A Heart So Innocent

by Charlene Cross

  The huge door squeaked on its abraded hinges and the face of a plump white-haired matron peeked around its edge. “Why, Miss Prescott,” the woman said, not knowing that Aidan was titled. A smile lit her tired face as she opened the door fully. “I didn’t expect to see you until the week after next. Apparently the good Lord saw our need and has sent us an angel.”

  “An angel?” Aidan questioned, laughing. “I’m certain you’re mistaken, Mrs. Hampstead.”

  “I’m not mistaken. Just this moment, I finished saying my prayers, and here you are.”

  “Is there something wrong?” Aidan asked as she stepped through the doorway. Instantly the stench of sickness overwhelmed her. “The children, are—?”

  “They’ve all come down with smallpox. The poor little things are in such sad shape, running a terribly high fever and vomiting too.”

  “Where’s Dr. Brenner?” Aidan asked, quickly slipping from her shawl to hang it on a peg behind the door.

  “He’s upstairs in the sick ward, tending to the worst of them.”

  Aidan headed toward the stairs and ran their length, her skirts hiked above her knees. Reaching the second level, she noticed the odors were far stronger. She shuddered and swallowed hard as she traversed the gloomy hallway, its walls in great need of new plaster and a coat of paint. Stopping at a partially open door, she pushed against its wood. The action revealed cot upon cot of seriously ill children, some moaning deliriously, others retching violently.

  A weary-looking man, whom Aidan knew to be barely thirty years old, but appearing nearly twice that age now, stood over a child’s sheet-draped body. Placing weights over the boy’s sightless eyes, he completely covered the once cherubic face that was now badly pockmarked.

  Although she didn’t know the lad, for he was new to the fold, Aidan’s heart lurched painfully. These poor little souls had suffered more than their due already. Orphaned, cast out onto the streets to fend for themselves, living fist to mouth, they had found a savior in Dr. Brenner, who had searched them out, bringing them here, offering them some stability. Dear God! Why were they being made to suffer even further?

  Giving some instructions to a nurse, the tall, slender man rubbed the back of his neck, then looked up. “Miss Prescott, you shouldn’t be in here!” he admonished, quickly striding toward her.

  “But I want to be here,” she countered, fighting the hand that had settled at her elbow. “You obviously need help, Dr. Brenner, and I’ve come to offer mine.”

  Despite Aidan’s attempts for him to do otherwise, Dr. Brenner moved her out into the hallway and closed the door behind them. “Smallpox is highly contagious, Miss Prescott, and unless you’ve had a case of it yourself—which I doubt, for there’s not a scar on your face—I won’t allow you to set foot in that room.”

  “Considering the need, I’m willing to take the chance,” she stated firmly, placing her welfare behind her. “They’re little more than babies. They know me. I’ve read to them, played games with them, helped bathe and feed them. There must be something I can do to ease their suffering.”

  Dr. Brenner sighed. His hand raked through his thick blond hair as his tired eyes settled on her. “You’ve done a great deal already. And for that I thank you. But I’m sorry, I can’t have you chance it.”

  “But—”

  “No, Miss Prescott!” he snapped in uncharacteristic anger. “And that’s final.”

  Surprised by Dr. Brenner’s harshness, Aidan watched as he stepped several paces away from her, stopping at the window which stood at the end of the corridor. Shoulders slumped, he stared through the clouded pane, smudged with years of soot and grime. To Aidan, he seemed on the verge of physical and emotional collapse.

  “Why does everything happen at once?” he whispered, as though he were speaking to no one in particular. “Oh, God, it’s all my fault.”

  Aidan came up behind him. “What is your fault?”

  His head pivoted toward her. “The boy who just died—I brought him here nearly three weeks ago. I’m certain he carried the pox with him.”

  Aidan placed a comforting hand on his forearm. “Dr. Brenner, you couldn’t have known that at the time.”

