Chapter 2 #2
“Why are you out here?” a voice rose from the darkness behind him, causing him to start and twist around.
What in…
There stood a small girl, her wild brown hair barely restrained by a set of uneven braids.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, furrowing his brow in consternation.
“I thought balls were meant to be fun,” she said, tilting her head, her eyes bright and curious.
“For some,” Laurence grunted.
The child did not move a muscle, and her gaze did not waver. She looked at him as though he were just another man, not a beast or a monster.
Now that was curious.
“For some? Not you, then,” she said. “You’re not very fun, are you?”
“Excuse me?” His eyebrow arched.
“You look grumpy,” she said, giggling. “Only boring grown-ups look grumpy.”
He studied her, noting the utter lack of malice. Too young to know how sharp her words were.
“That’s because grown-ups have pressing responsibilities a child couldn’t possibly fathom,” he huffed.
“Even at balls?”
“Even at balls.”
The girl nodded thoughtfully, then her eyes lit up as they caught something behind the ballroom windows.
“I have to go!” she gasped. “Hope you have fun one day, Mr. Grump!”
“Wait—” he started, but she was already darting toward the doors.
Laurence watched her go for a long moment before striding after her.
“So, you see,” Edith said to the ladies who stood with her. “That’s why we need donations right now.”
Silence.
She swallowed hard, trying to keep her expression cheery despite their obvious lack of interest.
“I… see.” A lithe, handsome lady with chestnut-brown hair smirked lightly and glanced at her companion from behind her fluttering fan. The woman beside her nodded with little enthusiasm as she smoothed down her emerald-green gown.
A third lady in a cobalt blue dress nodded, shuffled her feet, and looked around the ballroom. “Your work is… admirable.”
“I’m just not certain that now is the right time for my estate to donate to such a cause,” the first lady added while avoiding eye contact.
Behind their small group, Edith could hear the other guests’ growing whispers.
“Is that the woman who adopted the workhouse girl?”
“Such a shame.”
“Her late husband would be furious.”
“I wonder what his sons think.”
“If that were my stepmother, I would never speak to her again.”
Edith clutched her skirts to steady herself against their animosity and forced herself not to react. She was used to whispers following her, but the possibility that they would now affect her charity made her anxious.
“Excuse me, are you Lady Edith Nealton?” another lady inquired as she approached the group, her soft pink gown swirling around her as she walked. She was smiling softly, the image of a genteel lady, and her blonde hair was pinned up into a beautiful array of curls.
“Yes, I am here to request donations to my charity,” Edith replied.
“I see. I must say, it must be difficult to raise funds for both a new child and your charity,” the lady remarked with a teasing grin.
“That is not—”
“Oh, children can be so expensive, especially when they are young.”
“Perhaps one with better judgment would not have taken on such a burden when their enterprise is struggling,” the first lady commented, chuckling derisively.
“I couldn’t ignore her suffering,” Edith stated firmly.
“Oh my, of course not,” the first lady acknowledged. “But one must learn to prioritize their expenses.”
“Especially young widows,” the second lady piped up.
Edith felt her cheeks burn with indignation. “My finances are none of your concern.”
“Oh, of course not, but we worry for your welfare and that of the child,” the first lady said.
Edith recoiled at the thin, brittle veneer of sympathy in her tone that barely concealed the hard edge of mockery.
“Would the child not have been happier to stay where her food was guaranteed?”
“No!” a little voice shouted.
Edith felt her stomach drop.
“Lady Nealton makes me much happier!” Tilly sprinted in and wrapped her little arms around Edith’s leg. “You’re all being very mean! You shouldn’t talk to people like that!”
“Tilly, why are you here?”
“I didn’t want to stay with the maids,” Tilly admitted. “I snuck into the carriage.”
“Oh my, how impulsive. One might wonder where she’s picking up such habits,” one lady sneered.
“At least Lady Nealton does things to help people rather than spending her time being rude!”
Gasps rippled through the ballroom. Edith froze, silently begging the floor to open beneath her.
“What on earth is a child doing here, Lady Nealton?” a gentleman’s irate voice rang out across the ballroom.
The voice belonged to the host, Lord Wexton.
“Lord Wexton, I can explain—” Edith started.
“I showed you mercy by allowing you to speak to my guests about your charity. I expected you to show better judgment than you have in recent days. I dare say I am rather ashamed to have been proven wrong,” Lord Wexton chided. “It does not bode well for the girl’s upbringing.”
“I did not intentionally bring her, and her upbringing is not your concern,” Edith replied. “And I have not shown poor judgment in my time here; I have simply spoken about my charity. Calling it a mercy to allow me to do what others are doing here is an insult.”
Her heart sank as she surveyed the crowd. The expressions of the guests surrounding her were pure anger and derision. What was worse, and cut her to the core, was their complete indifference toward her and Tilly.
We mean nothing to them. Nothing at all.
She glanced down at Tilly, whose big brown eyes shimmered with tears.
Suddenly, a man’s irritated voice cut through the tense silence. “What nonsense is taking place here?”
Edith turned at the sound of his voice.
A tall man with slightly tousled, dark brown hair and striking blue eyes stepped forward.
His piercing gaze took in everything at once, scanning the group and registering its full impact.
His shoulders were broad and powerful, the muscles beneath his coat flexing as he moved with quiet control.
Rough fingers raked through his beard, revealing hands that were both strong and capable.
But it was his face that held her gaze: deep, jagged scars carved across his features, remnants of long-past violence. They lent him a dangerous edge, yet he carried himself with a quiet strength and unshakeable resilience.
