by Tamara Gill
“I’ll excuse myself this time, thank you, father. After today, I wish to return home in any case and have a long, hot bath. I need to wash off the autocratic, obstinate stench of Lord Aaron.”
Her father chuckled and left her alone in the carriage. The remainder of the trip she stared sightlessly outside thinking about the marquess. How dare he deny her with little thought for the fortunes of others. Was he so unfeeling to so easily ignore what was needed for her charity, the children and families relying on them?
She wrung her gloves in her hands. No matter what she said to the gentleman’s steward or her father for that matter, the building was really their only option. At this time there wasn’t anything else on the market, and their limited refurbishment budget only went so far. The building next door to their preferred, although for sale, needed a lot more work, so unless they could get more funding, which was highly doubtful, his lordship’s property was their only alternative. They simply must gain it in some way. If only she had kept check of her temper and not concluded the meeting prematurely. Sometimes her irritation really did get in the way of progress.
There simply must be a way to change his mind. Maybe she could ask him again, bring some unfortunate children with her so he could see why his building was so important to them. Make him see the struggles going on outside of his precious Mayfair.
Cecilia pursed her lips as an idea so delicious popped into her head. Oh yes, the marquess should she pull off this idea would sell to her, and quickly, especially with what she had in store for him. She called out to the driver, directing him to their Spitalfields orphanage and school. She needed a little help from her friends there. Poor Lord Aaron would be banging down her door to sell, and more than likely with her friends help, before the week's end.
Hunter strolled down St James’s Street, his cane a regular crescendo against the cobbled footpath as he headed for Whites. After his meeting with Miss Smith the previous week, he’d found he had no stomach to attend his allotted entertainments planned and had missed two balls and a picnic in Richmond Park. Most odd and unlike him. The vexing chit had annoyed him greatly, and not a little of what she said pricked his conscience. Never did he flaunt his wealth, his ability to spend whatever he wished, whenever he wished without a care to anyone else. Did he?
Surely he did not. It was merely his way of life. How he’d grown up. It was certainly how most of his set lived.
Hunter paused and turned about, sure he was being followed. Two, male, children’s voices sounded behind him, and he turned again, this time catching the two little rascals who stopped and made an obvious attempt at looking at the sky.
“Do you have something you wish to ask me, boys?” he asked, walking up to them.
Their faces were not the cleanest, nor were their clothes well kept. Patches dotted the garments, obvious they’d been repaired many times over. One of the boys pant leg sat way too high on the lad's ankles. Certainly in this part of London they looked out of place.
This week he’d had several such episodes of children begging him for funds. Out the front of his home he was ambushed by a group of young boys, no more than eight years if a day, begging him for money, their grimy little faces and beseeching eyes ensuring he reached into his coat pocket to give them what they wanted.
He'd thought such an incident was unique, but he’d been wrong. On his return home from a ride in Hyde Park, he’d been accosted by a young woman, her gown was tidy, but she had an air of poverty that dulled her cheeks and eyes. She’d begged him for money to help pay for food for the children she had in her care. Again, he’d reached into his pocket and with nothing but a sovereign, had handed over the coin, granting her a boon she’d likely never see again.
The next few days had passed without incident, but now again, here he was being asked for charity. Never in his life had he been such a target and it truly was becoming absurd. One did not see beggars in Mayfair and St. James.
“Well, boys? What is it that you want?” Although he could guess easily enough.
They stared at him before flicking each other a glance. “We’re looking for donations, my lord. To help with our school.”
“Your school?” It hadn’t been a word he’d heard so far with the other children looking for cash and the word school caught his attention. “You are being taught someplace.” Hunter narrowed his eyes, curious and starting to see a pattern to all this accosting.
“Spitalfields Orphanage and School. We’re raising funds so we can purchase a new building for children in the Ludgate area of the city. Us kids need a lot of help to make a go of it, sir. Help from men like you.”
“You certainly do speak as though you’ve been taught reasonably well.” A knowing feeling lodged in the pit of his stomach. “Tell me, who is your patron of the school. So I know where to send a donation.”
“Miss Cecilia Smith, my lord.”
The older boy whacked the younger one in the stomach, glaring at him. “Ye weren’t meant to tell the toff anything, just to get a donation.”
Why did it not surprise him… Hunter fought not to roll his eyes. The woman was a minx, a busybody who was now sending her students to ask for funds from a gentleman in Mayfair. He pulled out of his pocket a gold coin and tossed it in the air. As quick as a flash the elder boy’s hand reached out and snatched it.
“Make sure Miss Smith receives the donation. And pray tell her, it is all she’ll be receiving from me so she can stop sending her charges to do her dirty work.”
The boys ran off, laughing and smiling, no doubt at their good fortune at gaining some funds just as their patron had said.
Hunter turned about and headed to Whites. The betting book always had good juicy wagers to lay some funds on, and he wouldn’t get the opportunity again to check the log as he was headed to his good friends, Hamish Doherty, Earl Leighton’s this evening for a ball.
