Chapter 5 #2
“You’re going to be the marquess with all the meat pies you want, and you’ll have chocolate for breakfast, and servants will bring it to you, and your boots won’t leak, and—”
“What’s the problem with that?” asked Edward, befuddled by her vehemence. “It sounds wonderful. You don’t want that?”
“You’ll have everything!”
“Again! I fail to see the problem!” he cried.
“You won’t need an urchin friend!”
“Says who?” he asked, getting completely fed up with this nonsense and contemplating how loud she’d yell if he simply carried her off.
“It’s how things work.”
“What things?” asked Edward, his cravat beginning to choke him. He tugged at the blasted cloth and wished he could remove it entirely.
“Nobs. Blokes with money. You know.”
“What makes you think that just because I finally retire from breeding and have an income, it’s going to make me different? Haven’t I always shared when I was flush?” He was going to lose his mind. Hadn’t he always looked after her — even before himself — when a fat purse came in?
She pulled at his shirt. “Not like that. It’s just that you’ll have responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities? What would I want with those?”
“You’ll have to…do figures. And yell about things in government.”
“Maybe. But what’s that got to do with us? I’ll train you up in maths.”
“You’ll have to breed a proper heir. With a wife. She wouldn’t like a scalawag like me hanging about.”
“Demme my wife!” shouted Edward.
“You already have one?” asked Tabby, looking horrified.
“Absolutely not! And I’m liable to expire before my blasted pater if you keep saying ridiculous shite like this!”
Tabby went on tiptoes to press her forehead more firmly against Edward’s. It should have set off that lingering headache, but it seemed to dispel the last vestiges of his pain.
“You help toffs make babies. They pay you for it. Don’t tell me you’ll be the only nob who won’t need a baby.”
He wiggled, a fish caught on the line at last.
“I could pick one up, call it mine—”
“Not without a wife.”
“Maybe I’ll find a good girl who doesn’t cause me problems. You’ll wear your breeches, and she can think we’re mates from the club. Close enough to the truth.”
“Maybe I won’t want to wear breeches anymore.”
That gave him pause. “You don’t want to? Why do it?”
“Safer,” said Tabby with a shrug. “A girl on the streets at all hours is for sale to the lowest sort of bloke. Or available for the taking. They might think the same about a lad but hesitate because he’ll fight back.”
“Then you can wear dresses when I’m the marquess. And none of that on the streets business either, not when I’m flush. I don’t see why you’re being so difficult about this!”
“What’s your wife going to think?” she asked entirely seriously.
“Mostly that you’re an escapee from Bedlam!” he cried. “What are you saying?”
“She’s going to think I’m a fancy lady.”
“Just don’t wear too much lace, and she won’t get the wrong idea,” said Edward, trying for a joke.
Tabby shoved at his abdomen, clearly as tired of the conversation as he was. “She’ll think I’m your kept woman.”
Oh, she was too innocent, sweet like the lemon drops she loved.
Edward wanted to laugh and only held himself back at the last minute for fear she’d run.
Tabby’s clothes and even her hair were dirty.
On closer inspection, he thought he saw a louse moving near her scalp.
God help him if it made its way to his own locks.
Tabby was small, unremarkable, and utterly believable as a boy.
No wife of his would feel the slightest threat from the likes of her. But he could never tell her so.
“What?” she asked.
He hummed, still wary of opening his mouth for fear of a chuckle.
“Are you laughing at me?” She jerked in his hold, pulling away from where he’d contained her all this time.
“No,” he said. Now he was going to fuck it up, after making so much progress towards getting her to see his way. “So you’re going to become my equal?”
“I hope so,” she said, her countenance free of guile, as ever. “I’ll need to support myself when your wife makes you drop me.”
Edward snorted and simply nodded in disbelief.
“I hate her already, your wife,” said Tabby, brushing her jacket and clearly preparing to take off on this addlepated adventure to equality.
“As do I,” said Edward, helping her put her oversized clothes to rights.
“I could have escaped your hold, you know,” she said.
“I know. You didn’t want to.”
She ambled onto the main street, looking both ways as if to determine her next move. As if she hadn’t mentally catalogued the entire map in her head and plotted her next step long ago.
“Why don’t you just return to your old profession?” called Edward.
She turned back, with a small smile on her face. He meant pick-pocketing.
“I’ve lost my touch. You ruined me for it.”
She made to go.
“Tabby,” he called. “You know where I am if you need me.”
She nodded and went off into the gray London afternoon.
Edward let her have a head start, then walked to the main street himself. He looked about, hoping she had stayed within sight. Waiting to go home. She wasn’t.
He walked back to Mrs. Chaffinch’s boarding house, feeling lighter and less pained despite this encounter coming to naught.
Around the midpoint of his walk, he realized his coat wasn’t lying right. In his pocket, he found Tabby’s flask. She’d returned it to him after his own attempted sleight of hand.
Damn her, he thought, laughing.