This is a man who has endured much and survived.
Edith was vaguely reminded of a maid she had once seen burn her hand, but there was nothing fragile about him. Her stomach fluttered, and she could feel a pink blush forming on her cheeks.
“D-Disappointed, Your Grace?” Lord Wexton stuttered.
So, he is a duke.
But who was he? She couldn’t remember meeting him before.
“Yes, I had been under the impression that this was a charity ball,” the Duke continued.
“It is,” Lord Wexton replied.
The Duke nodded slowly. “Strange. This woman has come, advocating for her charity, and yet she has received no donations at all,” he said, his cold gaze sweeping over the crowd once more.
“Y-Your Grace, we’re just questioning her judgment based on some recent… choices,” Lord Wexton stammered, while sneering in Tilly’s direction.
“I would have thought this would have been to her benefit,” the Duke said, folding his arms.
“Her… benefit?” Lord Wexton echoed, baffled.
“Indeed. The lady’s charity helps the poor, does it not? She has proven she is willing to do more than just raise funds. Unlike some here, she is not a hypocrite. Her morals and actions appear to align,” the Duke replied.
Lord Wexton’s mouth opened and then closed. The guests who had gathered around them quickly stepped away.
“I… I apologize, Your Grace. I will see to it that you are not so disappointed again,” Lord Wexton stuttered, before walking away.
It hadn’t been lost on Edith that he had apologized to the Duke and not to her.
She glanced at the Duke, who now stood beside her, and began to connect him to snippets of gossip she’d heard.
There was one scarred duke she’d never seen at events before. The Duke of Alderbourne.
“Maybe it’s best we go home, Tilly,” she said softly.
Tilly glanced around at the dispersing guests, then nodded.
“Thank you for defending us, Your Grace,” Edith whispered, before leading Tilly out of the ballroom.
The carriage came to a halt before the front door of their townhouse. With a grateful sigh, Edith disembarked and helped Tilly out of the carriage, her shoulders sagging with relief when the door opened and they stepped into their home.
“I think we both need some warm milk after that,” Edith suggested softly.
“Lady Nealton,” Tilly murmured as Edith led her to the parlor, “those people were so rude. Was it because of me?”
Edith hesitated, then shook her head. “Of course not, Tilly. They were rude because that was their choice. It was not anything you caused.”
“If you say so,” Tilly mumbled, her face downcast.
A discreet throat-clearing at the parlor door drew their attention.
The butler stood in the doorway, his expression grave. “My Lady, the Duke of Alderbourne wishes to speak to you.”
“He’s here?” Edith asked.
The butler nodded. “He arrived only a moment after you, my lady.”
“Is he the man who defended us?” Tilly asked.
“Why don’t you go to bed, Tilly? You’ve had a long night. I’ll send one of the maids up with your milk,” Edith said gently.
Tilly frowned, but then nodded and stepped toward the stairs.
Edith watched her climb the stairs, then braced herself for the Duke’s appearance. After a few moments, the butler led him into the parlor. As soon as their eyes met, she felt her pulse quicken.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said carefully.
Laurence nodded and walked toward her. “Good evening, indeed,” he returned softly.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. He was watching her, appraising her. Not like a handler judging a show horse, but like a predator assessing its prey, deciding whether the chase was worth it.
Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he turned away and settled into a nearby chair.
Edith drew a shaky breath, trying to compose herself. His proximity and his piercing gaze had rattled her, and her cheeks felt unnaturally warm.
“Your Grace, if I may inquire, why are you here?” Edith asked as she seated herself across from him.
“How old is Tilly?”
Edith frowned. “Why do you care to know?”
“I am simply interested in the girl’s welfare.”
Edith bristled slightly. “Her welfare is my responsibility, and it is one I take seriously, Your Grace.”
The Duke frowned, rose from his seat, and walked over to her. He leaned in and locked eyes with her.
The retort she had intended to deliver died in her throat. No one had ever looked at her like that, so intent and unrelenting. His gaze could consume her, and perhaps she would let it.
“I can see you are protective of your young ward,” he murmured. “I am not here to cause either of you problems. In fact, I am here to offer my assistance.”
“Assistance?” Her breath hitched.
He nodded. “Indeed. Invaluable assistance, if I may be so bold.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Answer my questions, and then I will tell you more,” he said, straightening to his full height.
Edith fought the urge to reach for him, unwilling to let him walk away. She already craved his gaze and the warmth it stirred in her chest.
“So, let me ask again,” he said. “How old is Tilly?”
Edith hesitated and sighed. “Five.”
“Is she being educated?”
“Of course, I have hired a governess for her.”
“And how is she adjusting to living with you?”
“As well as one could expect her to,” Edith replied.
It didn’t feel like he was just asking about Tilly. Her instincts told her there was something else behind his questions, something more driven and purposeful.
“And is she eating—”
“With respect, Your Grace. While I appreciate your earlier defense tonight and your offer of help, I do not appreciate being interrogated in my own home,” Edith cut him off.
The Duke blinked in surprise. “And how has the adoption affected your charity’s finances?” he continued, nonetheless.
Frustrated, Edith’s fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt. “Your Grace, I am more than capable of handling my finances alone. I do not need you questioning me.”
His gaze sharpened, as if probing her for closely held secrets. She swallowed hard, a flutter rising in her chest.
“Society won’t let you do it alone,” he said, leaning forward. “I can solve this problem. For you, for the girl, and for myself.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
For a breathless moment, candlelight flickered in his eyes, and the flutter in her chest grew.
“Marry me, Lady Nealton.”