  “No, but had I been here the instant he’d taken ill, I would have quarantined him. Instead, I was off with some pompous duke’s business agent, trying to renegotiate the lease on this ancient relic”—his hand waved about him, denoting the shoddy building—”hoping to keep a leaky roof over their heads! It was a futile attempt, and by the time I’d returned, the others had been exposed. Now, besides fighting to keep them alive, we’ll all be on the streets in a week.”

  “The owner is throwing you out?” she asked incredulously, then saw the doctor’s nod. “Surely there’s some way to gain a reprieve.”

  “Since the man has seen fit to double our rent, I doubt there’s much anyone can do. I could barely meet the payments as it was.”

  A sudden foreboding riddled through Aidan. “Who is this duke?” she asked with caution, praying it wasn’t her father. Or her husband! She doubted it was Alastair Prescott, for she knew his properties were kept in good repair. As for Justin, she could not say what he owned or what condition it was in. Even if this particular building belonged to her husband, were she to intervene on Dr. Brenner’s behalf, asking Justin to reduce the price of the lease, she was sure her pleas would instantly fall upon deaf ears. If Justin Warfield displayed such heartless contempt for a passel of needy orphans, then undeniably, he would show her no kindness at all. He’d never grant her any concessions, not when he abhorred her as he did!

  A cynical laugh escaped him. “Do you hope to change this lofty personage’s mind?”

  “I can always try.”

  “Then his titled name is Westover.”

  Aidan’s knees nearly buckled, for her worst fears had come true. Violet eyes narrowed, and she began to seethe inside. Not only was he a seducer of women, he was an abuser of small children as well!

  The door flew open, and one of the nurses called out, “Dr. Brenner, we need you, quick.”

  He started for the room, Aidan after him. “You can’t come in, Miss Prescott. If you feel such a strong need to help, you can search out this Westover fellow and persuade him to show some mercy. If accomplished, that in itself would be a miracle.”

  Before Aidan could respond, the door closed firmly in her face. Following the hallway to the stairs, she descended them and left the house, her thoughts on the orphans. Miracle, indeed! she fumed, certain she’d get nowhere with Justin Warfield. Besides, she was afraid to approach him, fearing he’d send her straight back to Warfield Manor, Dr. Brenner and his wards no better off than they presently were.

  If only she had the money, she thought, traveling the cracked walkway to the gate, exiting through it. There was very little left of what Aunt Patti had given her. Asking Eugenia and David for such a large sum was out of the question. And so was approaching her father. That meant she had to find the resources herself. All she had were her clothes and her …

  “Jewels!” she exclaimed aloud, startling several poorly dressed individuals who were passing close by her.

  “If ye be lookin’ fer baubles, girlie,” one woman commented with a sniff, “ye’d best be takin’ yer business where a man can afford to pay ye such, fer ye ain’t gonna find nothin’ like that around here.”

  Realizing the woman viewed her as little more than a lowly but pretentious strumpet, Aidan stared after the departing figure as she waddled away. Finally Aidan snapped her mouth shut, which had dropped in astonishment. Quickly she picked up her stride, her mind turning to the one item she’d willingly sell without a second thought. After a short wait on the corner, she flagged down another cabby and was on her way back to Portman Square.

  Fortunately, upon her return, Aidan discovered that Eugenia and David were still out. Going straight to her room and her jewel case, she opened its lid. The item she wanted was the most prominent piece of all—the large ruby. The eye of the devi
l, she thought, snatching the ring from its velvet bed, stuffing it into her reticule. Before she could change her mind, Aidan fled the house and climbed into the waiting conveyance.

  A short time later, her reticule was fatter by far. Now all she need do was find out the name of Justin’s business agent. As she settled once again into the waiting vehicle, she wondered how she could possibly do it. White’s! she thought, knowing she might spot one of Justin’s acquaintances at the prestigious men’s club. But precisely who were his friends?

  “Well, miss, are we gonna sit here all day?” the cabby asked.

  “Take me to White’s.”

  “They won’t let ye in, miss.”

  “Just do as I say,” Aidan snapped, suddenly weary of being questioned at every turn.

