“Well sit still, then.” She resumed her ministrations. “Of course I did,” she continued. “Our work here is too important to the people we help and to me.”
“Yes, but—“
“Alex was quite understanding. He said his work was important to him and he could understand why it meant so much to me.”
“How very forward thinking of him,” Sarah murmured.
Eleanor pushed the final hairpin into Sarah’s chignon. “Yes, well, he is a very forward thinking man.” She sighed happily and Sarah turned to look at her cousin.
“Also, I am ridiculously in love with him,” she said with a silly grin on her face.
Sarah felt a stab of something like jealousy in her breast, but she quickly smothered it and stood to hug Eleanor. “I’m so very happy for you. No one deserves it more.”
“Except you,” Eleanor replied, holding their embrace a few more moments.
Sarah felt tears prick her eyes and abruptly pulled away.
“Don’t be silly. I’m married to Southwark.”
Eleanor shuddered. “What a great stinking husband you have.”
“Demanding, too,” Sarah said with a smile.
Eleanor’s expression sobered. “I do fear I shan’t have quite as much time as when I lived here full time, however.”
“Of course not! And once you become pregnant, you must give up this vocation completely. It’s perfectly natural for you to move on, Eleanor. I would never expect otherwise.”
“Yes, well, that won’t be happening for a while. In the meantime, we shall find someone else to join us and I will train them as my replacement.”
Sarah smiled at her cousin. She’d worked nearly alone for three years before Eleanor had shown up on her doorstep. Volunteers she’d had come and go—many of them the poor helping to feed themselves and their families—but finding people with the desire to spend day in and day out working on her various projects to better the community was not easy. Nevertheless, she would not allow her doubts to dampen Eleanor’s enthusiasm.
“Well I believe our new doctor will be of tremendous assistance. After he performed that surgery that saved Martin McCafferty’s life two weeks ago, more people have been going to his clinic. With him seeing to the medical care here in The Mint, I will have much more time for our other endeavors.”
With doctors a transient commodity in The Mint, regular medical care had fallen to Sarah and Eleanor. Eleanor had developed a natural skill for midwifery and Sarah had seen to things like the setting of broken bones and the stitching of gashes.
“Oh!” Eleanor exclaimed. “I nearly forgot! It’s the reason I’m here! You must come into town this afternoon. I’ve arranged for the Ladies’ Compassion Society to transfer their fundraising money directly into your account. You’ll need to sign some papers.”
“What? They’ve never given us the money directly. We’ve always had to apply to have each expense paid directly.”
“Yes, well that is a terribly inefficient method as you’ve always said.”
“I have. But how—“
“I convinced Lady Augustus that you have far greater buying power if you were able to pay for supplies directly instead of forcing vendors to wait weeks for their payment from the Ladies.”
“Well yes, but I don’t see why they’ve changed their minds now after five years.”
Eleanor affected an interest in a hangnail. “Yes, well I might have allowed Lady Augustus to cajole me into joining her advisory board.”
“You what?”
Eleanor looked flustered. “It’s silly. Stupid, really. I can’t read properly and I surely don’t know the first thing about all of the administrative work. I suppose she just wants the connection to my father.”
Sarah laughed. “Lady Augustus is no idiot and only an idiot would have watched your impassioned speech at that fundraising ball and not wanted you on her committee.”
Eleanor flushed and absently tidied the tea things. “You weren’t even there,” she prevaricated.
“Juliette told me.”
“What?”
“She said you were magnificent, which honestly, is no shock to me. Now, dispense with false modesty—“
“It’s not false,” Eleanor protested.
“Then dispense with the real modesty and recognize your talents. And also tell me where I’m supposed to go to sign these papers.”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll have our driver take you there.”
“You brought a coach into The Mint?”
Eleanor flushed again and Sarah marveled that after two years of living together in Southwark, in their tiny flat no less, her cousin could still feel embarrassment about anything.
“My father insisted. But I had him hire a plain, modest one without his crest on it.”
Sarah smiled and stood. She smoothed her plain dress and patted her hair. “Will I do for a bank visit, then?”
“Yes. You look quite official,” Eleanor replied.
“I still can’t believe you managed to get them to give us the money directly,” Sarah said as they descended the narrow staircase and made for the community kitchen. Their conversation skipped from what they would be able to purchase for the organization to the rhapsodic qualities of Alex Fitzhugh (this from Eleanor) to who they could hire to spend more time helping them with the day-to-day operations. Three hours later a footman held open the door and Sarah climbed in, thankful she would not have to walk to the city today or pay for a hackney cab.
“What? Aren’t you coming with me?” she asked when Eleanor did not follow.
“Good heavens, no. I’ve got to check on Mrs. Sampson. She’s due any day now.”
“But—“
“You’ll be fine, Sarah!” Eleanor called as the coach pulled away.
“Easy for you to say,” Sarah grumbled to herself. “Earl’s daughter.”
