"Aye," Mary gave a pious sigh, "Let me have a look in Lady Emily's room for some old clothes we can bring with us."
"Then let us off," Ava said happily, making for the door.
"You'll need to change," Mary squawked, stepping forward to stop Ava's progress, "You can't go barrelling around Lambeth in a day dress."
Really? Ava resisted rolling her eyes; it seemed gently-bred ladies did little but dress into different outfits, as though they were dolls. A part of her longed for the simplicity of her life in Mr Hobbs', where, once dressed for the day, she knew that she would not have to undress again until bedtime.
"If I must," she replied, with a long sigh; bar feather mattresses and chocolate, there was little else that made being a lady of the beau monde easy.
And so, a half hour later, with bundles of old dresses from Lady Emily's wardrobe under their arms, the two women set out for Lambeth, in Lord Fairfax's Landau. It was not long, however, before they met a bump in the road.
Ava had been staring idly out of the window of the carriage, as it meandered through a busy thoroughfare near Westminster, when they came to a juddering, lob-sided halt.
"I'm afraid a wheel has come loose, my Lady," Freddie, the young footman, called through the window.
"Drat," Ava whispered with a frown.
"It's a sign," Mary whispered back, blessing herself and raising her eyes to heaven.
"It's a sign that there are far too many potholes on London's roads," Ava retorted, grabbing her bundle of clothes and opening the carriage door.
Not minding her kid-skin boots, the same boots she had so admired on Emily, Ava stepped down into the dirty road to inspect the carriage wheel.
"It's definitely loose," she observed, to a rather startled Freddie.
"Er, yes, my Lady," he replied, perplexed by her interest.
"And we are still quite a way from Lambeth," Ava continued, squinting across the river to the banks opposite, where the parish of Lambeth lay.
"Quite far, my Lady," Freddie offered, casting a perplexed look at the driver, who had clambered down from his perch to examine the wheel, "Though, have no fear, it will still be there tomorrow."
"He's right," Mary, who had followed Ava out of the carriage, chimed in. "We shall wait inside, my Lady, until the gentlemen have fixed the wheel, and make for the orphanage tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
Never had tomorrow sounded so far away. Ava realised that to Freddie and Herbert, the driver, she must have sounded like the epitome of a pampered aristocrat, but still, she could not help but show her disappointment.
"Lud," she sighed, "I don't know if I can wait until then. Perhaps we could walk, Mary? It's not so far, perhaps an hour at the most."
If she had said that she intended to run naked down Oxford Street, the trio of servants could not have looked more surprised than they did at the announcement that she intended to walk.
"Walk, my Lady?" Freddie asked, hastily rearranging his expression from one of incredulity to one of polite interest.
"Walk?" Herbert echoed in disbelief.
"Walk?" Mary, who was the only one present who knew that Ava was not Emily, did not hold back her horror at the idea, "Over Westminster Bridge? What am I supposed to say to Lord Fairfax, when you get kidnapped by ruffians?"
"You can say that I died in pursuit of charity," Ava replied dryly, casting Mary a glare.
"I rather think I might be able to assist with avoiding your death, my Lady," a smooth voice called from behind.
Ava stiffened, for she knew who it was that had spoken. How on earth did the man manage to materialise everywhere she went?
"Your Grace," Ava turned and cast the duke a courteous smile, "A lady could almost believe you were following her, given the rate in which we seem to unexpectedly bump into each other."
Was it her imagination, or did the duke blush? Surely a man as powerful as he, had better things to do than follow her around London?
"I had business in Parliament," Kilbride said with a shrug, "And you are rather hard to miss, my Lady, given that your carriage is blocking the road."
Indeed, carts, carriages, and riders on horseback were struggling to weave their way around the stricken Landau, and many drivers were waving their fists and grumbling in annoyance.
"I can take you," Kilbride continued, his blue eyes watching her closely, "Wherever it is that you want to go."
