Page 104 of Make Mine a Marquess

“Oh, my dear Phoebe.” Beatrice hugged her. “The Marquess of Landon is not a rogue.”

Phoebe sniffled. “Perhaps not, but he is a man. My experiences tell me they are mostly selfish.”

Beatrice hugged her tighter and nodded once. “I cannot disagree. I was just as fooled by Aram’s smooth talk.”

Phoebe pulled back to look at her friend. “We both deserve better, don’t we?”

…

Aram was correct. Landon had never given up in the past. Why give up now? He understood Phoebe’s hesitancy to believe his declaration of love. He’d done nothing to prove himself trustworthy. Damnation, he hadn’t believed he was worthy himself.

Words of love were empty without substance and trust to back them.

There was only one way he could think of to show her that his feelings and intentions were true.

The Society for Unwed Mothers was on the edge of the rookeries. The homes were closer together and the streets crowded. Men in scuffed boots and shirts with frayed hems walked beside women with unadorned blue or gray dresses as they headed to the factories for work. A former soldier with a wooden leg begged for money. Other women leaned against the alleyways, calling out to men as they walked by. A stray dog crossed his path with a bone in its mouth.

Landon knocked on a scarred wooden door. A young woman answered, her belly swollen with child.

She blinked. “Are ye lost?’

“No. I’m here to help.” He’d brought along a canvas bag with tools and set the bag at his booted feet.

“Help with what?” She looked him up and down, taking in his navy coat and polished Hessians. He’d told his new valet to choose plain clothing. By her expression, he realized it wasn’t plain enough.

“Yer lost,” she said matter-of-factly. “This place isn’t for the likes of yer lordship.”

She’d surmised he was a lord?

“I’m not lost. This is the Society for Unwed Mothers, is it not?”

“It is. What do ye want with us?”

“I’m handy with a hammer.”

Now she looked at him like he was a crazed aristocrat.

Perhaps it was not the best way to explain his intentions. “I mean, I can fix things. Miss Dawson sent me.” A lie, but if it helped get him in the door, then he would use it. Once he proved his abilities, they would welcome him. At least, he hoped they would.

The young woman’s face lit up. “Why didn’t ye say so?” She held open the door and he stepped inside.

It was a much larger space than the home in the country. A large hall, or what would have been considered a drawing room, was bustling with half a dozen women and their children. Some of the women were clearly expecting, others tended to young children of varying ages from infants to toddlers. It was warm in the room, and he eyed the closed window. If they opened the casement, a breeze would help with the summer heat.

The women stared at him. The sharp cry of a baby sounded. A brown-haired woman cradled the infant while rocking him back and forth. Her dress was patched in places, her hem fraying. The babe was wrapped in a worn blanket.

Landon set his tool bag down, took off his jacket, and draped it over the back of an empty wood chair, then rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Where can I help?”

The room was silent, then one of the women stood. She was older with dark hair and dark eyes and wore an apron. “I’m Mrs. Hastings and I run this place. You said you want to help?”

“I do.”

She eyed him up and down, then handed him a book. “Miss Dawson reads to the children. You can do the same. They like fairy tales.”

He glanced at the book, his brow furrowing. They wanted him to read? That wasn’t what he’d intended. He was sure they could use someone with carpentry skills. His attention returned to the book, and he recognized the title. Grimms’ Fairy Tales. The book had been published in 1812, and he’d seen it when he’d browsed Hookham’s Bookshop. The bookseller had raved about “Rumpelstiltskin” but he’d liked “Little Red Riding Hood.”

He was here to help, so if they wanted him to read, then that’s where he’d start.

He chose a rocking chair in the corner and opened the book. A dozen children sat before him and looked up at him, their innocent eyes expectant. The boy on the left was too skinny. The girl beside him was too pale. He wanted to feed them and give them fresh clothes. Instead, he began to read. “Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen…”