His steps slowed as he walked along St James Street, the thought of Miss Smith bombarding his mind. What would she think of how he had managed her tricks? Would she be infuriated, challenged? Would her cheeks flush a becoming pink and her eyes sparkled with righteous fire at once again being denied? Suddenly, inexplicably, he could imagine how beautiful she would look in the latest cut and style of gown. A gown that would hug her breasts, and float about her long, thin legs hinting and teasing at what lay beneath. Her hair pulled high, showcasing her elegant neck and perfect profile. Any colour other than the drab grey he’d seen her wearing to date would set off her creamy complexion that looked un-kissed by the sun. A part of him hoped he would see her again. Even if he had to endure another set down, no matter how nicely worded she put them.
I want her. He faltered momentarily at the awareness. Should he wish her to be his mistress, maybe he ought to gain favour by visiting her charity, seeing for himself how she helped and what she did for these unfortunates of London.
Turning about, he looked to where the boys had scurried off to, but they were long gone. Where was it they said they were from again? Hunter started back the way he came and hailed a hackney.
“To Spitalfields Orphanage and school, and quickly.”
Chapter 4
“I cannot find the box with the new chalkboards, Darcy, do you know where Katherine placed them?” Cecilia asked, wiping a loose strand of hair from her face. All day they’d searched for the missing chalkboards for the children who had just started at the school this week. And with Katherine out with her father in the country regarding a building job, Cecilia hadnot been able to ask where she’d placed them.
“Lord Aaron, what brings you here?”
Cecilia stopped looking through the cupboard that sat behind a large, reception desk that Darcy, the Duchess of Athelby was too standing behind. The marquess was here? Oh dear lord, that means he’d found out she was behind the children who she’d sent to pester him for funds for their charity. Damn it.
She stood, and made her presence known. The Marquess’s attention snapped to her, but this time th
ere was no amusement in his gaze, merely indifference. How changeable the man was.
“You know Miss Smith, Duchess?” he asked, not taking his gaze off Cecilia.
Darcy came over and took Cecilia’s hand, pulling her over to where his lordship stood. “We’ve been friends these past twelve months. Our friendship was formed when I joined the London Relief Society, which of course Cecilia runs. I will do anything, as you well know, to help those less fortunate.”
Cecilia bobbed a small curtsy. “Can we help you with anything, Lord Aaron?”
He gestured to a room off the side of the front office in which they stood. “I was accosted in the street by two little scamps who hail from this location. Asking for funds on St James Street mind you. This I believe was the fourth instance this week. I’ve come to suggest you keep a closer eye on those who explain they’re under your care and charge.”
Darcy grinned and patted Cecilia on the arm. “I think I’ll leave you to deal with our delightful friend.” She came around the desk and kissed the Marquess’s cheek. “Come for dinner this week. We’d love to see you.”
Cecilia ignored the stab of jealousy at seeing Darcy kiss a man who she had started to think about more than she ought. The past week she’d been endlessly thinking whether she’d see him again. Wondering if he’d figure out she was the one behind the children begging him for help and come to seek her out, just as he had done now. Cecilia had initially hoped he’d be so annoyed he would want to be rid of her, sell her the property and never see her again, but the thought gave her pause. To think she wouldn’t get to verbally spar with the Lord Aaron again left her feeling a little lost and disappointed.
She came and stood before him, and again was reminded of how very tall he was. She wasn’t a short woman, and normally towered over men, so it was nice, in an exasperating kind of way that he peered down at her.
“Will you not answer my charge, Miss Smith.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, feigning any knowledge of his accusation. “None of our students would dare interrupt or intrude on a very busy and important marquess’s affairs. Certainly not on St James’s street where the famous Whites’ Club is located. How very rude of two young boys to stop you from having your cigars and brandy with men of your ilk, where you’ll discuss horses, money and what else is it that you discuss?” she said, forcing the most interested visage she could manage considering she had, in a roundabout way, just insulted the lord.
He stared at her a moment before his eyes narrowed just the slightest. She smiled.
“The boys said they were from this establishment and after our meeting yesterday I can only assume you mean to annoy me with your students until I gave way and sell you my building.”
“You could just donate it to us. That would be even better.”
“You are, Miss Smith, the most vexing woman I’ve ever met. I shall not be gifting you the building, now or ever, I can promise you that. I’d also like to ensure that your little scamps do not harass me again.” He came around the front desk and stood not an inch from her person.
“I’ve also noted you're very apt at throwing out the insults to my sphere of Society. Are you jealous, by chance?” Lord Aaron asked.
“Of you and your friends? Well of course, my lord. I long for the days that a woman of a lower class will save my pitiful self on the street because I’m too drunk to see vehicles that are barrelling toward me.”
He scoffed, a little muscle in his jaw flexed. “It is only expected that you would find my Society a little daunting since your rank is well beneath mine, and nights of enjoyment such as I endure would not suit you, I think. You’re too clouded by your judgements, and would undoubtedly find such entertainments silly and beneath your moral notice. Why I’m surprised you lower yourself to speak to the Duchess of Athelby. However do you manage to do that?”
