Page 22 of Maid for the Duke

There was much to be done whilst he was back in London, yet his mind kept wandering back to his book and what section he would start on next. He wanted to call Amelie in to his study, to discuss it with her as they might have when strolling side by side along the river Cam, but here it was not appropriate.

‘I have gone over the accounts with Amelie for the Grantchester cottage expenses. She is managing very well—sticking to the budget easily,’ Mrs Potter said as she knocked on the study door and entered the vast room.

‘You were right to suggest her, Mrs Potter,’ he said, thinking how his summer would have been very different if he had taken someone else. ‘She is efficient and good-natured, and her cooking is incredible.’

‘I am pleased. Amelie is an asset to this household and I would be very sorry to lose her. Although perhaps one day I might have to encourage her to look for a role as cook with some important family if she is as talented as all that.’

‘I should discuss the plans for the next month in Cambridge with Amelie. Would you send her in to see me?’ Will said. There wasn’t much to discuss, but he felt a need to see Amelie this morning. She had been quiet and withdrawn when she had returned to the carriage from seeing her family the previous evening. Although she had responded to his questions, her answers had only been single words and she had been distracted. He was aware of the turmoil she felt about leaving her younger sisters and brother in the care of someone else, but they had been there for almost a year now, and he wondered what had upset her so much the night before.

‘That will not be possible, Your Grace,’ Mrs Potter said, giving him an apologetic smile. ‘Amelie left about twenty minutes ago. I believe she is going to see her younger brother and sisters, perhaps even take them out for the day.’

Will closed his eyes, thinking of the dangers Amelie could face walking through the slum by herself. It was irrational—this was a journey she had been making for an entire year without mishap, without his intervention but, now he knew about it, he could not help but worry.

Making a decision, he stood. ‘Thank you, Mrs Potter. I will talk to Amelie on her return; there is no great rush. I have appointments until late afternoon, but I will be home for dinner.’

‘Very good, Your Grace.’

He hoped it was not obvious that he was rushing out after Amelie. Mrs Potter was discreet, but she was also old-fashioned, and someone who put great stock in good morals. She would not gossip, but he did not want her thinking poorly of Amelie, especially when nothing scandalous had happened—at least, not more scandalous than a kiss.

The air outside was thick with early summer heat, which felt much more noticeable in London than the Cambridgeshire countryside. Will set off briskly, long strides eating up the distance as he made his way from the orderly grandeur of Grosvenor Square towards the narrower, darker lanes beyond. The further he went, the more the city changed. Polished stone and wide pavements gave way to crooked houses and gutters running with filth, the air sour with smoke. He walked quickly, purposefully, ignoring the curious glances as his fine coat grew dusty and sweat dampened his collar. All he could think of was Amelie making her way through the narrow streets and the dangers that could lie ahead.

At one of the entrances to St Giles Rookery, he paused, wondering if she had heeded his warning and gone around, and thinking back to her words. She had promised only to be careful, not to avoid the route that would get her to her destination the quickest.

As he plunged into the narrow streets, his chest grew tight, not from exertion but dread. The place was a notorious labyrinth of alleys and crammed tenements, filled with shadows where crime could thrive. He kept moving quickly, aware that his own stature and physical prowess would protect him only from some threats. He would be no match for a group of attackers, and even one man with a weapon could cause him serious damage. His well-tailored clothes also made him more of a target.

It was only when he was almost out of the slum, almost at the house they had stopped at the night before, that he caught sight of Amelie walking briskly ahead of him.

‘Amelie,’ he called out, seeing her stiffen in surprise before turning. The shock on her face was absolute and her reaction made Will wonder for a moment if he was behaving rationally, following her out here.

For a long moment she did not move, and then she checked over her shoulder before retracing her steps to stand in front of him.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was worried about you walking alone. You seemed so distracted last night when you got back in the carriage, so despondent. I thought it might mean you were not as alert when making your way through London.’

Myriad emotions flitted across her face and then Amelie sighed. ‘I should be angry with you,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘But you are correct; I have not been particularly vigilant today.’

‘What happened last night when you went to see your sisters and brother?’

Tears welled in Amelie’s eyes and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her, to reassure her in any way he could. No one would know him here, but it was unfair to put Amelie in that situation, no matter how much he wished to comfort her.

She gestured for them to start walking and fell into step beside him, after a minute linking her arm through his as if they were a courting couple taking a pleasant stroll through a park.

‘They all looked terribly thin and malnourished.’ She shook her head and took a deep breath. ‘I suppose it seemed worse because I have not seen them for a while. When I visit every week, it is easier to ignore the fact they are losing weight and their clothes hang a little more from them.’

‘What did the widow have to say for herself. Is she not feeding them?’

‘She wasn’t there. Marie, my middle sister, tells me Mrs Creedy is out drinking most nights from five or six o’clock until late.’

‘How old is Marie?’

‘Eight.’

‘Young to be in charge of the other two every night.’

‘It is.’ Amelie stopped and turned a despairing face up to him. ‘But what can I do? I cannot afford better; I cannot take them away with me. Even with her neglect, at least here they are together, they have a roof and a bed and some food. The alternative is the workhouse.’ Amelie shuddered at the thought.

‘It will not be for ever,’ he said slowly. He wanted to storm into the terraced house and rescue these children he had never met, but he was very aware this was not his battle to fight. Amelie had survived so much adversity these past couple of years; she would not want someone else thinking they knew best.