  Before she could draw another breath, the conveyance lurched forward, heading toward White’s. Deep in thought, Aidan reviewed the episode with the clerk inside the jewelry house. When she’d walked into the establishment, she’d been all set on selling the ring, but as she pulled the ruby-and-diamond circlet from her reticule, she heard Justin’s ominous voice: That trinket may very well be the only thing of value you ever receive from me.

  As she gazed at the magnificent ring, she’d felt saddened. If there were feelings of affection between them, she would have gladly worn the beautiful token. But she’d realized that her husband cared nothing for her, and likewise, she cared nothing for him. Besides, the orphans needed the proceeds from its sale, she’d defended silently, insisting she was doing the right thing. Justin could buy himself a hundred such rings. This one mattered little.

  But in the end, when she’d handed it to the clerk, the word “pawn” had passed through her lips, not “sell.” The clerk had examined it and offered her what he deemed to be his best price. Knowing it was worth twice the amount cited, Aidan had tried to barter him upward. The two haggled, until they finally compromised, Aidan promising to make a set monthly payment until the loan was paid in full and the ring was hers again.

  While she presently thought about it, Aidan wondered why she hadn’t sold the thing outright. Not doing so, she now had to worry about making the payments. Oh, bother!

  The hired vehicle stopped outside White’s, and Aidan instructed the driver to wait at the curb. She opted to remain inside, watching the sidewalk, praying she would soon recognize someone. Before long, a short, foppishly dressed man sauntered up the street, his walking cane tapping smartly alongside him. Aidan instantly remembered him from the night of the Rothschilds’ party, and she was certain he would recognize her. What was more important, he knew Justin, for the man had informed her as much while offering his best to her on their marriage. To Aidan, he seemed the type who knew something about everyone.

  “Sir Percival,” she called, waving at him through the open window; blinking, he turned toward her voice. “Might I request a word with you.”

  Sir Percival Filbert frowned, then slowly stepped to the conveyance. Finally placing who Aidan was, he bowed. “Your Grace.”

  “Please forgive me, Sir Percival, but I was wondering if you could help me. I feel simply witless—”

  “How may I be of service?”

  “Well, my husband … His Grace asked that I drop some papers off at his business agent while I was out doing my regular errands, but I seem to have misplaced the man’s name and whereabouts. Would it be possible for you to tell me whom His Grace employs?”

  “Certainly. His name is John Dawson. He’s located just off Pall Mall.” Sir Percival stated the street and number. “By the by, when is Westover due back in London?”

  Aidan blinked. “He’s gone?” she asked incredulously, yet relieved to hear it. Instantly she realized her slip. “Uh, he’s been gone far too long already,” she corrected with a sigh. “I do miss him so.”

  “Well, if someone were to ask me, I’d tell him. His Grace is a fool for leaving his lovely bride alone.”

  “Thank you for your help, Sir Percival. And I agree. He is a fool.” With that she instructed the driver to take her to Mr. Dawson’s, and the vehicle rolled away.

  By late that afternoon, Aidan was wearily but happily ensconced in the sitting room on Portman Square. She’d just sent word to Dr. Brenner that he’d been relieved of one his worries. Having presented herself as Miss Addison, she’d negotiated a six-month lease with Mr. Dawson on Dr. Brenner’s behalf, paying the full sum due with the proceeds from Justin’s ring. Now the orphans had a home until winter, and by then she hoped to have enough money of her own to extend the contract for another six months. Right now, she’d done all she could possibly do. Except pray for the swift recovery of all Dr. Brenner’s children.

  The front door opened, and Eugenia and David swept inside, their laughter rising into the air as usual. Hearing it, Aidan again felt a fleeting pang of envy, but she quickly shoved it aside. After relaying their day to their guest, Eugenia and David proposed they all dine in this evening and have a round of charades afterward. Content to stay at home and relax, Aidan agreed wholeheartedly with the couple’s suggestion.

  A furious Justin Warfield stormed through the door of Westover House, nearly knocking Pitkin down as he did so. Steadying the man, he handed over his hat, gloves, and walking cane, then marched to the table and retrieved a letter from the ever-present silver tray. Tearing open the seal, he read his aunt’s note.

  “When did this arrive?” he asked cryptically.

