She let out a bitter laugh, taking the glass of water with a quick gesture. “What do you think happened? The police took everything, the house, the horses, even the sacks of barley grown in my father’s fields. They confiscated the land and the money in the bank. They even took my friends. All the people who had worked for my father left. I couldn’t blame them. There was nothing for them. Nothing for me. So I left too.”
He exhaled. “I’m sorry.”
She sipped the water. “Are you really?”
“I searched for you after the incident. The manor was empty. No one knew where you were. I was worried, but I couldn’t find you. Everyone had left, and you’d vanished.”
She stared at the glass. “People who live on the streets disappear quickly.”
Another long silence stretched between them.
He fought the urge to hold her hand. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need to. I don’t want you to leave. I’m glad I found you.”
She pressed her lips hard, and a lonely tear trickled down her cheek. But she didn’t say anything. He had no idea why she cried. Was it relief? Exhaustion? Or she hated him so much she couldn’t bear to stand close to him. Whatever the reason, he still wanted to help her. If she didn’t want to stay there, he would pay for a room for her. If she didn’t want his money, he would find another way to sustain her. He’d find her decent employment. Whatever was going to happen, she would never, ever starve again.
He handed her his handkerchief. She hesitated before accepting it.
“What happened to you?” he asked again in a gentler tone.
She put the glass down. “The people in the town hated me. With my father dead, their anger was directed at me. No one would offer me a job or a room to stay. Not that I had any money. I left Hampstead and moved several times, finding odd jobs. But whenever people realised who I was and my involuntary connection with the Fenians, they threw me out at best and tried to stone me to death at worst. Giving a false name didn’t help. Every newspaper in the country had published my father’s picture and mine. Sooner or later, I’d meet someone who recognised my face, and the persecution would begin.” She talked in a flat monotone as if what had happened didn’t touch her.
“Hell.” The sorrow flaring inside him was like a creature trying to claw its way out of his chest. If he’d known what she’d been through, he would have helped her.
She lifted her chin as if realising she’d said too much. “I had to fend for myself. I’m not doing a great job, as you can see.” The moment of fierce confidence disappeared, and she hung her head. Her shoulders were hunched under the burden of her story.
He couldn’t resist and took her hand, but she snatched it away like a scared animal. Her eyes flared wide in outrage.
Right. He wouldn’t touch her again. “As I said, you can stay here.”
She cocked her head towards him. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I don’t regret having gone to the police that night, but,” he hurried to add when she opened her mouth, “my actions brought you where you are now. I take full responsibility for that.”
Her expression became guarded. “I’m not your responsibility.”
“I contacted the police. What happened to you after that was caused by my actions. Yes, I feel as if you’re my responsibility. I’m in a position to help you. Let me.” He had the chance to make amends and to repay her generosity when she’d offered him a home.
She folded the handkerchief on her lap. “What happened to you? It seems that we’ve exchanged our lives.” Obviously, she avoided giving him an answer, and he didn’t want to pressure her.
“After I left the police station, I met Sir Howard. He apologised for the way he treated me and thanked me for saving his life. From that moment on, he took good care of me. The scare about the foiled attack changed him, touched him deeply. He wasn’t the same man I knew.”
“Is he dead?” she asked.
He nodded, remembering the good moments he’d shared with him. Sir Howard hadn’t been as charismatic as Mr. Sharpe, and to be honest, Keith’s affection for Mr. Sharpe had been deeper than what he’d felt for Sir Howard. But the affection had been there.
“He died last year. I grew fond of him, something I wouldn’t believe could be possible. But he truly changed. He provided me with an education and financial support. I travelled with him around the world. I built my own company, and I even hold a title.”
Her lips parted. “A title?”
“Viscount.” It sounded odd to his own ears.
“How did you get a title?” Her voice was stronger. Good. “The queen bestows titles only to those who commit a noble gesture.”
Well, not exactly noble. It’d been a matter of being in the right place at the right time. “I was with Sir Howard and someof his peers in Hyde Park when an anarchist tried to stab the queen.”
She let out a muffled sound, staring at him. “You’re the mysterious man who saved the queen’s life. I read it in the newspapers.” The hint of admiration in her voice made him prouder than he should feel.
He scrubbed the back of his neck. “I actually didn’t know she was the queen at that time. She was incognito, taking a walk with her ladies-in-waiting. I didn’t do anything heroic. I saw a man running towards a lady, wielding a knife, and stopped him. But the queen was so grateful she granted me a title, and Sir Howard interceded for me as well. Without his help, I’d probably be only a baronet.”
