by Wendy Vella
He harrumphed, as he always did.
“A Miss Sinclair is due to call in an hour. I shall be in the parlor by then, going over the accounts, so show her in there, please.”
“Of course.”
After removing her coat and bonnet, she handed both to him.
“Come, Bee, we should have time for a cup of tea before Miss Sinclair arrives, as I missed breakfast.”
The kitchens at Temple Street were one of Lilly's favorite places to visit. Walking down the long pale blue hall, she noted the table with a vase bursting with a jumble of flowers. Such a small thing, yet beautiful in its simplicity, unlike the flowers arranged to perfection in her brother's house. Turning left, Lilly took the stairs down.
“Good morning, Mrs. Davey,” Lilly said, smiling to the woman standing at the bench with her hands in a bowl of something. Built like her husband, she had thick red hair and bright blue eyes that never missed a thing.
“Good morning, Miss Braithwaite, Bee.”
Pulling out her flour-covered hands, she wiped them on a cloth. “You take a seat and I'll have you both a nice cup of tea and cinnamon bun ready in minutes.”
Lilly loved this room; it was always warm and smelled of so many delightful scents. Often Mrs. Davey was singing or laughing, and it was a place she had spent many happy hours in. It was a hive of activity, even though only one person worked in it.
“I would love a cinnamon bun, if you have one spare.”
“Of course I have one spare for you, Miss Braithwaite.”
After securing the house in Temple Street, Lilly had had Wilson seek out the perfect couple to run it, and it had been he who recommended the Daveys. The couple had been the perfect fit.
“Sit.”
Lilly ignored the seat Mrs. Davey waved her to, and moved to sit on the bench. With a small leap, she landed on the surface.
“I'm sure sitting on a bench swinging your legs is not proper behavior for a young lady of your station,” Mrs. Davey clucked.
“And yet I have been doing it for many months now,” Lilly said, moving her legs slowly back and forth. She wasn't sure why she enjoyed sitting up there, but she did. Perhaps because she rarely got to behave in such a way, or perhaps because this house was hers, and she could do as she wished in it. “Besides, being a lady is not always easy. There are so many rules and etiquette to follow. It is just nice to swing one's legs occasionally.”
“I'm sure there is a deeper meaning in there,” Bee said, taking down cups.
Lilly just being allowed in this room had been a major step. The Daveys, at first, had treated her like royalty, and drinking tea with a woman of noble birth had taken something of an adjustment. The first time she’d leaped onto the bench, Mrs. Davey had nearly had conniptions.
“Here's your tea, Miss Braithwaite.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Davey.”
“That mark on your chin has faded some, but it’s still a nice plum color.”
Sipping tea, Lilly was soon chatting with the ladies and realized that if one day this was the place she was forced to flee to, she would be quite happy about that. Because one thing Lilly knew with absolute conviction was that she would not wed Lord Danderfield. To ensure her brother did not force her, and that she remained single until she reached her twenty-sixth year, she may have to hide, and this would be the perfect place.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Must you come inside, Dev? You can see it is not a house of ill repute or some seedy establishment that I will never return from,” Essie said, exasperated as Dev followed her up the stairs to the little brick house. “Miss Braithwaite was not happy that I knew of its existence, so I can only imagine how she is going to feel now you know.”
She had been singing this particular tune the entire journey across town, and he had told her in no uncertain terms that he was not leaving until he had seen inside. Of course his main reason was to see Lilliana again, but he wasn't telling his sister that.
“I see a brick façade, Essex, behind which anything could be housed,” Dev said in a reasonable tone that made her teeth snap together.
“She may not have even arrived yet. Then what will you do?”
“Who?”
“I will slap you in a minute, Devonshire Sinclair, just see if I don't!” Essie snapped.
“Such unladylike behavior, Essex.” Dev tut-tutted, because when a Sinclair had an opening to needle a sibling he took it.
“You, sir, are a dastardly cur!”
“I do believe that hurt, Essex.”
“Oaf.”
“Now that's more like the sister I know and love,” he said, and then gave a bark of laughter as she poked her tongue out at him.
Standing back as she knocked on the front door, he watched it open. The man who appeared was neatly dressed and wore a gentle smile that made his own lips twitch to respond.
“Surely a murderous individual,” his sister hissed at him. Dev smiled, but did not reply.
“My name is Miss Sinclair and this is my brother, Lord Sinclair. We have come to see Miss Braithwaite.”
“Miss Braithwaite told me to expect your arrival, Miss Sinclair. Please come this way. She is at present taking tea in the kitchens, but told me to see you to the parlor. I shall collect her.”
“Tea. Dear God, run for your lives,” Essie muttered. “Taking tea is such a dangerous pastime.”
“Careful you don't cut the inside of your mouth with that tongue, sister.”
“Oh, please do not disturb her. Perhaps we could simply take tea there also?” Essie said, smiling.
“Oh, I-I'm not sure that would be right.” He looked worried, and Dev thought he was unused to receiving visitors such as they. Deciding he wanted to see Lilliana Braithwaite taking tea in the kitchens, he said, “Please lead on, sir. My sister wishes to take tea in the kitchens.”
