Loving the Hawke
A Victorian Romance
Lana Williams
After five seasons as a wallflower, Lettie Fairchild is resigned to spinsterhood. Mostly. Determined to claim more meaning for her life than seeing her younger sisters married, she seeks a purpose. She finds what she’s looking for when she happens upon a book describing seven curses that plague London.
Nathaniel Hawke is attempting to adjust to civilian life after retiring from the military, but his injured leg and memories of his time in the service prevent an easy transition. On his long walks during London’s darkest hours, Nathaniel is appalled by what he sees taking place on the dirty streets and alleyways. He is determined to take action. Coming upon a proper, if rebellious, lady in the desolate area both intrigues and frustrates him.
Nathaniel’s disregard for his personal safety infuriates Lettie even as her heart is touched by his determination to aid the city’s neglected children.
As the two wounded souls stumble upon each other time and again in slums and ballrooms, they realize they fight a common cause—and share an unbridled passion.
Will the curse they fight be their downfall? Or will love win the day?
Other books in this series:
Trusting the Wolfe, a Novella
Book .5 of The Seven Curses of London
http://amzn.com/B017AIF9TQ
Contents:
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Other Books by LANA WILLIAMS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
“It is a startling fact that, in England and Wales alone, at the present time, the number of children under the age of sixteen, dependent more or less on the parochial authorities for maintenance, amounts to three hundred and fifty thousand.”
~The Seven Curses of London, I. Neglected Children
By James Greenwood, 1869
London, England, June 1870
Letitia Fairchild’s stomach fluttered with nerves as she walked toward Blackfriars Bridge, wondering if she was truly capable of completing her mission. The bridge’s polished red granite pillars and ornamental stone parapets were attractive, and the view of St. Paul’s Cathedral was magnificent, as promised. But that was not what had brought her to this rather undesirable part of central London just before noon on a mild June day.
To her surprise, being here was a much different experience than reading about it. Warehouses and factories lined the River Thames to the south while a mix of homes, shops, and additional warehouses stood on the north.
She couldn’t help but place her gloved hand over her nose. The stench emanating from the river would be far worse in another month when the warm weather ripened the smell of sewage, industrial waste, and factory smoke, creating an even stronger fetor. The streets were dirty here, and the people passing by weren’t the type with whom she normally bumped elbows. These men and women made their living working hard and had never attended The Derby or ridden on Rotten Row. Their clothing was simple and worn, their faces pale and tired. The general desperation and dreariness of the neighborhood took her aback.
She felt as out of place here as she did in the many ballrooms of which she’d graced the walls during her five Seasons. Seasons that had begun with hope but quickly faded to embarrassment, now leaving her resigned to spinsterhood. Mostly.
Yet she forced herself to march forward, uncertainty plaguing her every step. Today was the day she’d finally have a purpose, a reason for her existence beyond caring for her four younger sisters.
She’d planned this outing carefully. Midday was surely the safest time to be in the area. A few people walked across the bridge but none she sought. She wished she’d brought her pin watch though she’d decided against doing so to avoid catching the attention of unsavory characters. Her maid and footman waited with the carriage several streets from here, where they thought she browsed in a bookstore. The plain cloak she wore covered her modest but fashionable gown.
As a sudden throng of young girls crossed the bridge, rushing directly toward her, she realized the time for luncheon had arrived. Based on her research, they were between the ages of ten and thirteen, though many appeared much younger. Lettie searched for a target to approach but had no idea how to choose. A few of the girls passing by caught her gaze but quickly glanced away as though to avoid her. She frowned. How could she make them see she was here to help? With four younger sisters, she thought she knew girls well, yet none of these were acting as she’d expected. Perhaps it would be best if she approached a younger one who might be less guarded.
“Excuse me,” she said, giving a friendly smile to one with a thin face and a long braid down her back.
“Leave off,” the girl said with a snarl.
“Oh.” Lettie froze, shocked at the response.
Now she stood directly in the path of the girls and many jostled her as they hurried past on their way to eat a ‘meager luncheon’ prior to returning to their ‘jobs in factories or slop-shops’, according to the book she’d studied. Lettie wasn’t clear what exactly a slop-shop was. The name sounded less than appealing, but that was of little consequence. Surely one or two of these girls would welcome the chance for a different life.
Lettie pursed her lips, still determined to complete her objective of finding one of London’s ‘neglected children’ to aid. She glanced about and selected another girl to approach.
“Excuse me,” she tried again, half-expecting another abrupt response.
Instead, the girl paused, her brown gaze searching Lettie’s face. “What is it? Are ye lost?”
The odd question gave her pause. Did she look as out of place as she felt? It seemed she couldn’t mask her ineptitude here any better than she could at a ball. “No. I—I’ve come to offer my assistance.” She wasn’t quite certain what else to say. The conversation had never progressed this far in her mind.
