‘I’m coming, Your Grace!’
A familiar face shot past them, holding a large piece of wood aloft in his meaty hands. It was Terence, his burliest footman, and at that moment he did look utterly terrifying. The ruffians’ eyes widened in alarm before they hastily turned and ran in the opposite direction, disappearing down another alleyway and out of sight.
Once he was certain the threat had gone, the footman rushed back to them, breathing heavily. ‘I am so sorry, Your Grace!’ Terence took in the scene, including Bennett’s bloody nose, and the colour drained out of his face. ‘Mr Lovett assigned me to follow Miss Mansfield, but I lost her in the crowd a few streets back. This is all my fault.’
‘You are quite mistaken, Terence. There is onlyoneperson who I hold accountable for this sorry episode, and I can assure you that it is most definitely not you.’
Bennett grabbed Miss Mansfield by the elbow and unceremoniously dragged her out of the alleyway into the street. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled and demand that she explain what she was about, but such behaviour in public—even in the slums—would be unseemly. As soon as they were safely back home, he was going to tear her off a strip. And, hopefully, by then he would have wrested control of his boiling temper.
Chapter Thirteen
When selecting a bride, choose a biddable woman who defers to your superior opinion in all matters of importance...
The silence in the hastily procured hackney was deafening. Judging from his stony expression, tight jaw and white knuckles, the Duke was furious. Amelia supposed he had every right to be. His perfect nose was bleeding profusely and there was an angry red swelling just under his cheekbone that would probably turn into a nasty bruise before the day was out. His once pristine shirt was completely ruined and she doubted that there was much hope for his expensively tailored coat either.
But he had surprised her. Not only had he stood up to the gang without any sign of fear, he had held his own admirably and proved himself not to be the soft, pampered aristocrat that she had previously thought him. Although it was also plainly evident he had no idea how to deal with the bloody nose.
‘Tilt your head backwards,’ she offered helpfully as he swiped at it ineffectually with his ruined handkerchief, ‘and pinch the bridge like so.’ Amelia demonstrated the technique on her own face. His serious silver-blue eyes briefly locked on hers and the disgust in them was obvious, but he did as she suggested. Badly.
‘Not like that. You need to try to stop the bleeding.’ She moved over to the opposite bench to sit next to him and applied the necessary pressure. He stared stonily at the ceiling, clearly determined not to speak to her.
‘Thank you for saving me.’ It felt like such a lame expression of gratitude in view of the pasting he had just received on her behalf. ‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’
‘Surely a more pertinent question is what the hell were you doing in that awful place to begin with? Alone. Again.’ The blue eyes were icy-cold and his tone was not much better. Under the circumstances there appeared to be little point in attempting to lie. If Terence had been following her since her arrival, Lovett would have no qualms about appraising his master of all of her comings and goings, and there had been quite a few.
‘I was going to a public meeting.’ Somehow she felt he might find this more palatable than telling him about her regular attendance at the soup kitchen.
‘Do not expect me to believe that rubbish. What sort of a public meeting takes place in that hotbed of criminality? The Rookery is notorious. Every thief, pickpocket and ne’er-do-well in London lives there!’
How typical that he would jump to such a conclusion. ‘The Rookery forms only a small part of Seven Dials. Good people live there too. Poverty does not make them all criminals. Saying such a thing is like blaming all of the French for the behaviour of Napoleon. Most of the residents have no choice but to live there. They cannot afford anything better.’
‘If you are so well informed about the capital’s vilest slum, Miss Mansfield, then why did you not have the good sense to stay out of that deserted alleyway? Or do you think that those ruffians were simply the unfortunate victims ofpovertyand did not actuallymeanto threaten you?’ He batted her hand away from his nose and glared at her, his breathing far too laboured for a man in full control of his anger. ‘Have you any idea how much danger you just put yourself in? You were about to be sold into a life of prostitution!’
Now he was simply being dramatic. She would have thought of something to get herself out of the predicament, just as she always had in the past. ‘Usually I am more careful—but today I was a little distracted.’ Amelia had been thinking about him, not that she would openly admit that, and more specifically she had been pondering her extreme reaction to his kiss.
‘Usually?’His face was a mask of molten fury. ‘You make a habit of coming here?’
‘I admit that I made a grave mistake today but, in my defence, Seven Dials in an area I know well and I have never encountered such a problem before.’ That part was a lie. There had been numerous occasions when she had been in exactly that sort of danger, and worse, but not for a couple of years. It just proved that she had been foolish to become so complacent about her surroundings and she would not be so lax going forward.
‘How, pray tell, do you come to know Seven Dials well?’ He sounded horrified.
For the briefest of moments she actually considered telling him. It would be interesting to see how he absorbed that sorry tale. ‘You already know that I take an interest in the plight of the poor, but to do that effectively it is imperative that I go where they are living in order to help. When I can, I help out at a soup kitchen that is run by the church. They feed some of the most unfortunate souls one hot meal a day. Often it is the only food those people get. Sometimes I attend meetings and lectures run by sympathetic organisations that continue to lobby Parliament for change. That is where I was going today.’
He regarded her with incredulity. ‘You are talking aboutRadicals, Miss Mansfield! Organised groups of agitators, hell-bent on starting a revolution.’
‘In my opinion, they are unfairly labelled as Radicals. They are good people whose only crime is to seek reasonable political reform.’
‘Reasonablepolitical reform occurs in Parliament, not in shady taverns and back rooms. If you wish to make your opinions known, you would be better advised to write a stern letter to your Member of Parliament so that he can raise your concerns in the House properly.’
Amelia was momentarily astounded at his ignorance. ‘What utter nonsense! Do you seriously believe any one of those idiots would listen to a letter from a woman? Those fools do not listen to anybody who is not in a position to vote for them. In case you have failed to notice, that means that the majority of the population are of no consequence to them. They do not care about the poor. Nobody in Parliament does.’
This raised his ire further and when he answered it was practically a growl. ‘There is no justification for consorting withRadicals!’
‘What you, in your fine clothes and gilded life, might dismiss as Radical others see as simply good people demanding basic fairness. What is wrong with asking for reasonable wages for an honest day’s labour? Then the poor could at least feed themselves and pay for a roof over their heads. The tragic souls in the soup kitchen all work as hard as they can—yet their masters pay them such a pittance that they are forced to live on charity.’
‘Mygildedlife!’ He had a habit of only hearing the few words that were particular to him, a trait common to his ilk.
‘Yes, yourgildedlife. What do you know about being poor? Have you ever been truly hungry? Or not had a comfortable bed for the night or the money to buy what you need? You claim to want to do what is right for all of this nation’s loyal subjects, yet you have no concept of how difficult life is for the poor.’