Goodness; what girl wouldn't want to hear that from a duke, Ava thought with a shiver; and such a handsome one at that. Kilbride, as well as having the physique of an athlete, also possessed the face of an angel—or should that be a devil, Ava thought in panic. His masculine, strong chin and angular cheekbones, were contrasted sharply with his full, sensuous mouth. His colouring was dark, much like hers, but his eyes were a piercing shade of blue, so intense that it was almost as though he could see through her.
"Well?" Kilbride cocked an eyebrow, as though his offer was a dare and not an act of chivalry.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Ava said, deliberately avoiding looking at Mary, whom she could sense was hopping in annoyance, "You are most kind; we were headed in the direction of the Asylum for Orphaned Girls, in Lambeth—do you know it?"
"I do," the duke replied with a bow, before gesturing for Ava and Mary to follow him.
With a wave to Freddie and Herbert, Ava followed the duke toward his waiting vehicle—a gleaming, new Phaeton—with Mary trailing miserably behind. There would be much grumbling from the lady's maid later that evening, Ava thought with a small stab of guilt. Still; if she discovered something—anything—at the Asylum, it would be worth listening to the grumbles of a thousand Hibernians.
"I'm afraid it will be a bit of a squish," Kilbride said apologetically, as he assisted Ava, and then Mary, onto the high seat of the Phaeton, "I hope you don't mind."
"No matter," Ava replied airly; but as the duke hopped, agile as a cat, into the seat beside her, she could have eaten her words. She had never been seated so close to a man in all her life, and as she felt the heat emanating from his body, and his strong thigh pressed against hers, she wondered if she would survive all the way to Lambeth without fainting.
Chapter Seven
What had he been thinking, Raff thought, as the trio within the sleek, shiny phaeton crossed over Blackfriars Bridge to the south side of the river, by agreeing to take Lady Emily to such an uncivilised part of town?
Lambeth was comparatively less crowded than the city they had left behind, though its populous was far poorer than those they had passed by in Westminster. Raff spotted many a tired grey face and ragged child as he steered his two horses across the bridge.
"Straight down Hercules Road, Your Grace," Lady Emily instructed, as she sensed his hesitation, "That's the road that leads to Asylum Cross."
Raff, who was an excellent navigator, had known exactly what direction he needed to go in. However, it was only as they had crossed over the bridge, into the leafy streets of the parish of Lambeth, that he had realised that taking his betrothed alone to Asylum Cross would cause quite the scandal.
He had completely forgotten that on the street corners bordering the north side of the Cross, were three rather seedy pleasure gardens, which was where many men went to find ladies of ill repute. If anyone were to see him driving Lady Emily, unchaperoned bar her maid, in the direction of The Apollo Gardens, or The Temple of Flora, it would be front page news for weeks.
"I am not certain that I should have agreed to this," Raff replied, his gloved hands holding the reins loosely as he considered turning back toward Grosvenor Square. His new Phaeton, which was ostentatious in design, was already drawing the eyes of passers-by, who were curious to catch a glimpse of such a fantastic vehicle.
"Please."
Emily's hand, encased in a soft, pink satin glove, reached out to touch his sleeve, and at the feel of her touch he was rendered helpless against resistance. He turned to look down at her, and as her green eyes locked, pleadingly, with his own, a
shiver went through him. Raff could tell this sensation was not desire, for he had felt that hundreds of times before, but something else entirely. It was as though, that just by gazing into her green eyes, he could read her soul. He sensed sadness and loss, feelings he grappled with nightly himself, and something else; understanding.
Did she see what he saw, reflected back at her? For a moment it seemed as though she did, but then Lady Emily turned her face away from him and the moment was lost.
"I merely wish to drop some clothes in, for the girls," she said quietly, "We need not linger long, Your Grace."
Gracious, her voice was almost cracking with emotion. Raff wondered if perhaps, that underneath her pampered, privileged exterior, Lady Emily was something of a bleeding heart.
Without saying a word, he urged his pair of bay-geldings onward. Best to get to the blasted place quickly and then be home, he thought, than to stay and argue and attract attention. As they moved farther into Lambeth, the lined, leafy streets of terraced houses gave way to open, marshy land. Off to the right, in the distance, lay Lambeth Palace, the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and straight ahead was The Asylum for Orphaned Girls.