The man moved at his command, and Dev motioned Essie to follow. He heard a woman's laughter as they drew near, the sound carefree and light, and he knew it was her because his body tensed in expectation. Drawing in a deep breath, Dev forced himself to appear calm as he walked into the kitchen.
Miss Lilliana Braithwaite was seated on the kitchen bench, swinging her legs like a child while eating a large bun. Her face was turned in profile, but even with his limited view he saw the genuine smile she was bestowing on the two other women in the room. It was open and natural and held him motionless.
God, she was sweet.
“Miss Braithwaite.”
She turned as Essex spoke, the smile falling from her face as she saw him. The heat from the kitchens had put color in her cheeks, and sugar dotted to her lips. Dev battled the impulse to close the distance between them and lick it off.
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
The bun fell from her hands as she scrambled to climb off the bench. In her haste she nearly landed in a tangle of limbs on the floor. Stumbling several steps, she managed to remain upright.
“Forgive me for bringing him.”
Dev watched his sister hurry forward to clasp Lilliana's fingers, but she quickly pushed them behind her back so Essie was forced to touch her arm instead.
“I know you have no wish for anyone to know of Temple Street, but he forced me to tell him.”
Dev withstood glares from both women.
“He wanted to check that I was not going anywhere dangerous.”
She still did not face him directly, but Dev kept his eyes on the delightfully flustered Lilliana. Unlike her choice of gowns in the evenings, this one was a simple cream muslin day dress with small blue flowers. The material did not swamp her figure, and allowed him to see what he had already guessed: Lilliana Braithwaite was a curved and lush bundle of woman. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and adorned with nothing more sinister than a blue velvet band that circled her head.
Dev watched as she retrieved her gloves from the bench behind her and hastily pulled them on, then her glasses.
“Oh please, don't—”
&nbs
p; “I like to wear gloves in company.”
She cut Essie's words off, and Dev wondered at her need to cover her hands. Were they scarred in some way, or was she simply a lady who did not like to have people touching her?
“Oh, well then.” Essie looked uncomfortable. “I am truly sorry he is here.” She scowled at Dev once more.
“Please do not fuss, Miss Sinclair. Your brother is protective toward you, and I cannot fault that.”
“Essex, please.”
Dev watched as she smoothed the fingers of her gloves in little agitated movements.
“My secret is out, it seems.”
“Secret?” Dev queried, realizing that once again her voice appeared different from the high, grating tone she used in the evenings.
Reluctantly she turned to face him. “I run a high-class brothel here, Lord Sinclair, and as you can see Mrs. Davey is my highest-paid girl.” Enjoying her new role, the housekeeper erupted into giggles. “And it is my intention to recruit your sisters.”
Dev's eyes went to the bruise she had received that night he had caught her. The night that had started his intrigue with this woman.
“It is changing color,” he said, moving closer and running his thumb over her chin. He wanted to touch her, needed to see if his reaction to her had been merely a single experience.
It wasn't. He dropped his hand. It tingled.
“You can leave now, my lord, your sister is safe here.” She backed away from him.
“I protect what is mine, Miss Braithwaite, and I will not apologize for checking my sister's movements.”
Her eyes were amazing this close. Even through the small round lenses, he could see the pale lavender color.
“Well as you can see, I am not bent on anything that will harm your sister, so you may leave.”
“Take your guests to the front parlor, Miss Braithwaite, and I will bring tea.”
“That won't be necessary, as Lord Sinclair is leaving.”
She wanted him gone, and as far away from her as possible.
“I have nothing pressing until this afternoon, Miss Braithwaite, and if Mrs. Davey has a spare cinnamon bun on hand then I would very much like to stay for tea.” Dev followed up his words with a smile, and the housekeeper giggled, as did the maid.
“Stop flirting with Lilliana's staff,” Essie hissed.
“Lord Sinclair is leaving,” Lilliana said, standing still.
“He wishes for tea and one of my cinnamon buns, Miss Braithwaite. Surely you can allow him that?”
Dev could see did not want to allow him anything.
“Will you show me around your house, Miss Braithwaite? Perhaps I can offer my assistance in some way to aid your charitable works?” he said.
“No,” she said, and then she sighed. “Follow me,” she added ungraciously and turned to leave the room.
She stomped up the first and second steps, and Dev felt it was time to extend the hand of friendship and hope she did not use it to beat him over the head repeatedly.
“I know you would never hurt my sister, Miss Braithwaite, and ask that you forgive me if you believed otherwise.”
Her shoulders remained rigid, and she did not respond to his overture.
“I'm sorry I misjudged you for so long. Essex has told me of your good deeds.”
“And I am supposed to fall at your feet in gratitude.” She rounded on him at the top of the stairs. “You are an arrogant, judgmental man.”
“All true, to be fair,” came his sister's reply from over his shoulder.
“Yes, thank you, Essex,” Dev muttered. “You judged me too, Lilliana,” he added, looking at her, their eyes now level.
Her eyes narrowed. “How?”
“You just said I was rude and judgmental, yet have never spoken to me to find out if indeed that was true.” Dev congratulated himself on his comeback as he stopped on the step below hers. All he had to do was lean forward....