“With what?” The girl’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Whatever you might need. Do you consider yourself a ‘neglected child’?”
“A what?” The girl drew back a step, her body stiffening as caution filled her pale, thin face.
Lettie tried again, growing more uncertain by the moment. “Can I help you in some way?”
“What are ye about?” Two older girls paused to hear what Lettie was saying. “Why are ye botherin’ little Alice?”
“I’m terribly sorry. I’m saying this all wrong.” Lettie searched for a way to offer help without insulting or frightening the girl. “I’m here to offer an apprenticeship to one or two of you. My dressmaker is in need of two young women who are hard working, honest individuals interested in making a better life for themselves.”
“A dressmaker?” one of the older girls asked. “Ha. Is she one of those la-de-da women who pretends to have a Frenchie accent?” She held out her hand, little finger lifted and pursed her lips to exaggerate her cheekbones.
The other girl snorted with laughter. “That’s a go
od one. I heard tell those sort of dressmakers will work yer fingers to the bone.”
The confidence of these girls as well as their camaraderie sent a pang of envy through Lettie. Neither of those attributes had ever been within her reach. She’d served more as a mother than a friend to her sisters, and somehow, the chance to make friends of her own had slipped by.
The younger girl, Alice, ignored her companions and studied Lettie closely. “Are ye fer real askin’ or just fishin’ for girls to sell?”
“What?” Lettie blinked rapidly, shocked the girl would think such a thing. “No, of course not. I am trying to find a child to help. One who is being forced to work in a factory against her will.”
“Yeah, sure ye are. We’re all workin’ against our will, ain’t we?” The blonde girl tugged on Alice’s sleeve. “I wouldn’t be trustin’ her as far as I could toss her.”
“Me neither.” The other one agreed. “Ye know what the Widow Marcel says.”
The two older girls looked at each other and said in unison, “If’n it sounds too good to be true, it likely is.”
Alice scowled in disappointment. “I suppose ye’re right. Though I ain’t bad with a needle and thread.” A far off look came into her eyes, as if she could see herself living a different life than the one she had.
Lettie recognized that look. She’d seen in it the mirror more times than she could count. It urged her on, making her even more determined to convince Alice she could have a better life. This was her chance to make a difference, and she wasn’t about to let it slip through her fingers. “Alice, I’m speaking the truth.” Lettie smiled at the girl as she reached out to smooth the collar of her smocked dress. “I have a valid opportunity. Allow me to explain.”
~*~
Nathaniel Hawke, unwillingly retired captain of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, couldn’t believe his eyes. Considering all he’d witnessed during the Indian Rebellion, the Second Opium War and his military service afterward, that was a considerable feat.
Yet no matter how hard he stared at the cloaked figure speaking with several girls near the end of the bridge, it didn’t change what was happening. A well-to-do woman was accosting several young girls who’d crossed the bridge, leaving their factory jobs for a quick meal before returning to work. She was about to ruin an entire week’s worth of reconnaissance.
He’d positioned himself in the deep doorway of a shop several doors down from the bridge entrance. His attire was something his butler had reluctantly procured for him when he’d decided upon this mission a week ago. The roughly woven, tweed jacket had seen better days as had the brown trousers, but they served the purpose of allowing him to better blend into the street. He’d hoped to identify the men said to be luring girls from their factory jobs with the promise of higher and easier wages as a house maid, only to put them on ships to be sold as slaves and prostitutes in faraway lands or to serve in London brothels.
Instead, a lady, by the fitted cut of her cloak, was drawing far too much attention by attempting to speak to the young women crossing the bridge. What on earth was she about? If one of the men he was trying to find observed her, she would be in grave danger. She might very well find herself on board a ship alongside the girls to whom she was speaking.
Nathaniel waited several precious moments, hoping the woman would proceed on her way. But no. She continued to speak earnestly with the girls. Several more stopped to listen to the conversation.
That was the last straw. The crazed woman was ruining his chances of identifying the men running this operation, which would allow him to save the girls. Now he’d have to take the risk of revealing himself in order to force her to move along before something terrible occurred.
As he stepped out of the doorway, cane in hand, he once again cursed the damaged leg that caused him to limp. It was the reason he’d been driven from his previous life where he’d made a difference. Its constant ache was an unwelcome reminder that he could no longer protect his men, that he was no longer needed.
He thrust aside the dark thoughts as he tried to decide how to play this particular mission. He’d been forced to disguise himself on various operations during his military career, so while this was nothing new to him, he didn’t care to do draw attention to himself in a place he wanted to return to. Blast the woman.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel caught sight of a man strolling toward the bridge. With his bowler hat and better-than-most attire, he might very well be one of those Nathaniel had been watching for. Double blast.
