eight
ROYSTON WATCHED ANGELINE walk into the ballroom. Her small bustle swayed with each step, enhancing her lovely figure.
Of course, she was beautiful. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her midnight eyes never failed to hold him captive, not only because they were glossy like obsidian, but also because they kept secrets, like whatever had happened with Mr. North.
She hadn’t wanted to tell him anything about that man, and he hadn’t pressed her further. But no matter. When she was ready to talk, he’d listen.
He snatched a glass of champagne from the passing tray of a footman, almost missing the days when he was a servant himself. Decent salary, no need to mingle with the crowd, and fewer responsibilities. Because of his past, he did his level best to ignore the dancing couples. They didn’t exactly disturb him but didn’t please him either. As long as he didn’t focus on the dance, he could control the rising darkness.
Lord and Lady Redvers were talking on the other side of the ballroom, and he headed towards them. The second reason he’d come to the ball was to talk to the viscount. Now that thedisastrous meeting with Havisham was over, he could focus on what really mattered to him.
“Lord Redvers, Lady Redvers.” He offered his best bow. He was about to ask Redvers to have a word with him when the lady cut him off.
“Lord Wharton, finally we have a moment. I shall introduce you to my daughter Georgiana. She’s eager to…” Lady Redvers gazed around, waving her fan. “She’s here… somewhere. Where’s that young lady? She was dancing with Mr. Wright a moment ago then disappeared.”
“Mr. Wright?” Royston asked. “The famous pianist at the Opera House?”
Lady Redvers beamed. “The very same, Wharton. He’s such a well-mannered man. I shall introduce you to him as well… as soon as I find him.” She searched the room again. “People are vanishing right and left. Where is Mr. Wright?”
The mysterious pianist lover must be Mr. Wright. And the girl, Redvers’s daughter.
“Since Miss Taylor is temporarily unavailable, I was wondering if I could have a word with you, my lord.”
Lord Redvers didn’t show the same enthusiasm as his wife, but he said, “By all means, Wharton.”
“Thank you. My lady.” Royston left with Redvers.
“But…” Lady Redvers kept searching the ballroom.
Royston followed the viscount to an adjoining room where a banquet with refreshments took up half of the space. The music wasn’t as loud as in the ballroom, but he’d hoped for a more private place.
“I think I know what you wish to talk about,” Lord Redvers said in a grave tone. “News about Parliament’s decision on your proposed petition.”
Good, so Royston wouldn’t waste time. “Precisely, my lord.”
The viscount seemed to age ten years in a moment. “Wharton, the empire has many challenges to deal with right now. Providing public funds for a group of fallen women isn’t a priority.”
“Many young women need only a chance to improve their lives and to abandon the path of their trade.”
Bloody hell. It was infuriating that he couldn’t have a seat in the House of Lords since he hadn’t inherited his title. If he were among those stuffy peers, he would fight tooth and nail to grant financial help to the girls who wanted to leave a brothel. Girls like his mother.
While everyone was eager to invite him to a ball, none of them wanted to help him when it came to his cause.
The viscount straightened, which didn’t give him an impressive change in height. Royston towered over him.
“Wharton, I’m the first to admit your bravery during the fire was unprecedented. You saved our queen’s grandson. The empire will always be grateful, and your ability for making money is enviable. But politics is a different beast that requires a different set of skills. I’m telling you this in your interest.” Lord Redvers sounded forlorn. “Unfortunately, no one will listen to you. The members of the House of Lords don’t believe you know anything about governing the country.”
Royston focused on his glass not to let his frustration be shown. “I don’t care about being considered one of them, my lord. What I care about are those poor, young, abused women without a home or family. The government should help them leave the trade, find legitimate employment and save their lives.”
“I understand,” Lord Redvers said. “But even though I’m on your side, I’m afraid that charity for the sake of charity is not going to influence the House. If we start giving money to everyone, no one will want to work.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You will have trouble convincing others of that,” Lord Redvers said. “It’s our duty to educate the commoners and guide them towards higher moral standards. Ours is a difficult job involving many hard decisions. But providing homes for them? No one will approve the funds.”
Royston’s chest tightened. The disinterest in the so-called fallen women was hard to fight. But while the lords debated what was morally appropriate and what wasn’t, those women died from diseases, starvation, or even murder. Like his mother.
“Some battles can’t be won.” Lord Redvers gave a paternal pat on Royston’s arm.
