Page 6 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

It was barely better in the hackney, once she found one. She was so wet from the walk that she shivered the entire way, feeling her damp skirts clinging to her legs.

Self-consciously she tried to smooth down her hair, telling herself it wasn’t about appearance, but also aware that if she looked too bedraggled she would be thrown out before she had a chance to make her point to the man with whom she hoped to gain an appointment.

Jane watched the streets of London pass by, feeling a heaviness in her stomach as they crossed the river. Even country girls like her knew Southwark was not a place for gently bred young ladies. She might not be wealthy, but she had been raised in a certain way.

The carriage slowed and Jane peered out, suddenly unsure now she was so close to her destination.

‘I can’t take you no further, miss,’ the driver said, jumping down. ‘Streets are too narrow.’

A heaviness settled in her stomach and part of her wanted to stay in the relative warmth of the coach and tell the coachman to take her back home. With a glance down at the package she held close to her chest, she rallied. This was the whole reason she was here in London, the whole reason she had endured months of balls, dinner parties and trips to the modiste.

‘Thank you,’ she said as she stepped down, handing the fare to the driver. ‘Can you direct me where to go on foot from here?’

‘Down that street there, take the second left and you’ll come into a courtyard. The address you want is somewhere there.’

‘Thank you.’

Jane wished it was a little later in the morning. Although the sun had risen, the streets were still dark and a thin fog curled around her ankles. For a moment she didn’t move, her eyes darting left and right, taking in the drunken man sprawled in a doorway and the two young children working up the courage to poke him with a stick. In the distance a group of women bustled through the streets, calling to each other, already well into their day, but here it was quiet.

The sound of the rolling of the carriage wheels beside her made Jane start and she had to move away quickly to avoid being splattered with mud and whatever other filth ran through the streets.

‘Come on, Jane,’ she muttered to herself, raising her chin and straightening her back. This had been her dream for so long. She wasn’t about to give up now.

Blinking as he stepped into the bright sunlight from the gloomy interior of the tavern, Tom grimaced. Southwark wasn’t his favourite place to visit at any time of day, but in the dim morning light one saw it for what it really was without the forgiving shield of darkness. The houses were built too close together, overflowing with families too large for the rooms they lived in. Worse still were the people who no longer had a roof over their heads, their eyes filled with despair when they managed to look up.

‘Little slice of heaven my lord?’ a woman called half-heartedly, as if she knew already her offer would be declined.

When he’d left his house a couple of hours earlier, he hadn’t planned to traipse so far, but his feet had moved of their own accord and he’d found himself crossing the river into the less salubrious part of town.

‘Remember that moment of pure dread just before the cavalry charge?’ Western said as he followed Tom out of the tavern. The man was huge in stature, a giant of a man who took pride in having the deadliest punch in London.

‘I remember,’ Tom said quietly.

‘If you could survive that, you can survive this.’

Without another word, Western gave him an almighty slap on the back, enough to have made Tom stumble if he hadn’t braced himself, and then turned and went back inside the tavern.

Western might look as though he would be at home running a gang in the slums of St Giles, but his solid reliability and staunch friendship made Tom feel more grounded. He’d walked into the tavern a mess, his thoughts racing, jumping, not able to settle on what must be done about the surprise arrival of his nephew, the boy he was now charged with looking after. Western had succinctly told Tom to focus on the practical and everything else would fall into place in time.

‘The practical,’ Tom murmured to himself. If only he knew something, anything, about children.

He looked around, taking in the bustle of the street, wondering if he would be able to find a carriage for hire to take him back home, where he could start making his plans.

At first his eyes skimmed over the well-dressed young woman walking hesitantly down the street, but after a moment he registered how out of place she looked, and his gaze darted back to her.

Her dress was covered with a dark cloak, the hood pulled up over her hair. There was nothing ostentatious about her clothes, but there was a quality about the fabric that one did not normally see in Southwark. For an instant the young woman turned her head and Tom caught a glimpse of her face. It looked familiar, although she had turned away so quickly he couldn’t quite place her.

It was none of his business what this young woman was doing in this part of the city, but his protective instinct had been sparked, and he glanced around, seeing that he wasn’t the only one who had taken note of the woman’s fine clothing.

Making a decision, he started to cross the street, meaning to intercept the young woman and ensure she did not need any help, but before he could approach she moved way, walking briskly into a dark alley.

Cursing, Tom followed her, expecting to see her ambushed at any moment. She hurried along, looking up at the buildings as she went as if she was unfamiliar with this part of town. Not once did she look behind her and Tom marvelled at her lack of awareness of the danger she could be in. The alleys were narrow and dark, the buildings leaning inward and blocking out much of the light. Filth ran beneath his shoes and the stench was awful. He couldn’t imagine what would induce a well-dressed lady to come to this part of town.

After a moment, she turned into a side alley, disappearing from view for a few seconds. Tom moved faster, darting round the corner. As he did, a fist came out of the shadows, connecting with his jaw and snapping his head to the side. It wasn’t a particularly hard punch, but it had taken him by surprise and it took him a moment to recover. He did manage to dodge the second punch, the follow-through with the other fist, catching the hand in his before it made contact with his face.

The skin under his fingers was soft and the hand delicate so it was no surprise when it was a woman he drew out of the darkness. The hood of her cloak had fallen back and, as the light hit her face, he drew in a sharp breath of surprise.

‘You?’