Nathaniel had nearly reached the woman. Her face was hidden by a fawn-colored bonnet with a ridiculous bow on the side of it. He took an immediate dislike to the ugly thing.
“Excuse me,” he said, with a slight bow to the group. “May I have a word with ye, miss?” He did his best to disguise his accent, not wanting to display his Cambridge education.
The woman turned in surprise as the side of her bonnet had blocked his approach. For some reason, he was stunned by how attractive she was. Large hazel eyes framed by dark blonde lashes and brows regarded him suspiciously. Her alabaster complexion was flawless with the exception of a tiny dent in her chin. “No, thank you.” Her tone was polite but firm before she turned back to the girls.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, but I must insist.” Her refusal made it difficult to hide his irritation. His position as an officer for so many years meant no one refused his orders. At least until now.
She glanced at him again, brow furrowed. Then she looked back at her audience. “Do any of you know this man?”
“No,” they all agreed as they stared at Nathaniel. They seemed to be waiting to see what might happen next.
“There’s no loiterin’ in this area,” he persisted. “Ye need to be movin’ along.” He gestured with his hand, hoping the girls would continue on their way so he might have a moment with the woman to explain the danger in which she’d placed herself.
The older girls tugged on the younger one’s sleeve. “Come along with ye, Alice. This don’t concern us.”
“Wait,” the woman said, sparing a moment to glare yet again at Nathaniel. “If you’re truly interested, here’s the card of the shop I mentioned.”
Alice reached out a cautious hand to take it, staring at it as though it might contain a hidden message. “I don’t know...”
“Think upon it. That’s all—”
Nathaniel snatched the card from the girl’s hand to read it. Madame Daphne. Seamstress. “What is it ye’re askin’ these girls to do?” he asked, allowing suspicion to color his tone.
“None of your business. Please continue on your way.” The woman seized the card from him then made a shooing motion. As if that would have any effect on him.
“Ye’re causin’ trouble for these poor girls,” he said and turned to glare at them, hoping it would work better on them than it had on the woman. “Why don’t ye leave them in peace?”
“We must be goin’.” The girls eased back, pulling Alice with them, but not before she took the card from the lady once more.
“Wait. Please,” the woman bid them. “I only want to help.”
With one last glance over their shoulders, the girls hurried down the street as though anxious to put more distance between themselves and the woman.
Nathaniel breathed a sigh of relief. Now he need only get her to do the same. Perhaps his vigil wouldn’t be wasted after all. He couldn’t lose this chance to identify the men involved in the terrible scheme. “If you would—”
“How dare you.” The anger in the woman’s tone surprised him as did the passion that flared in her eyes. But it didn’t sway him from his purpose.
He leaned close, intending to intimidate her, dropping his East End accent. “Do you have any notion of the danger you’re in at this very moment?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. Whether it was at the change in his intonation or his words, he didn’t know. Nor did it matter. She opened her mouth, most likely to defend herself, but he was in no mood t
o listen.
“This is not the place for you.” He glanced at the overly large bow on the side of her bonnet, uncertain why the damned thing irritated him so. “You would be better served on Regent Street.” He took her elbow, intending to turn her in that general direction, but to no avail.
“Who are you to think you have any right to speak to me so? I will not be dragged about by—”
Movement from the side of his vision caught Nathaniel’s attention. The man he’d noted earlier drew nearer, a scowl twisting his lips that concerned Nathaniel. “We are about to be approached by an undesirable character,” Nathaniel whispered. “I would suggest you do as I say and walk quickly.”
The woman’s gaze landed on the approaching man, and Nathaniel’s meaning seemed to sink in. Apparently she didn’t care for the look of him either, for she stopped fighting Nathaniel’s attempt to move her and complied.
“Thank you,” Nathaniel whispered as he escorted her, doing his best to modify his limp to more of a glide, not wanting her to notice it. “I have no desire to brawl on the street today.”
“Who is he? Why was he approaching us?” she asked, sparing a glance over her shoulder, but it appeared her bonnet prevented her from seeing anything.
“I believe our presence is interfering with his business.” He could feel the weight of her gaze as he glanced around warily for any additional associates the man might have lurking about.
“Who are you?”
“I’ll explain once you’re safely away.” He walked with purpose, hoping not to draw more notice.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” The stubbornness in her voice irritated him though she had yet to wrest her elbow from him.
He didn’t want her to stop now that they were nearly out of danger. “I promise to enlighten you once we’re out of sight of the man who is following us. Don’t look,” he ordered when she started to turn back.
Perhaps she’d cooperate if he shifted her thoughts toward another topic. “Where is your carriage?”
Loving the Hawke (The Seven Curses of London Book 1) Page 1