Chapter 7 #3
“I tole’m what’d happen to me if I go back, but it’s policy to send folk to their home parishes.
The master said ’e don’t care where I get off the cart, so long as I don’t put a burden on their poor rolls.
But there ain’t work in the other villages, not from those who know me. I dunno what I’m to do.”
Henrietta drew a handkerchief from her box and handed it to Mary Ann, then withdrew a packet of thick, creamy calling cards. “Here’s what we will do. Have you heard of this place?”
The girl looked at the card with polite interest. “Can’t read, mum.”
“Oh. Well, it is a hospital for women and children in distressed circumstances, run by the Sisters of Benevolence. I will take you there. We will find you a bed and food and proper clothing, and Elijah will stay with you.”
Mary Ann looked with wide eyes from Henrietta’s face to the infant in her arms. “But why would they help me, mum?”
“Because you are in need of it,” Henrietta said. “Take Elijah and gather your things, Mary Ann. I will tell the nurse we are leaving.”
As Mary Ann took the infant, he stiffened, arched in her arms, and then puked down the front of his mother’s soiled dress. The girl sighed and dabbed at the thin line of undigested gruel with the handkerchief Henrietta had given her. The baby gave a soft, mewling wail.
Darien leaned against the far wall, empty boxes at his feet. John and James diced with a set of bones, but Darien watched her. Even across the room, Henrietta felt his gaze as she would a touch.
She put up her chin and marched to the ward nurse, exhilarated at the thought that, finally, she could do more than offer a blanket or a carriage. She could do something to alter the course of this girl’s life, and that of her child.
But this workhouse was not in any of the northern places where the Wardley-Hines name held cachet.
The porter summoned the master, and the master held adamant that it was against the rules for Mary Ann to leave anywhere but back to her home parish.
He was eager for her to cease being a burden on Marylebone, but he had to account to a commission for anyone in his care, and private citizens could not liberate workhouse residents at their whim.
“Why should it matter where she goes as long as she is leaving?” Henrietta argued. “You will have one less person to deal with. Two, actually.”
But no mere woman was going to budge the master from his duty.
He and the porter seemed immune to the name Sir Jasper Wardley-Hines.
At the name Sir Pelton Pomeroy, the master gave a gravelly, condescending laugh.
She was about to invoke the Earl of Warrefield when Lord Darien unfolded himself from the wall and crossed the room.
He looked the elegant, bored aristocrat from the top of his sleek head to the heels of his polished boots. He stood next to her as though he had every right to be there, as if Henrietta belonged at his side.
“Miss Wardley-Hines,” he drawled in a careless tone, “let us have a word here, man to man.”
The porter nodded with respect, and the master swiftly reconsidered his stance.
Lord Daring couldn’t be bothered with such things as rules and policies.
Henrietta collected her boxes, seething.
She would go to Hines House and speak with Jasper, then call on Sir Pelton and explain the situation to him, and then—
“Gather your kit,” Darien said, strolling up a short minute later. “We are leaving.”
“I cannot leave Mary Ann here,” Henrietta said. “If I cannot bring her with me, then—”
“We are all leaving,” said the bored aristocrat.
“Now. You, Long John,” he called to the footman, “go find your mate. And you, Jack o’ Legs,” he addressed James, who glowered back at him, “find the coach. I do not care to spend another minute in this hellhole. The stench will never come out of my coat.”
Henrietta’s jaw dropped. “But he told me—”
“Yes,” Darien said, a hard edge to his tone. “But he had a different answer for the son of the Marquess of Langford. Does that surprise you?”
She snapped her mouth shut and turned to her task.
Lord Darien had achieved her purpose, not because her cause was just, but because he was a high-born man.
It didn’t matter that she was the daughter of a knight, sister of a baronet, step-granddaughter to the Earl of Warrefield, niece to Sir Pelton, or subscriber to the Minerva Society.
She was a woman, and her wishes mattered only if a male chose to humor them.
Outside, the carriage bowled toward them, and James scrambled up beside the coachman. “All your cards are trumps now,” he called to Mary Ann. “Miss Hetty collects strays where’er she goes. Got me out of the Fleet, she did.”
Darien’s gaze swung to Henrietta. “You found your groom in prison?”
“In for debt,” James snapped. “Not thievin’.”
Henrietta took the baby as Mary Ann struggled up the carriage step. Seeing the expensive equipage, a crowd of peddlers formed, eager to display their wares. Henrietta gripped the baby as the sudden horde jostled her.
“Tag-rag and bobtail,” James shouted. “Fall back, ye bung nippers, or I’ll thump ye on the jolly nob! Miss Hetty, mind they don’t file your pockets.”
Henrietta struggled to free herself from the tugging hands. Not once in all her forays in Rossendale, Bath, or Bamford, the small village on her estate, had she ever had reason to fear for her purse or her person.
Suddenly, the jostling stopped. A warm, firm heat enveloped her back and bore her like a strong wave up into the carriage.
Before Henrietta knew quite what had happened, she was seated on one of the plush benches of the Wardley-Hines carriage, and Lord Darien crowded next to her as he slammed shut the door.
The coach dipped as the footmen leapt to their posts in the back, and the conveyance jerked forward at a shout from James.
“I’ll go with you for a way, if you don’t mind,” Darien said. “You may set me down anywhere you like.”
