Page 53 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Instead, to distract herself, she concentrated on what was going on along the street. The people on it were more like the ones she was used to seeing. Smart carriages passed up and down it, and the shop windows were bright with the sorts of goods she liked to spend her pin money on. This was much more her world. She didn’t feel the need to grab hold of Gabriel’s coat for safety, and, even if she had, she would have been too embarrassed to do so.

He continued to show no inclination to talk, which was good, as she would have been tongue-tied with embarrassment, but walked in silence beside her, not even glancing in her direction. What was he thinking about? Had he forgotten that ridiculousness she’d come out with? Oh, she hoped so. Had she even meant it? She felt heat flood her face once again as she found herself admitting that she had, and that if she had to marry someone, she would most definitely prefer it to be Lord Gabriel Wycliff. And not only because she wanted to give him her money.

She took a sideways peek at him. He was looking straight ahead and taking long strides she had to scuttle to keep up with. Not for the first time she reflected that he had a very attractive profile. In fact, now she came to think of it, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen—either here in London or when she’d lived at Coakham. It would be the nicest thing in the world to marry someone who not only was so caring about others less lucky than himself, but was also so devastatingly handsome. What more could a girl want? Plus, in his company today she’d not been the least bit awkward or clumsy.

She promptly tripped over a paving stone and nearly fell flat on her face.

Gabriel’s left hand shot out to save her and she found herself gazing up into his deep-blue eyes, utterly mesmerised. He had no right to possess eyes like that.

He kept hold of her for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, before releasing her arm with a frown and setting off again, even faster than before, determinedly not looking at her.

What had that look meant? Or had he just been annoyed she’d tripped? She hurried to keep up with him, still a little afraid she’d get separated in the crowd, for Oxford Street, although nothing like the Rookery of St Giles, was a busy thoroughfare.

She’d accompanied Aunt Fanny and Mattie here many times and the cheerful shop fronts proclaiming the wares on sale and the names of the proprietors made her feel a little bit at home. Not that if she’d gone inside any of the shops the proprietors would have been happy. They’d probably have shouted for the constable to come and remove her. The thought made her want to laugh. And dare to try it. Although being arrested by an officious constable might delay her return to Grosvenor Square and Cecilia somewhat. Another time, perhaps, if she were lucky and Gabriel forgave her forward outburst.

They turned off Oxford Street and into New Bond Street where Aunt Fanny frequented the shop of Mesdames Powley and Harmsworth for her gowns. Fresh laughter had to be controlled as her imagination ran riot at what these two arbiters of fashion would think if they could see her now, in holey boots and a dirty coat and trousers. What any of the fine ladies they were passing on the street would think if they knew she was a young lady who’d been to the same ball as they had. Who would most likely have to attend further balls and soirees in their company. And who at present looked very much like a scruffy, dirty-faced urchin.

What fun it would be to see Aunt Fanny and Mattie and have them unable to recognize her. A little risky, perhaps, but fun, nevertheless.

The enjoyment of her own appearance was somewhat helped by the cleanliness of the shop windows in which she was afforded numerous distorted reflections of herself as she hurried behind Gabriel. She had to admit that she made a good boy, and now she wasn’t so scared, and had got used to the smell, she was finding the freedom of trousers, despite their itchiness, invigorating. How unfair was it that she couldn’t wear them more often. Although…what was to stop her?

Only the fact that she’d dreadfully embarrassed herself with Gabriel.

With her frightening adventure safely behind her, it was now taking on the proportions of something to be proud of. So the longing to repeat the experience was not unexpected. Might Gabriel be persuaded to take her there again? Could she overcome her embarrassment? Might he allow her the freedom of London in boyish disguise? She would just have to conquer her embarrassment and ask him. But no, he seemed most preoccupied at the moment and still disinclined to conversation. Not that she was certain she could look him in the eye, with that ham-fisted proposal looming between them like a solid brick wall. A proposal made so unconventionally by a lady to a gentleman. Aunt Fanny would die of shock if she found out. This also made her want to laugh. Shocking Aunt Fanny was more desirable than she’d expected.

From New Bond Street, Gabriel turned into Brook Street and within minutes, they were back in the hurly burly of Three Kings Yard. He pushed open the door to his rented room and mounted the stairs two at a time, as though he’d forgotten she was trying to keep up with him. Phoebe ran up them behind him, her face now pink with exertion rather than embarrassment.

