The corners of Sir Nigel’s mouth curved down for a moment as if he were annoyed by the question. “I don’t have any secrets, I’m afraid. I was simply honest and told her she captured my heart.”
The count nodded. “Honesty, then. Good choice. Honesty is the best virtue. I don’t trust men who lie and…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “How do you say it? Are unfaithful. Rakes. If a man can’t take a vow seriously or commit to respecting his wife, how can I trust him with my business and friendship?”
Violante sipped her tea while Keith found his teaspoon suddenly charming. If the count knew of their ruse, he would kick them out, and it would be because of her. The idea of deceiving the count had been hers.
She changed the subject. “I find compassion to be a rather charming trait in a man. Don’t you agree, my lady?”
Lady Diana’s smile took a moment to develop. “Absolutely. What are we without compassion?”
“You should stop in London on your way to Italy,” Violante said. “We’d be delighted to show you Keith’s gymnasium.” She put her hand over his, the gesture no longer awkward but very much thrilling. “He takes such good care of those young men. How many of them have found employment, darling?”
Keith flashed a knowing grin. “Since I started the project, more than a dozen. The idea is to take them off the streets and keep them busy while they learn a trade. That’s what I want to establish in St. Giles.”
Violante tilted her head towards the count, searching for his reaction. He frowned as if displeased. Keith had been right when he’d said the count didn’t seem enthusiastic about helping children.
“Is something the matter, my lord? Don’t you approve of the charity project?” she asked.
Sir Nigel rolled his eyes but didn’t say a word.
“It has its merits,” the count said. “My concern regards the success and consequences of such an enterprise.”
“What do you mean?” Keith asked, stiffening.
Lady Diana pressed her lips in a flat line. “There was an incident,” she said when the count didn’t speak. “In Rome. A generous, good-intentioned soul, as you are, Lord Ashford, started a similar enterprise to yours, gathering poor young men from the most dreadful areas, but one of them revolted against their benefactor and killed him.”
“Goodness,” Violante said.
Keith clenched his hands around the cup. “An isolated incident. Every community contains a bad apple. It’s important to understand the whole story before judging.”
“I think you miss the point.” Sir Nigel wiped his mouth with the napkin. “These people you’re so eager to help are brutes by nature, no better than wild beasts. You want to domesticate them, but it’s a useless, dangerous exercise. They can’t change. They come from the gutter. They’ll always be savages. You can’t teach them to be civil.”
The change in Keith happened in a second. One moment, he was hunched. The next, he straightened, the lines around his mouth tightening. “You forget I come from the gutter, too.”
Sir Nigel lifted his cup. “Exactly.”
“Sir Nigel.” Violante let her indignation into her voice.
“I’ve met more humane and honourable people among the most unfortunate ones than among the aristocrats and rich,” Keith said.
Sir Nigel opened his mouth, but Keith cut him off.
“You have no right to judge those young men who seek nothing but respect and compassion.” He became more passionate. “They only ask for the chance to find a decent job and feed their families.”
“Keith.” Violante touched his arm, feeling the tense muscles underneath. She was no expert in manners, but she seriously doubted that raising his voice while having tea with a count, a countess, and a baronet was appropriate.
“People can change if given the chance, guidance, and opportunity to do so. Men aren’t born evil,” Keith continued. “You can’t blame a hungry thief for stealing food.”
“Why is he hungry in the first place?” Sir Nigel’s tone sounded frosty. “Perhaps because he didn’t want to work hard to earn money. Perhaps because stealing and murdering arequicker choices. Many of thesepoor soulsyou want so eagerly to help are only lazy cowards who find an easy living in crime and have no regrets or morals. Your nice suit doesn’t make you a civilised gentleman. You are andalwayswill be a man from the gutter. A savage. A beast.”
Keith stood up so quickly that his chair scraped backwards. The table was shaken in the process, causing the cups to rattle. His chest heaved, and the harsh lines on his face gave him the expression of a…well, a wild man. Sir Nigel instead stared at Keith with a challenging expression as if daring him to go on.
“Well?” Sir Nigel asked.
“I’m not a savage,” Keith hissed.
“Oh, really? That’s all you have to say? Shock me, Ashford, say something clever.” Sir Nigel rose as well. “When did you learn to read? Three years ago?”
“That’s none of your bloody?—”
