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Oh! “We haven’t had much opportunity to speak on the things you are involved in now.” Embarrassment burned through her that he was one of the dearest persons in her life, and she had no notion of his efforts. How could they be of the same society but be such worlds apart?
“You’ve been busy.”
She could hardly find a suitable response. She had been busy planning the house party of the season and attending balls and musicales with her mother. Adel had informed Evie upon a few occasions of the schools and
hospitals they were building for those less fortunate. And what had she done? Offered some of her pin money without any true caring to understand. Oh God.
“Will you tell me all of it?” Her words were the merest of whispers.
His eyes roamed slowly down the length of her, cynicism crossing his mien. “Do you truly desire to know?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been in partnership with the Duke of Wolverton, the Earl of Blade, and a few other good men to help those who dwell in the slums of London. We are building affordable homes, schools, and hospitals.”
“Here, in the city?”
“A few here. Most are located near the edge of town, toward the countryside where the air is fresher, but where our men and women can still reach their employment in the center of town. Children are being rescued from baby farms, badly run orphanages, and from the slums of St. Giles. Stronger call for reforms are being made, but the lords are hard-hearted to the plight of England’s war casualties.”
He waved his arm for her to precede him from the parlor. She asked no questions as he left word with Mrs. Cranston that he would visit tomorrow and they departed the house. He steered them in the direction of his parked carriage.
She forced them to a halt. “Could we walk?”
He frowned, his golden eyes searching her face intently.
“I would hate to be enclosed in the carriage just now.”
“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, tugging her hand and looping it through his.
She glanced down at the intimate fashion in which he allowed her to hold onto him. “I suppose no one here cares about the strict rules of propriety that govern our world.”
“They do not.”
They moved away from the house, toward a busy street, strolling for the riverbank. The air was dank and cold, yet she felt a warmth unfurling through her soul. A child ran up to them and held out two apples.
“For you, guv’ner,” he said.
Richard took them, and as if by magic he flicked a coin in the air and the lad caught it with deft stealth. Pleasure settled on the boy’s face when he saw it was a sovereign. Evie was stunned at his generosity, and even more humbled as this repeated itself at least six more times before they reached the stone benches by a small park facing the river. They had procured a basket, questionable meat pies, apples, cinnamon buns, and oranges. The air was unpleasant, but she wouldn’t trade it for an opulent ballroom or a warm, well-decorated parlor. “The children…you are exceedingly kind to them.”
“Someone has to be. Poverty and slums dominate the eastern side of London.”
“Is it more terrible in other areas?”
His lips twitched. “There are badly built tenements. The infrastructure of the buildings is so terrible that they frequently collapse, with entire families being crushed in their beds. Yet increasingly families flock to the city desperately searching for jobs to fill the hungry bellies of their children, despite the poor disposal of waste, which has seen cholera and other diseases laying waste to dozens. Since the war, Evie…” A pained grimace crossed his face. “Since the war, so many children have been left orphans, women widowed, so many soldiers struggling to simply eat because they are unable to find employment. These are some of the grim realities of those who live in London stews. But we…our kind, live with obscene wealth in the opulence and privilege of polite society, completely unaffected by the plight of the poor,” he said, his mouth flattening with unhidden contempt.
Her throat tightened. “Do…you think most of our society are aware such hopelessness exists?” She couldn’t credit it that her mother and her father, whom she loved and respected so dearly, would be aware of the poverty that children slept and died in, and do naught.
“For those who are not aware, they choose to turn a blind eye. I turned a blind eye for years,” he said with a touch of regret and bitterness. “If not for how I found my daughter…I might never have cared about more than my estates, visiting my club, racing, gambling, keeping mistresses, and the general rubbish the young men of the ton indulge in. My time abroad with the army made me see suffering, but I could justify it as being in a war-torn country. This is different and very, very wrong.”
She touched his arm lightly. “Surely you cannot believe so. You gave to charities—”
“I donated thousands, but I found no caring until I met my daughter. These people, Evie, they need more than donations to some charities who may or may not help them. They need people like us, the engines of society, to care and to fight for them. What you saw tonight is only the tip of the desperation and despair blanketing London.”
“I am glad you found your Emily,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever told you that.”
He tipped his head to the overcast sky. “When I located my daughter, she was being forced to pickpocket. And the men who had her tried to sell her to me.”
Evie flinched. “I beg your pardon?”