  “Today, I believe. Or was it yesterday?” the man questioned himself, scratching his head. “Or was it the day you left?” Pitkin looked around the huge entry. “Let’s see. I was coming from the back hallway—”

  “Never mind,” Justin said, a hint of irritation in his voice. From the date inscribed at the top of his aunt’s letter, he decided it had arrived the day he’d left. If so, then why hadn’t it been on the tray when he’d returned this afternoon?

  Knowing he’d get no logical answer from Pitkin, he let the issue drop. Although the man’s lapse of memory had become highly exasperating of late, Justin hadn’t the heart to dismiss him, especially when Pitkin had served three generations of Warfields. To put the man out to pasture would certainly cause his demise, he knew. And Justin didn’t wish that on his conscience. Besides, the word from his aunt wasn’t news to him at all.

  Frustrated over not being able to find the right stallion for his mares, he’d returned to London earlier than expected. Deciding he needed to relax, he’d taken himself off to White’s, where he’d planned to engage in a game of cards. But when he’d entered the establishment, he’d found himself overrun by the lot who had instantly offered their congratulations, some in a ribald manner. At first he’d thought nothing of the round of congenial remarks, for he’d assumed the announcement of his marriage had come down from his Queen. Then he’d learned his wife was in town.

  “We were wondering why you weren’t with your new bride at the Rothschilds’ the other evening,” one man had said, slapping Justin’s back. “Rather foolish of you to let her out of your sights so soon. I’d never have expected you’d be off somewhere trying to match your mares to a stallion when you had a lively little filly to take care of at home. In fact, it seems rather bizarre you’re here with us now.”

  Shouts of laughter had met Justin’s ears, while some jovially chided: “Yes, Your Grace, what are you doing here?”

  “Good question,” Justin had said, hiding his anger at discovering his wife was in London behind a false mask of cordiality. “It seems, gentlemen, I’ve been a bachelor for so long that I sometimes forget there are other matters which should claim my attention. If you’ll forgive me, I shall take my leave and attend to my new bride.” With that Justin had spun on his heel, heading for the door, several good-natured guffaws following him out into the night.

  Portman Square, he thought, weighing his aunt’s note in his hand. He turned and retrieved the articles he’d handed Pitkin. “I’ll be late. Don’t wait up,” he said, opening the door. With a shout, he called for P
otts to stop the carriage, which had rolled several yards down the street. In a long-legged lope, he caught up to it. “Portman Square,” he ordered with a sharp edge to his voice as he climbed inside. Then he settled into the seat, his black thoughts on a certain violet-eyed witch.

  David, Eugenia, and Aidan had no more stepped from the sitting room, their laughter chiming gaily in the foyer as they teased one another over the round of charades they’d just finished, when the brass knocker on the front door fell under a heavy hand.

  “Who could be calling at this late hour?” Eugenia asked, her eyes instantly turning toward her husband.

  David nodded to Winston. “We’ll soon see.”

  Frozen in her tracks, a fearful Aidan watched as the panel swung inward. Instantly a cold voice cut like a knife into her breast: “I have reason to believe my wife has taken refuge here. Inform Lord Manley I’ve come to claim her.”

  Aidan immediately thought to flee, but her legs refused to cooperate. Then, as Justin crossed the threshold, her wide-eyed gaze clashed with that of her husband. Dark and foreboding, his cold stare beheld her a long, seemingly endless moment, and Aidan could tell his anger was held in tight restraint. Dread slithered down Aidan’s spine. Noting her reaction, Justin slowly turned his attention toward David.

  “Forgive the intrusion, sir,” he said in clipped tones. “My stay shall be brief. Since my wife has taken it upon herself to burden you with her care, I’ve come to relieve you of such responsibility.” Justin slipped a leather wallet from his coat pocket and removed several large bills, whereupon he placed them on the small table beside him. “This should cover her expenses.”

  Rebounding from the shock of seeing the duke on his doorstep, David finally found his voice. “Keep your money, sir,” he said, his tone implying he’d been insulted by the man’s actions. “I won’t accept it.”