Chapter Four
Samuel James stood in the center of the Bank of England on Threadneedle Street and found himself at a bit of a loss. He had just finished setting up an account for his sister and it was his last act as her guardian. She was well and truly married; all her possessions had been moved into her new home and the newlyweds were preparing for a wedding trip to Paris in a few weeks. There was nothing left to keep him in England and while he was eager to get back to work, he also felt as if his life would never be the same again.
“Damned foolishness,” he muttered, and with a last glance around the stately lobby, made to leave. He’d taken not two steps when he paused. Was that Lady Disdain coming out of a back office? He watched her shake hands with a short, rotund bank employee and turn to leave. He lengthened his stride so that he reached the front doors at the same time she did.
“Lady Disdain,” he called out. “Can it be you?”
She turned, a slight frown marring her brow, but when she saw him, her face went expressionless, though two splashes of pink colored her cheekbones.
“Mr. James,” she said coolly and he was absurdly pleased she remembered his name.
“How lucky that I should run into you one last time before I return home. To America, you know,” he added, just to needle.
“Is it?” she asked, her tone as brisk as a winter’s morning.
“Well of course it its. How else could I thank you for your invaluable advice?”
“What—” She was jostled by a large man entering the bank and she stepped to the side of the doors. Samuel followed.
“I wasn’t aware that I gave you any advice, Mr. James.”
“Perhaps it was more instruction, then.” Before she could voice her obvious frustration at his obliqueness, he continued. “You taught me the proper forms of address for this imperative-obsessed country.”
She opened her mouth, clearly intending to take umbrage with his critique of England. When she clamped her jaws shut, he wondered if she was simply forgoing an argument or if something made her decide he was right. Intriguing, he thought, if it was the latter.
&nbs
p; “I nearly referred to one of the footmen at my sister’s wedding as ‘my lord.’ Thanks to you, I remembered that, much like me, he fell into the ‘everyone else’ category of commoners. So I simply said, ‘Thank you Mr. Braxton,’” he lied.
“Footmen are referred to only by their last—“ he saw the moment she realized he was teasing. A grudging smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’m so glad I was able to be of assistance.” She nodded and made to leave.
“There’s something else I was hoping you could help me with.”
She paused, her left eyebrow lifted in question. Samuel had always wanted to master that expression—it seemed the perfect complement to a rakish grin, after all.
“Yes?” she prodded as he stared at her eyebrow.
Coming out of his reverie, Samuel scrambled for a response. He hadn’t had an actual request; he’d only been trying to keep her from leaving. Inspiration struck when he remembered her aid work.
“I’ve been, ah, looking to make a charitable donation before I return to America. I’ve been given to understand that you might be able to advise me.”
He pasted a beatific smile on his face and tried to look sincere.
“I see,” she said slowly. “And why would you want to do that?”
“To, ah…ensure my sister is happy in her new country.”
“You think she might have need of an aid society here?”
“Of course not. It just seems like a, er, good will gesture to bring her continued good luck,” he improvised.
“There are many reputable aid societies in London, and across the country, if you’d prefer.”
“A London charity, I believe,” he said quickly.
“I shall send you a list.”
“But don’t you run one?”
She pulled back slightly and Samuel wondered if he’d overplayed his hand. Ah well, he reflected, might as well go all in.
“I do.”
“I should like to donate to your aid society.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“I understand you have worked steadfastly for a number of years. Such dedication implies the money will be put to good use.”
She appeared undecided. “Very well,” she finally said, and then, although it clearly galled her to say it, “We should be very grateful for your contribution.”
“Excellent! Are you returning there now? I would like to accompany you and tour the facilities.”
“What? Why?” she asked, startled.
“So I can best determine what amount to donate.”
“But…but donors don’t visit Southwark.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“It’s not safe,” she sputtered.
He smiled at her unease. “But my dear Miss Draper, if it is safe for you, how could it not be safe for me?”
“Because they know me. And how do you know my name?”
“You think I would know you run an aid society in Southwark but not learn your name?”
“Yes, of course,” she stammered. “Very well. When would you like to visit?”
“How about now?”
“Now?” she all but squeaked.
For some reason the sound sent an erotic thrill through his body, as if he could hear her making just such a squeak as he nibbled at the tender skin of her inner thigh. Ah, he thought, so it’s going to be like that. He’d found her beautiful and intriguing when he first met her. Only now did he realize just how attuned his body was to her every gesture and sound.
“Now,” he said in a low voice. He pulled himself abruptly out of the sensuous spell he’d inadvertently lapsed into. Now was definitely not the time for that.
Clearing his throat, he gestured to the door. “I can get us a handsome cab.”
“I—I have a carriage,” she said, sounding a little embarrassed and surprised all at once.
“You do?”
“Well, it’s Eleanor’s, that is Miss—I mean, Lady Eleanor’s. Well, her father’s I suppose. Oh bother!” she finished, flustered. “Are you coming or not?”