“Lord Daring, in my coach,” Henrietta observed. “I suppose this ensures my name will be all over the scandal papers. What will the Daughters of Minerva think of me now?” She ought to feel despair at her certain ruination, but instead she felt soothed by his competence, his calm strength.
“Do you not have a maid to accompany you?” Darien’s glance took in the new leather and velvet curtains of the coach.
“Oh, do you mean, do I pay a young person to follow me about and hold my packages?” Henrietta held the baby close to her breast. His tiny eyelashes fluttered, and the little lips made sucking motions.
“Not when their time could be better spent. Do you know, if I had a signature on my petition for every person who follows your daily activities in the gossip sheets, Parliament would abolish slavery on the instant.”
“That ought to redeem my name in the historical record,” Darien said. “What is the direction of this place?”
“Are ye certain they’ll take me, miss?” Mary Ann said anxiously, her thin hand bunching her dirty skirt. “I’ve no coin to pay for me and Elijah, but I’m willing to work, I am.”
“That matter can be settled once you and the baby are well,” Henrietta said.
She had not forgotten that the Benevolence Hospital was overflowing, but she could not leave Mary Ann and her babe at the workhouse.
“The Sisters will take you and see you both back to health. Once you find work, they may collect a placement fee, but they will ask no payment nor charge a surety for—” She bit her lip.
Most hospitals required a commitment in advance that someone would pay for burial fees.
“A private hospital?” Darien inquired.
“A charitable institution supported by the Minerva Society,” Henrietta replied, “and staffed by a lay order, the Sisters of Benevolence. One of several they run in London and nearby. You might consider offering your support, milord, if you are interested in the cause of mercy.”
She held the swaddled baby against her chest, wondering how many women and their babes, in his career, he had bundled off to such circumstances. She must hope no one who saw them would cast their mission in such a light. What a relief that Henrietta was impervious to his charm.
Mary Ann’s eyes widened as they arrived at the large, gracious facade of the hospital.
She dabbed at tears when they were turned over to the matron with promises that she and her babe would be fed, clothed, and comfortably settled wherever room could be found.
The girl looked as if she could not quite trust she had actually found refuge, and her lip trembled as she faced Henrietta.
“Mum, I don’t know what to say. What you’ve done—you’re an angel, you are.”
“Far from it,” Henrietta said, stroking Elijah on the forehead as he squirmed and mewled. “It is the Sisters who are angels. I shall check on you tomorrow and hope to find you comfortably established, and Elijah feasting.”
And, she decided, she would bring a large purse for the Sisters. She was saving up to buy an old mill near her estate, but this expense she could spare.
Her heart was still aching from Mary Ann and Elijah’s plight when she stepped out to the street to find the infamous Lord Daring lounging against her coach. He looked as if he had just come fresh from the hands of his valet, not as if he had spent the morning in the workhouse.
The realization nearly lifted her straight off her feet. She had accomplished a rescue of her very own today. With his help.
“I owe you thanks, Lord Darien.” She released a shaky breath. “Whatever it took to bribe the master, I will repay you.”
“The Langford title is better than gold.” Darien straightened from his indolent pose. “Why this girl and her poor sickly brat? When there are dozens, if not hundreds of women and children in the workhouse?”
“They would have taken Elijah from her. He’d never survive at a baby farm.
At least here he has a chance.” Henrietta’s heart twisted as she thought of that too-small, too-quiet baby.
Fanny had been small for her age too, tough in her temperament but not her constitution, which was one reason the fever had ravaged her while leaving her siblings untouched.
Daring’s eyes followed her movement as she touched the white armband on her sleeve. “But you are not responsible for the girl or her condition.” He sounded puzzled.
“Is it so inconceivable I would be touched by her plight? Besides, you assisted as well.” She crossed her arms over her chest, wondering at the sudden antagonism that rose within her.
Because he, like so many men, could afford not to care about the reams of women and children left to support themselves in a friendless world?
“The Benevolence Hospital,” she said, pointing to the building behind her, “specializes in assisting women and children in distressed circumstances. Unless I am in error, any woman you make your acquaintance would do well to know about this place. They would take in even a duke’s daughter if she asked. ”
His face turned to granite as he opened the coach door. “If you will allow me to see you home, Miss Wardley-Hines, I should like to take you into my confidence about something.”
Ask her, she assumed, how to make arrangements for said duke’s daughter.
Henrietta’s heart sank as she realized she could not leave him here. Seeing she had brought him to Knightsbridge, it would be rude not to offer him transport. At least she was well accompanied. James and the coachman were there with their twitching ears, the two footmen still behind.
Still, the open hood of the landau would expose them to every curious onlooker. They would be seen and remarked upon, even if his intentions toward her were not untoward.
She had oft been warned her meddling would lead her into trouble, but curiosity was her fatal flaw. Henrietta very much wanted to know what would happen to Lady Celeste.
And, the more dangerous confession—she did not wish to be free of Lord Daring. Not just yet.
Though she was perfectly capable of hauling herself into her father’s carriage, she gave him her hand as she ascended the steps.
His fingers clasped hers, strong and warm.
Then his lithe form dropped into the seat beside her, his thigh brushing hers, and a slow flush crawled through Henrietta’s belly.
What a flat-out bouncer she was telling herself, thinking she was impervious. She was far from immune to him.
Lord Daring did not ruin young women against their will. They came to him willingly, in droves.
And no doubt enjoyed their debauching whole-heartedly. Every single time.