"This is it," Raff said shortly, as they approached the wrought-iron gates which guarded the miserable looking building.
"I know," came the soft reply.
"Gives me the shivers, so it does," Lady Emily's maid said as she blessed herself.
Raff wondered at the relationship between maid and mistress; most maids were discreet, silent, and most definitely not Irish. Mary appeared the opposite to silent, and her familiar ease with Lady Emily was most unusual. In fact, when he had stumbled across them on the side of the road, he had been certain that the Irish woman had been about argue with her mistress. And on Argyle Road too, he reminded himself, the pair had been acting rather strangely—more like equals than anything else.
"How did Mary come to work for you?" Raff queried of Emily.
His question, though simple, seemed to startle the woman beside him. Lady Emily gave Mary a rather nervous look, as though pleading with the Irish woman to answer.
"When the late Lady Fairfax passed away," Mary replied, evidently nervous at addressing a duke directly, "Her sister, Lady Lucan, sent me over to London to keep an eye on Lady Emily. She and her husband could not leave Ireland, so Lady Lucan decided I was the next best thing to an aunt's care."
"Indeed."
Raff kept his eyes forward, inwardly wondering at Lady Emily's silence. It was most unusual for a Lady to allow a maid to speak on her behalf. Though, Raff reasoned, his relationship with Thomas, who had remained on as his valet, was also far from conventional.
"Oh, look," Mary cried, "There's some of the girls."
Raff looked toward the Asylum's door, and saw a stream of young girls, dressed in drab, grey dresses, file out into the courtyard. Their faces were gaunt, their expressions morose, and their shoulders hunched.
"Lud, they look half starved," he commented to Emily, who gave a shrug.
"Half-starved and overworked," she replied, a definite hint of bitterness in her voice, "Though I'm sure that when writing to thank their patrons for their yearly donations, that the Asylum fails to mention this. Nor will they tell the good lords and ladies of London about the pretty penny each girl fetches for them, when they sign her away into indentured servitude at the age of twelve."
"Better they leave with a job, than end up on the streets," Mary said pragmatically to her mistress. Raff was inclined to agree, though the idea of anyone making a profit from what was essentially the sale of a child rankled at his conscience.
"It depends," Lady Emily replied lightly to Mary, "On what employer they are sold to. I don't need to tell you that some of the girls end up in bawdy-houses off Covent—"
Lady Emily's voice broke off as her maid gave her a sharp elbow in the ribs. Raff bit back a smile, for the maid had not prevented her mistress from revealing that she was wiser to the world than a lady should be.
"Still," Lady Emily cleared her throat, "They do better than the poor climbing boys."
"The climbing boys?" Raff echoed stupidly.
"The poor young boys who climb up your chimney to sweep it," Lady Emily replied, with what was definite note of derision, "They are taken from orphanages at a young age and indentured to master chimney sweepers. The smaller a boy is, the better he is able to climb, so their masters are rather inclined toward starving them to prevent them growing big."
"Lud, that's awful," Raff replied aghast; did such things really happen in this day and age?
"What's awful," Emily turned to look at him, her green eyes ablaze with passion, "Is that I am sitting next to one of the few men in England who has the power to change their lives, yet does not even know of their existence."
"Now, hang on," Raff retorted, wanting to tell her that he was still grappling with having inherited a dukedom he had not wished for, and so had not had the time to read up on the plight of every poverty stricken child in the land, but she was too quick.
"It amazes me that a man can own half of England, and yet not know anything about the lives of his tenants," Emily continued piously.
"I doubt any of these climbing boys are my tenants," Raff grumbled, "I own thousands of acres of agricultural land, and let me tell you, I am very well versed in how well my tenants fare. I've a dozen ruddy letters a day from my stewards, detailing what needs fixing and what I need to do to ensure that the people who live on my land are well looked after. My duty is all that I think of Lady Emily, have no fear on that score."
