Page 3

While Alexander acknowledged that he should rightfully give his mother a full explanation regarding the change in Mr. Watson’s normal mode of operation, he knew that doing so would delay his departure even further. Glossing over the details would save him a great deal of time and trouble. “Mr. Watson will be finishing the job without his climbing boy. It may take him longer than he’d originally anticipated, but I have no doubt he will get the chimneys cleaned.”

“Well,” Lady Bloxley huffed. “I certainly hope so. The man came highly recommended, after all.”

Alexander grimaced. If he’d not heard Archie’s cry, he’d have had no reason to question Mr. Watson’s methods. How many of his peers were recommending the sweep without knowing exactly how he managed to clean chimneys so efficiently? How many of them would care?

“I must go.” He reached for the doorknob. “Good day, Mother.”

“Good day, Alexander. I shall watch for your return this evening.”

“Honestly, Jane, you’ve been standing in front of that painting for over twenty minutes. How much longer do you intend to stare at it?”

Jane tore her gaze from the portrait of an old shepherd watching over his sheep. “Forgive me, Phoebe. It’s just that it’s so . . .” She glanced at the painting hanging on the wall one more time and sighed wistfully. “So masterfully done.”

Phoebe tucked her hand beneath Jane’s arm. “As are all your paintings.”

Jane shook her head affectionately. Although she was no connoisseur of fine art, her younger sister was wonderfully loyal. “You are slightly biased, you know.”

Phoebe laughed. “Only slightly.”

With one arm linked through her sister’s and her other hand clasping her cane, Jane limped toward to door. “One day, Phoebe. One day, I shall paint something so magnificent that it will be worthy of this gallery.”

Her sister squeezed her arm gently. “And when you do, I shall be the first one here to see it. And I shall purchase a new gown especially for the occasion.”

“But of course,” Jane said, humor sparkling in her dark-brown eyes. “I should expect nothing less.”

Phoebe’s laugh rang through the room, causing their aunt sitting near the entrance to raise her head and smile. Phoebe had that effect on most people. Her blonde curls, blue eyes, and curvaceous figure drew immediate attention, but it was her effervescent personality that held it.

Jane’s dark hair and eyes were the antithesis of her sister’s, as was her quiet, reserved nature. But she had long since accepted that fact and knew that, in many respects, it was a blessing. It was far easier to live the life of a cripple when her loves were painting rather than dancing and reading a good book rather than shopping for the latest fashions.

“Am I to gather from your show of good humor that you enjoyed the exhibit, Phoebe?” their gray-haired aunt said, rising to her feet as they drew near.

“Yes, Aunt Millward,” Phoebe said. “Although perhaps not quite as well as Jane. She was in raptures over every painting.”

“Not every one, Phoebe,” Jane said. “Only most of them.”

Aunt Millward chuckled. “I am glad to hear it. When your mother told me of your interest in art, I knew that you simply had to visit this place before leaving for Berkshire.”

Jane paused long enough to survey the art-covered walls one more time. “It is quite remarkable.”

“Indeed, it is.” A servant opened the door, and Aunt Millward led them through the outer lobby and the imposing front doors to the courtyard beyond. “When Mr. Coram first established the Foundling Hospital almost fifty years ago, I do not believe he ever imagined that it would one day become one of London’s most fashionable venues.”

“Perhaps we could return for a concert one day,” Phoebe said hopefully.

Aunt Millward nodded, looking pleased. “That is a splendid suggestion.”

They reached the carriage, and a footman stepped forward to open the door. He offered Jane his assistance as she stepped inside. Setting her cane on the floor beside her feet, she situated herself beside the window and looked back at the impressive building. Although attending a benefit concert at the Foundling Hospital would surely be a marvelous experience, she secretly hoped that when she returned next, it would be to visit the art gallery again.

Chapter 2

“There’s no doubt that this reform has taken far longer than it should,” Lord Langton said. He raised his glass from the small table beside his chair and took a sip. “But I truly believe the growing momentum will push the bill through this time.”

“You’re sure there’s enough support in the Commons?” Alexander asked. He was seated opposite his friend in a quiet corner at White’s. “Child labor laws can be ticklish. Too many families depend upon the income brought in by youngsters. If they feel that the bill will inflict more hardship on their constituents, the MPs won’t vote for it.”

“A Chimney Sweepers Act will have little to no effect on most poor families. The children working in the fields or as domestic servants will be unaffected.” Jonas frowned. “Most master sweeps claim their apprentices from inner-city poorhouses. Those boys have no recourse whatsoever. They end up going from miserable living conditions to appalling work conditions.”

Alexander ran his hand across his face, unable to erase the memory of Archie standing in the fireplace, with tears streaming down his blackened cheeks. “I wish every member of Parliament could have seen the youngster in my drawing room this morning, Jonas. He was five years old. Five! Thin as a rail and terrified of his master.”

Jonas nodded solemnly. “A change is coming, Alex. We shall make sure of it.”