Page 52 of Just a Little Daring

Vivien raised one imperious eyebrow at him. “Mr Lane-Fox, might I remind you of certain promises you gave me? You said we would have our own society with people whose opinion mattered to us, and anyone else could take a running jump. Did you not mean that?”

She studied him, the intensity in her indigo eyes suggesting his answer had better be the right one.

“Yes, love,” he said with a sigh. “I meant it but, knowing Anna, things might get out of hand,” he warned, hoping that she might err on the side of caution for once and stay home.

“Excellent,” she said, settling herself back on the seat.

And… he was an idiot.

August climbed back into the carriage.

“Where are we off to, then?” Viv demanded once they were underway.

“Vauxhall Gardens. There’s a charity gala with a fete and a balloon ascension and a grand luncheon for seventy members to celebrate their first year of the Royal Asylum for Destitute Females.”

“And so?”

“And so Anna has a bee in her bonnet about such associations, and especially about the men who run them. For every one of those seventy members is male.”

“Well, that is ridiculous, when it is a charity for women, I agree, but surely the charity itself is an admirable thing?” Vivien said.

August sighed. He had thought the same thing until he had sat through far too many lectures on the subject from his female relations. “It is, on the face of it, but Anna believes most of these women could be saved from becoming destitute or in trouble with the law in the first place with access to a proper education. Getting them out of such trouble should also be remedied the same way. The school purports to do this, but actually only teaches—”

“Needlework, cooking, cleaning, et cetera,” Vivien guessed.

“Yes. Exactly. Anna says if any of these fine men were reduced to having nothing more to accomplish in life than a neat row of stitches, they’d likely drink gin and get into trouble with the law, too. She believes if they taught the women to read and write, perhaps even some basic mathematics, that they would become useful members of society, who would in turn teach their own children.”

“I like your sister already.” Vivien grinned at him, and August let out a huff of laughter.

“Yes, I rather thought you might. The trouble is, Anna would rather do something—anything—rather than simply write letters or talk about it. She says there is no point talking when men don’t listen.”

“You can’t expect me to argue that point,” Vivien replied.

August frowned until he felt her hand settle upon his knee. “Not all men,” she amended with a smile.

“Thank you for that,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“So what is it your sister is up to, precisely?”

“Precisely, I don’t know. But it must be exceptionally bad for Mama to be worried, for she is usually all in favour of Anna’s dreadful behaviour. I suspect she has come up with something really dangerous this time.”

“Then we had best make haste,” Vivien said, holding onto the seat as August nodded and the horse picked up its pace.

22nd April 1841, The Royal Gardens, Vauxhall, London.

The fete was a large one, with perhaps a hundred market stalls and entertainers. To the right of the fete, a huge red and white striped silk balloon rose eighty feet above the crowd who watched from a large, two-tiered wooden stand.

“Heavens,” Vivien said, staring at it in wonder.

“Have you never seen one before?”

Vivien shook her head. “It’s rather beautiful.”

“It is, but there’s no time to admire it, I’m afraid. We must find Anna.”

Vivien nodded, and they paid their entrance fee, hurrying through the crowd.

“What does she look like?” Viv asked breathlessly, almost running to keep up with him.