “Down,” was all he said before he urged his steed around the carriage as the driver scrambled from the box. “Onto the ground. Face down.” Again, the driver did as commanded, a slight tremble in his jaw as he lay down flat on the pavement. “Do not move and no harm shall befall you.”
In that moment, the coach’s door was pushed open, and a rather unkempt head of hair was stuck out into the night. “I said
w-whath going on ou—?” The next words died on the man’s lips as his gaze met Pierce’s, his eyes widening upon seeing the cloaked, black rider.
Holding the man’s gaze, Pierce took his time drawing the other pistol fastened to his belt, a sardonic curl coming to his lips. Then he purposefully lowered it to the man’s forehead, enjoying the fear that stood in the cur’s eyes.
The Earl of Kearsley.
A man who liked to hold himself above reproach, attacking those who misstepped within society’s circles with vicious ruthlessness. He’d urged his peers to all but ostracize the new Earl of Pembroke simply because the man had made his fortunes in America through honest labor. Perhaps that was why society feared their new peer. Because he was everything they were not. Because even though they would never dare admit it, they knew that he was the better man.
It had been that censure that had made Pierce approach the new earl, relieved to find him a truly decent man with a conscience rarely found among the ton.
“Your valuables,” Pierce growled at Kearsley, “stuff them in this bag.” With a flick of his right hand, he tossed a small sack at the man before lowering the pistol back at the driver, who was still cowering on the ground. “And be quick about it.”
With trembling hands, the earl removed his rings and cuffs and dumped them in the bag. Then he hesitated, his inebriated brain too slow to mask the thoughts crossing over his pale face.
“Empty your pockets as well!”
Kearsley flinched, but then dug into his pockets without delay, pulling out a small coin purse as well as a diamond necklace. Apparently, some gambling had been part of his evening as well!
“Now, toss it back to me.”
Fortunately, Kearsley managed to bridge the small gap between himself and Pierce, throwing with enough force that the small bag did not fall short. Pierce caught it easily and quickly stuffed it inside his coat. Then he gestured for the driver to rise and climb back up onto the box. “I bid you a good night.”
With his eyes still trained on the two men, Pierce returned both pistols to their places at his belt before he pulled his gelding around. “Until we meet again,” he growled at the earl, then urged his gelding into a gallop down the street, vanishing around the next corner before the two men even dared to move.