As he spoke, the familiar feeling of breathlessness stole over him, and it was only when Raff finished his sentence that he realised that his voice had been raised considerably higher than what most ladies would deem polite. He braced himself for tears and accusations, but his outburst was merely met with curious green eyes.
The feeling that had been rising in his chest, the unbearable tightness and pounding of his heart, eased a little as he saw sympathy shining out from Lady Emily's eyes.
"Forgive me," Emily said, as she fiddled with a string of pearls around her neck, "I had no right to accuse you of being uncaring. I cannot even begin to fathom what it must be like, to have so many people depend upon you like that. Why, in Lord Fairfax's home alone I count twenty servants! Footmen, underfootmen, scullery maids, pot boys—the list is endless. It cannot be easy, to have so many people rely upon you for their living, Your Grace."
Her understanding words tugged at his heartstrings; no one had ever suggested to him that with his title came burdensome responsibilities. He supposed that because other titled men treated their estates with such contempt—gambling them away, or letting them fall to rack and ruin to fund a lavish lifestyle—that Lady Emily had assumed he was the same. He was not; the welfare of his family and his tenants, and his duty to the line, consumed his every thought—well it had, until he had met Emily.
"I have been a duke for just a year," he said, "And I am sorry to say that it has taken me this long to fully become comfortable with my duties. However, I intend to take up my seat in parliament soon, and when I do, I can assure you that I will make the welfare of the climbing boys my priority."
"You will?"
"Of course I will," Raff replied with a smile, "You are to be my wife. As such, what concerns you, concerns me. And you are right; what point is there in holding a powerful position, if one does not use it to help those less fortunate?"
Feeling rather more cheerful, Raff guided the Phaeton into the Asylum's glum courtyard. A stable boy materialised, as if from thin air, to take charge of the horses, and as the lad held the reins, Raff assisted Emily and Mary from the precariously high vehicle.
"Which way?" Raff questioned Lady Emily, once both women were on firm ground.
"This way," Emily said, an almost frightened expression upon her beautiful face as she led Raff toward the front door of the orphanage. Before she had even pulled the bell, the door was thrown open by a plea
santly plump woman, who wore a starched white cap upon her head.
"Good afternoon," Raff said evenly, to the confused woman, who he assumed must be the matron, "We are here with a donation of some clothes for the girls."
"Of course," the woman gave a hurried curtsy. Raff knew that she had no idea who he was, but that she could probably guess from his clothes alone that he was of the quality.
"I am Kilbride," Raff said, as the woman ushered the trio inside, "And this is Lady Emily Fairfax."
"Your Grace," though the woman had not recognised him, she certainly recognised the name, "My Lady...My goodness. How good of you both to call. I am Mrs Raab, the matron of the asylum. I am delighted to have you both here."
"The pleasure is all ours," Raff replied smoothly, well aware that when one added even a smidgen of charm to the title of duke, women went weak at the knees.
"Oh," Mrs Raab flushed, her round cheeks resembling rosy apples, "You are too kind. Come—I will have someone fetch tea for you both."
The matron ushered the trio down a long, dark corridor, so silent that their footsteps echoed loudly upon the flagstone tiles. Raff frowned; was it usual for an orphanage to be so quiet? Surely the girls were as loud and boisterous as other children?
Mrs Raab led them into a small office, where a cheerful fire burned in the grate. The room, Mrs Raab proudly confided, also served as her own personal parlour room, and Raff observed that, indeed, the room looked more suited to receiving guests than carrying out any work. Beside the fireplace were two overstuffed armchairs, a small settee, and a drinks cabinet. On the other side of the room was a large oak desk and a wall filled with ledgers. That Mrs Raab did little work at the desk was evidenced by the fact that it was covered with tiny porcelain ornaments.
"My collection," the matron said proudly, as she caught Raff's incredulous stare, "I'm rather fond of birds, as you can see."
"Indeed."
Mrs Raab pulled the bell by the door and, in an instant, a young girl, dressed in the drab grey uniform of the asylum materialised.
The Duke's Bride in Disguise (Fairfax Twins Book 1) Page 8