Cecilia must have heard their footsteps on the stairs, for her book lay closed on the table, a blue velvet ribbon marking where she’d reached in her reading. “I thought you were never coming back,” was the first thing she said, a little accusingly, as Phoebe closed the door behind them. “Or that something dreadful had happened to you. Having seen the inside of St Giles I feared that was a distinct possibility. I was trying to decide what I should say to Mama about where you’d got to, and how I was going to explain to your aunt, Phoebe, that I’d allowed my brother to lose you. I’m more than glad to see you both back in one piece.”

She could have been a little more forthcoming about what St Giles was like before they left, as a warning. Phoebe shot her a frown and pulled off the woolen cap which had been making her head both hot and itchy. Her hair tumbled down her back again in something of a tangle.

Gabriel was already turning back to the door. “Take care of her, Cissy. I’m away now on other business.”

And he was gone, and hadn’t even wished her goodbye, or thanked her for coming with him. Was he as embarrassed as she was? Might he be so shocked he didn’t want to see her again?

Phoebe stood in the center of the room, one hand on the table, bereft.

“Well,” Cecilia said, standing up. “I suppose we’d better get you back into your gown and sort out your hair. If you go in looking like that even my mother might notice.” She picked up Phoebe’s gown from where she’d left it lying on the wooden chest. “Come on, then. And we’ll have to wash your face.”

Chapter Nineteen

Gabriel, still disguised as Joe Booth, walked the short distance to his lodgings in Half Moon Street which lay just off Piccadilly. Hopefully his brother wouldn’t be in residence, although Ambrose wouldn’t be surprised to see him in these clothes. He was well aware of his younger brother’s propensity for wandering London in disguise. He’d even come with him a few times, although not into the St Giles Rookery nor anywhere near Denmark Street. That was a secret Gabriel wasn’t about to share with him. However, he didn’t feel in the mood for talking to him right now, nor, in fact, for talking with anyone. He had to get things straight in his head, something he was finding it difficult to do.

Oblivious to the busy streets, all he could think of now he was alone was what Phoebe had offered him. Her money. Well, marriage, so not just her money but herself as well. He had to admit that was a more than enticing prospect. But the offer had been phrased as one of money, not of love, and he’d been surprised to discover that wasn’t what he wanted. This was all most confusing, because of course he wanted money. He wouldn’t need to risk his own safety by sneaking into the houses of the far-too-rich to take what wasn’t his if he had money. And she represented money.

He shook his head in an effort to clear it. He couldn’t deny her money would enable him to move on with his plans for a much larger establishment and also to take in many more of the orphaned children of St Giles. A house in the country with gardens where they could play in fresh, smoke-free air would be his dream. To be able to give these children the same sort of childhood he’d enjoyed. So they could run and laugh and climb trees and learn to swim in a lake.

These were children who would either die without his help or be destined to repeat the lives of their parents. Children who might end up transported to the colony in Australia before they were twelve years old for a crime such as stealing food because they were starving. The more he could save from that and find gainful employment for, the better.

So why was he so bothered by Phoebe offering to marry him? Didn’t he want to marry her?

“Hey, you! Watch where you’re walking, you oaf!” The haughty driver of a smart curricle drawn by a pair of flashy bays waved an angry fist at Gabriel as he had to haul on his horses’ reins to prevent them trampling him, but Gabriel didn’t spare him a glance.

Back on the pavement, he slowed his pace as he thought, a frown marring his face that would have put anyone off speaking to him, had they been thus inclined. The trouble was, he did like Phoebe. A lot. More than he’d ever thought he could like someone. Despite the trampling she’d done to his toes. Maybe it would have been easier if he hadn’t been falling in love with her, because that very thing was happening, whether he liked it or not. But just because of that, he couldn’t marry her as the sort of loveless business proposition she’d suggested. He couldn’t do that to her.

His scowl deepened.

She’d shown the same sort of pluck as Cecilia in venturing into the rookery with him. She’d been terrified by what she’d seen, but not once complained. She hadn’t demanded to be taken out. She’d come with him into the very center of its black heart, and she’d braved Abner’s garret. She’d not even objected to carrying the money for him. He hadn’t told her about the hands he’d felt exploring his pockets as they walked back through the St Giles streets. The hands he’d pretended not to notice.