“I have watched you, as you no doubt have watched me, and you are a man who likes his own way... always. And we have spoken, just a few nights ago.”
She blushed at the memory, but did not look away.
“Also true.”
“Yes, thank you, Essie, I don't think she needs your encouragement. Will you show me around your house, Lilliana? Please?”
“I gave you no leave to call me Lilliana.” She then turned and walked down the hall and into a small parlor.
“Perhaps, seeing as you are meant to be on my side, sister, you could endeavor to paint me in a more flattering light?”
Dev took Essie's arm as they followed.
“What do I get?”
“I'll take you to that exhibition in the park with all those herbs and flowers you have been harping on about.”
“Done.”
His sister patted his arm and sailed past him into the room, leaving him shaking his head at the mercenary nature of his siblings.
The parlor was painted in pale blue as the hall had been, and furnished simply yet comfortably.
“Will you tell me about the boy you rescued the other night, Lilliana?” Dev and Essie sat while Lilliana moved to stand behind a chair, her gloved hands gripping the back. It was a protective pose, and he hated that she felt the need to do so in his company, yet understood why. A few nights ago he had kissed her senseless.
“You have obviously furnished your sister with the details of that incident?”
She wasn't pleased about that.
“I do not have secrets from my siblings.”
Essie, for once, held her tongue.
“You must know it was reckless of you to be out at such an hour, on those streets, with only a footman at your back.”
“How I conduct myself, my lord, is of no concern to you. Therefore I would ask you to keep your opinions to yourself. In fact, unlike the ballrooms, this is my property, and I do not have to tolerate your presence. Therefore I wish you would leave.”
“I did not know you owned it.”
She realized how much she'd given away in anger, her eyes going from him to Essex. But the thought did not subdue her for long. “Of course I own it. I would not be taking tea in the kitchens otherwise!”
Dev wasn't sure how one led to the other but instead smiled politely. How had she raised the funds to purchase this place? He doubted that fool she had for a brother gave her a penny toward it.
“I think you should leave.”
“I would rather stay,” Dev said politely, which made her teeth snap together.
“Will you show me around your house, Lilliana?” Essie threw her brother a look he could not interpret, which was nothing new; his sisters were a constant mystery to him. “My brother will follow but keep his comments to himself, and let me assure you that, while he can be annoying, he is the best of men most of the time.”
Lilliana's eyes darted from Essie to him and back again. So many emotions chased through the lavender depths it was impossible to decipher each.
“All right, I will show you around. However I have no wish to hear any words of criticism or condemnation from you, Lord Sinclair.”
Essie laughed with delight as Lilly finished speaking. “Oh, what a treat it is to have another female put you in your place, brother dearest.”
“I shall endeavor to behave,” Dev drawled. He then mouthed, “Deal's off” to his sister when Lilly turned away.
“Please follow me.”
Temple Street was three floors. The lower housed the kitchens, and the second was Mr. and Mrs. Davey's living accommodations. The third, where they currently stood, was for the children who came to be cared for. Everything was scrupulously clean and bright, Dev thought, looking at the green curtains in the room they had just entered.
“Hello, Sam, how are you feeling today? Is your leg still hurting you?”
The small boy was dressed in a blue nightshirt and tucked into the third bed in a row of five. Behind him were plump, colored pillows, and over his legs a blanket of red wool. Beside him lay se
veral books and an odd-shaped soft thing that looked like a multicolored pillow; however, Dev was sure he noted a set of ears poking out the top. He was pale and thin and his eyes held more shadows than a child's should. He had existed on streets filled with sights that would make most people shudder, and his face bore the markings of that struggle.
“Sam had an accident and hurt his leg as he fell from a rooftop,” Lilliana said.
Dev had two weaknesses in his life: his family and children. Looking at Lilliana, he had a feeling deep inside that he was about to expand those to three, but as yet was unsure how he felt about that.
He couldn't cope with children in pain, and often struggled to mask his emotions when he saw a child dressed in rags on the streets, or one being mistreated. He gave money where he could, did whatever was in his capacity to do, yet knew the problem was far greater than that. The issue needed to be brought to the attention of those who woke daily in soft beds and large houses.
“It is not hurting near as much, Lilly, and Mrs. Davey says I'll be up out of bed in a while. Mr. Davey read me a story last night.”
Lilly. The name suited her, Dev thought as he watched the boy's eyes shoot first to Essie then him. He wasn't comfortable in their presence, and who could blame him? Gentry in his eyes were people who cared little for the plight of the child who lived on the street.
To his surprise, Lilliana sat on his bed and stroked the boy's hair, then examined the pillow with ears. Sam leaned into her and Dev could see trust in the gesture. They shared a genuine delight in each other’s company that should not have been there. A boy from the streets and a lady born into society. He wondered what had forced her onto this path. What secrets was she hiding? Shame washed over him again for his treatment of her. The woman before him was far from empty-headed. She had simply been hiding the real Lilliana from society.
“By any chance, Sam, is that a Bulgularas two-eared Daturmond?” Dev pointed to the squishy thing with ears. “You see, I have twin sisters and a small brother who would be delighted to own one just the same.”