“Lead on, my lady,” he said with a grin.
She took a breath to correct or chastise him, he wasn’t sure which, but he could tell when she realized he was teasing again. She let out her breath in a huff, but as she turned to exit the doors, he could have sworn he saw her lips twitch in a smile.
The carriage ride to Southwark was awkward. Well, not for Samuel, but she was clearly uncomfortable. He asked her questions about how she’d come to work in Southwark but she was evasive about exactly why she’d left whatever her past life was. Samuel sensed there was a story there, but he didn’t press, moving on to safer topics. He asked her about the day-to-day activities of her organization. She initially answered in one or two word sentences, but as he probed and cajoled, she began to open up, telling him about the Southwark residents who helped her serve the two daily meals, cooked, cleaned, and stocked supplies.
“And do you pay them?”
“Yes, of course. The point of my organization is not to simply feed people, but to employ them and train them for future employment. Plus, I find it helps build a stronger sense of community when people are feeding their neighbors.
“That makes sense,” he agreed. “And do you pay yourself?”
“Certainly not!” she snapped, two hot bursts of color cresting her cheeks. “Every penny that is donated goes directly to the people. To imply otherwise is to impugn—“
Sam held his hands up defensively. “Easy there. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious. You surely earn a salary.”
She pressed her lips together and stared out the window. They were clattering over London Bridge and Sam could practically see the thoughts racing through her mind. He was struck by the strangest desire to know her so well he could tell what she was thinking. After a few minutes, she turned to him.
“I apologize, Mr. James. I overreacted.”
“It’s no prob—“
“No,” she said firmly. “I behaved appallingly and I’m truly sorry. It’s just that—“ she paused to take a calming breath. “It’s just that recently I almost lost all of my funding because the donors believed I was profiting from their donations.”
“They were exceedingly wealthy, weren’t they?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The donors who accused you of profiting off your charity. They were wealthy, weren’t they? Probably privileged, too. Am I right?”
“I don’t see how that—“
“Were they?” he persisted.
“Yes,” she answered.
“I thought so. Exceedingly wealthy people are often suspicious of other’s money because they have done something worthy of suspicion themselves in the acquisition of their wealth.”
She stared at him, a funny expression on her face.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing, really. It’s only that my cousin said very much the same thing.”
“Miss Eleanor?”
“Lady Elea—“ she began and then saw his teasing grin.
“Are you wealthy, Mr. James?”
“What an impertinent question,” he said with a mock frown. “But to be brief, yes I am.”
A breath of a laugh escaped her, no doubt at his boastful sounding statement.
“I’m not Duke of Andover wealthy, I’m sure, or even Stephen Girard wealthy if you want to look at Americans, but my father saw a vital need when he started his business and filled it. I’ve since expanded it a good deal from then.”
“And have you earned any of that money by ways which would make you suspicious of others in turn?”
“I can honestly say no. And I know plenty of wealthy people who have come by their money justly as well.”
“Then why your cynical comment?”
“Oh I’ve known even more wealthy people who would steal the shoes off a baby to make a profit.”
She laughed and covered her mouth, as if shocked that she had done so. “Yes, well,
I’d like to see them try in The Mint. Most children haven’t a pair of shoes, much less the babies.”
He smiled. “Then it sounds as if I am looking to the right place to donate.”
In truth, his idea of donating to her cause had been born simply out of a spontaneous desire to spend more time with her. But seeing how passionate she was about her vocation, he was now genuinely intrigued.
“Ah, here we are,” she said, reaching for the door and hopping down before the coachman or Sam could assist her.
Sam was left to follow and as he climbed down he heard Sarah dismissing the coachman.
“I don’t feel right keeping him waiting all day,” she told Sam. “When you are ready to leave, I will find you transport.”
“I’m sure I can manage to get myself home,” he said wryly. “It can’t be that much harder than getting across the ocean, after all.”
Sarah glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, but said nothing. She struck out with long, purposeful strides, and Sam adjusted his own pace to match.
“So where are we off to first?” he asked as they wove their way around piles of stinking refuse and pools of fetid water. He choked back a gag as the breeze delivered a miasma of smells, all of them rotten.
“You get used to it,” Sarah said, offering a sympathetic smile.
“No one should have to get used to that,” he replied, resisting the urge to cover his nose with a handkerchief.
“There are worse things than the smells,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
Sam followed her through numerous twists and turns to a short street that was slightly less run down than every other one they had traversed.
“I have to pick up some supplies. I won’t be a moment if you’d like to wait here.”
Sam glanced at the wooden sign indicating the apothecary shop and nodded. While he waited, he marveled that Sarah Draper lived in such an environment. When he’d seen her that night at the Duke of Andover’s party, she had seemed somehow removed from the other guests, as if she wasn’t comfortable with them. He could certainly understand; the world of the haute ton was so removed from most people’s reality, even he himself had felt a bit of a fish out of water when he first arrived.
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