“The devil I would,” Lucien replied, the child’s wails raking his nerves.
The man thrust the watch at Lucien. “You’re not needed here. You’re not wanted here. Take this and go back to where you came from.”
Gritting his teeth, Lucien took the timepiece, returning it to his waistcoat pocket.
Grace extended her hand in a placating gesture. “Mr. O’Malley, I fear you misunderstand?—”
“Oh, I understand quite well. The famous Lord Everdene. In the broadsheets, aren’t ye? One more rich bastard tramplin’ workin’ folk under yer boot. But we’ll get what we want sooneror later. Give us voice in parliament or we’ll take it from your hands. It matters not a damn to me.”
O’Malley smoothed one half of his worn coat to the side and laid his hand on something that gleamed above the waist of his baggy trousers. Lucien’s gaze locked on the worn, battered butt of a pistol.
A threat or a warning? He thought of the news article, the branch of Chartists willing to resort to violence. Was O’Malley one of them?
Lucien felt the weight of his own pistol. Was O’Malley merely trying to survive in this hell hole? Or was he something more?
CHAPTER 29
Grace attempted to paste a polite smile on her face as Lady Alice Pinchbeck and her mother perched on the edge of the settee at Raven’s Court, sipping tea with almost avid expressions.
“You poor child!” Lady Pinchbeck commiserated, toying with the diamond-studded pendant she wore on a gold chain. “We came as soon as we heard about that dreadful business at the theater. I can only thank heavens dear Alice was stricken with a megrim and unable to attend.”
Alice’s teacup rattled as she replaced it in her saucer with a trembling hand. “The reports Mr. Freyne regaled us with were terrifying!”
In the confusion, Grace had all but forgotten Neville had been there, along with the French cyprian he’d flaunted before Lucien. Putting that from her mind, she gave a bland smile.
Lady Pinchbeck preened. “I vow dear Neville was very relieved you were not present, Alice. He has been most attentive to our dear girl of late. I believe happy news will be forthcoming.”
Grace thought of the cyprian that had been on Neville’s arm and heartily hoped Lady Pinchbeck was wrong.
Unfortunately, Alice flushed and pressed a hand to her cheek. “Mama! You mustn’t speak of it yet!”
“I’m only saying that your suitor was most relieved you were safe.”
“As am I,” Alice said. “If I had been caught in such a riot, I fear I would have taken to my bed for a month!”
Lady Pinchbeck selected another tea cake filled with apricot jam. “And I would have seen to it you did. You do have such delicate nerves.” She looked up at Grace. “Alice was so very concerned something had happened to you, Lady Everdene. She insisted she must see for herself how you fared.”
“As you can see, I am well.”
“I must disagree.” The older woman sampled a bite of her cake, wrinkled her nose and set the sweet upon her saucer. “I am quite sure once your dear father-in-law, the earl, learns what you endured during that horrendous riot he will see to it that the most stringent measures be taken against the perpetrators. Why, Lord Everdene himself must be wild with rage, considering the danger you were in. Any gentleman of proper feeling would be.”
Grace resented the flicker of triumph in Lady Pinchbeck’s eyes.
Pointless rage was the last thing Lucien would indulge in. As to ‘proper feeling’…Grace thought of Lucien hastening her to the coach, little Sibby Rose crushed against his chest. His gentleness once the child was asleep when he finally took Grace into their bedchamber tending to her own injuries. That night it seemed so much had changed.
Ever since, Lucien had not left her before first light. She warmed at the memory of nestling against his long, lean body once their lovemaking was through. Mornings she would wake to find his face on the pillow beside her, his hair tousled, his mouth tender, those ice-blue eyes peering at her with somethingakin to wonder. She felt that nearly painful connection as well, pleasure almost too perfect to be real. If only she were with him right now instead of enduring this interminable visit.
Lady Pinchbeck’s voice intruded. “Since you’ve no mother to attend you, poor lamb, I feel duty-bound to offer advice. Until his lordship takes necessary steps to make certain you—and every decent woman—is safe from riots on London’s streets, you must stay well clear of the unwashed masses you’ve tried to be patroness of. Yes,” she said before Grace could get a word in edgewise. “Lady Downe has told me you have been catering to the waifs atthat school. You must mind your nerves as my Alice does. A woman of childbearing years can easily slip into hysteria. A womb that is jiggled about can subject one to all sorts of travail.”
Grace might have laughed out loud if it weren’t for a sudden awareness stealing through her. She pressed a hand to her stomach. How long had it been since she’d…? She brushed the thought away before she could fully form it. And as for hysteria—she knew exactly what the term was used for. It was the perfect excuse to dismiss a woman’s point of view when she disagreed with a man. She thought of the countess’s gentle, haunted gaze.
“It is imperative that you surround yourself with proper society from now on and take care not to exert yourself,” Lady Pinchbeck insisted.
Taking to her bed in a fit of vapors was the last thing Grace’s mother would have advised her to do. Not when she could take action and do some good. She pictured her mother’s face in her mind, fiery resolve igniting inside her. “I believe I shall host an event at Raven’s Court three weeks from today. A charity event to benefit the schools for factory children.”
Alice gasped. Lady Pinchbeck’s cheeks puffed up, scarlet as she sputtered in indignation. “Well, I never! I have never wasted my good counsel on such an ungrateful girl.”
“Ah, that is how we came to cross purposes,” Grace said with a perfectly schooled smile.