A peculiar and quite unfamiliar ache pierced her heart. “The duchess is a good woman, and helps those in need, unlike so many of your ilk, including yourself. As for your comment regarding your social sphere, are you saying that I could not hold my own if I attended one of your higher Society’s balls?” How dare he imply such a thing. He was baiting her, she knew it, but it didn’t change the fact that his words pricked her pride. She’d once longed to be able to attend such dinners and parties. Her own Society was lovely, and she’d grown rather fond of it, but a ball in the ton, where jewels and gowns were of the latest fashion, and everyone was free from working restraints, well, she couldn’t help but want to see it. If only once.
He leaned closer still, and she caught the scent of mint on his breath. Annoyingly her gaze took in his mouth, his lips appeared soft and well looked after, not chafed or cracked from lack of good food and living. His hand reached out and slid along the desk, trapping her partly within his hold.
“If the slipper fits, Miss Smith.”
She met his gaze and glared all the while her body fought for control. He was so close, so large and everything a gentleman of his ilk should be. Strong, intelligent, cutting and witty. A gentleman who seemed to have the uncanny knack to get under her skin. Not many did, but the marquess seemed to be apt at it.
She stepped back. “Since you’re here my lord, and you have been most generous with your donations this past week, maybe you’d care for a tour. I can show you the classrooms and where the children sleep if you like. Maybe you’ll find the organ that’s within your chest wall, and sell to me after all.”
He glanced about the foyer, his eyes flicking to the staircase where two little girls chuckled and ran off when spied.
“Lead the way, Miss Smith,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take.
Well, she hadn’t wished to link her arm with his, and she realized her mistake as soon as she did it. A jolt of awareness shot through her, and she took a calming breath to quiet her racing heart. Cecilia made the tour as short as possible, showing him the varied classrooms which they had in order of age, not gender. The less time she had to be touching him the better. They headed upstairs to where the children slept, their beds, rows after rows, showcasing just how many were in need of help.
“There are so many beds.” The marquess frowned, halting at the sleeping quarter doors. “How many schools such as this one do you run, Miss Smith?”
“I have three in London, and one in the country. Of course, the number would grow should I purchase a property in Ludgate as planned.”
He nodded but did not venture to enter the room. “I did not know there were so many in need.”
Cecilia met his gaze, hearing the surprise in his voice that rang with truth. “A lot of people do not, but it is as you see. A growing problem, and one that I fear I shall never see fixed.” They stood there for a couple of minutes, before heading back downstairs.
The duchess bustled into the room, carrying a box, no doubt the missing chalkboards they’d been searching for the past several hours. “I have decided to invite Miss Smith to the ball the duke and I are hosting Saturday next.”
Cecilia moved to stand behind the reception desk, her chest tightening at the thought. “I cannot possibly attend your ball, your grace. It wouldn’t be correct.”
“Correct? La, half of those in attendance have less class than you, my dear and I do not care what anyone of my sphere thinks. You’re my friend, we do charity work together, and I wish for you to be there with me. I will not accept any answer from you, but yes.”
Cecilia’s stomach roiled at the idea of all those people, women who could cut her dead in Society, people looking at her as a second-class citizen simply due to the fact her father worked for a living, didn’t inherit it like all those who would be around her. But then, she was friends with the duchess and never felt belittled or looked down upon when with her, so maybe she was a little prejudiced against his lordship’s social sphere. And she would not allow the marquess to think she could not attend because she was scared of how she would be treated by his kind. She had nothing to prove to them,
if anything, they were the ones lacking in morals.
“Well then, it’s a yes.” She met his lordship’s eye. “You see, Lord Aaron, since you viewed a little of my life, I will now get to view a little of yours. I look forward to seeing you at the ball.”
He bowed and started for the door. “Alas, Miss Smith, I do believe I’m otherwise engaged that evening.”
Cecilia glared at his back as he walked out the door. She didn’t bother to reply, merely ripped open the box that held the chalkboards and pretended it was his lordship’s head.
Chapter 5
Still smarting from the rude and inappropriate remark from Lord Aaron the week before, Cecilia had thrown herself into her charities and helping her father prepare for court. It left little time for her to dwell on his parting words. How was she to convince him to sell the property if he wasn’t in attendance at the ball?
The duchess had said he would be, but until Cecilia saw him with her own eyes, the doubt he would not attend festered.
The young woman she’d hired to help her with her hair placed the last pin in the fashionable and pretty design. Tonight her hair was completely up, but the curls were large and soft looking. A strand of her mother’s pearls threaded throughout the design. They may not be rubies or diamonds as so many of the women of the social sphere she was about to enter wore, but they did well enough and at least gave her an air of wealth, even if she did have the stench of trade floating about her silk slippers.
“You look beautiful, my dear. Stand and let me look at you.” Her mother bustled into the room and took her hands, making her stand.
Cecilia twirled for good measure and laughed when her mother dabbed at her eyes.