Authors: Penny Richards
Brandon crossed his arms over his chest. “To be honest, I don't know how good a shot she is, but I have the feeling if you threaten someone she loves, she's going to attack. As she is betrothed to me, I believe I would qualify.” He stopped, as if thinking for a minute. “And even if she did not
kill
you, she would probably hit enough of you to make it painful for you to take on the three of us. Now, what will it be?”
The knife dropped to the ground and the attacker took off, leaving his injured friend to fend for himself.
* * *
Brandon turned and reached for her. He got his first good look at her face and was immediately sorry he had let any of them go. He pried her fingers from around the gun. “Is it loaded, Grace?” At the nod of her head he cursed under his breath. She could have been terribly hurt...or worse.
“Perhaps you feel more inclined to get into the curricle now?”
Grace did not say a word. He thought she might be in shock, until he turned her to face him. She seemed to come to herself, and laid her forehead against his chest. Somehow that simple gesture touched him more than words could have.
“I thought he was going to kill you with that knife, and the fault would have been entirely mine.” She shifted a little so that her cheek was resting on his coat. “What an awful day this has been.” She started to cry as she grabbed his lapels. “All those poor children.”
He had never seen her upset like this. She was always a pillar of strength. Her terror must have been great. But she had not mentioned that; she only spoke of worrying for him and the children. He led her, sniffling, to his curricle, just as the hackney pulled up.
The footman jumped down, greatly agitated. “Where did you get to, my lady? Why didn't you remain at the orphanage? I've been that scared. I knew I should have stayed with you.”
Brandon paid off the hackney driver and sent the footman home with him. Grace sat in his curricle, tears rolling down her cheeks, silent and remote. He would take her someplace where she could recover her poise. Hyde Park was out of the question. He opted for the smaller Green Park. It was much less traveled, especially this early, and he hoped he could soothe her wounded sensibilities.
Once he did, he was going to kill her!
She had worried him out of ten years of his life on that curricle race to Baxter Street. Once she calmed, he was going to make his feelings known to her about women who wandered around the seediest parts of London unescorted.
Traffic kept him from watching her closely, but he knew she was still crying, albeit silently. When he handed her his handkerchief she apologized. “I am so sorry.”
They reached the park and he asked if she felt up to walking a short distance to a bench by some trees. She nodded. He asked his groom to walk the horses until they were needed again.
When they sat down on the bench, he took her hand soothingly into his. He tried to make her look at him. “Feeling better now?”
“Yes, thank you.” But her shivering told a different tale. “If one of those men had hurt you because of me, I would never have been able to live with myself.”
He finally began to understand her, and his anger began to burn anew. “Are you telling me,
can
you be telling me you were worried about
me
and not yourself?”
“Me?” She looked up at him for the first time, surprised. “Of course I was not worried about myself. I worried that if I did not kill him outright he would still be able to hurt you with the knife.”
“If you were not worried about yourself, why were you running when I found you?” he asked between clenched teeth.
“I had my pistol, but it was in my reticule. I had to run to get the time to pull it out. When they were surrounding me, they might have taken my purse and the gun with it, so I took off, looking for a place where I had the advantage. I prayed all the while. And God answered with you.”
His expression darkened further still.
“What is it? Brandon, are you angry with
me?
”
“Am I angry with...” Shaking his head, he jumped to his feet and began to pace. “You little fool, anger does not even begin to do justice to what I feel at this moment.”
“Butâ” She got no further.
“Say no more.” He enunciated each word. “I went to your house early, hoping we might be able to go for a drive when the park was not so congested. What do I find? That lame excuse for a butler muttering about you going off alone, with only a suit of armor knowing your exact location.” He was trying very hard to rein in his temper.
“If it had taken me five more minutes to get out of your butler where he
thought
you told Max you were going, you could be dead now...or worse.” He sat back down, grabbed her shoulders hard and turned her toward him. “They would have robbed you, at a minimum. You are old enough to understand what else they might have done to you, Grace. You cannot think it something to take lightly.”
“Of course not! I was so thankful when I heard your voice. But the man with the knife could have hurt you.”
“Arghh,” Brandon roared in frustration, jumping to his feet again. “I do not want your thanks! I want you to realize what almost happened to
you,
so you never do such a cork-brained thing again.”
“Please sit down. I cannot think. I do not wish to think anymore.”
“Blast!” was all he could say. How could he get through to her? “Grace, London is dangerous for a woman alone in the
best
part of Town. But in the place you were today, your life was not worth anything more than the contents of your purse. You risked your life for that today. Not mine,
yours.
You see,
I
could have handled all three of them, knives or not. My groom was with me. You did nothing but risk yourself, and the anguish it would have caused everyone who loves you.”
His anger was spent at his final words, and surprise took over.
He
was one of those who had come to care about her; he realized that was why he was so angry.
She got up from the bench and turned away from him. He went to her, turned her around and gently pulled her to his chest, surrounding her with his arms. He could have lost her.
“Brandon, I am sorry that I put you through this. You are absolutely right. I had no guarantee I could have escaped those men.” She started to cry again.
He held her tighter for a minute, surprised she did not put up more of a fight. He finally put her a little away from him, and then whistled for his groom to return with the curricle.
Once they were seated, he dismissed the groom, knowing propriety was the least of his worries. When they were alone, he began a slow walk with his horses and asked the question that had been burning in him all afternoon. “Why did you go there, Grace? How did you even know about that particular place?”
She kept looking straight ahead, too ashamed now after his harsh words to meet his eyes and see what he must think of her. She answered softly, “Since coming to London, I have sought information from the ladies I have met as to how they help the less fortunate. Most of the time I just received blank stares, but occasionally someone would say they gave to an orphanage fund, but they really had no time to help.”
“I am not surprised,” he muttered.
“Finally, I heard someone mention the orphanage on Baxter Street. I do not remember who. As it was the only name I received, I thought to offer my services there once a week while I remained in London.” She began to cry again, sobs coming from deep inside. He had never heard such heart-wrenching torment. He pulled the curricle to the side of the path and stopped.
“Tell me about it, Grace. What happened there?”
She put her face in her hands, her head bowed over her lap. “It was so terrible. I know it will haunt me until I die.” She wiped her cheeks. “I will not go there alone again, I promise. But something must be done for those children and I intend to do it.”
He could barely understand her as he listened to her recount her visit. Her usually soothing voice came out hoarse and raspy through her tears. “The food they feed these little children was rancid. They get no baths. Why should they, when the housekeeper obviously has not had one in recent memory? They did not understand me when I asked them where they played. Oh, how God must cry over the horror.” She blew her nose, but the tears ran down her cheeks as she sat up straight. Her voice was barely a whisper and he knew she was seeing it all over again.
“They work all day, no matter how little they are or what condition their health is in. One three-year-old girl had needle imprints in her fingers from sewing the soles of shoes. I cannot even fathom itâthree years old!”
She cried quietly until he thought her heart would break. “I asked one little girl her name and it was Jane number six. Brandon, they have numbers. I could not bear it. I wanted to gather them all to me and wait for carriages to take them home to the Abbey.” She tried to staunch the tears. “Don't you see, Brandon? There but for the grace of God go I or you, or any one of us. Why was I born into a family that could provide for me, and those children into a world so very dark?” She answered her own question. “Because I can do something about it. I can take them all to the Abbey if I cannot do something here.” She finished defiantly, “But I am going to try.”
“Something
is
being done, Grace,” Brandon said quietly. She turned to look at him, and reached up to touch the tic in his jaw.
“I need to show you something,” was all he said as he guided his horses back onto the path.
They rode in silence for a while, both deep in thought. His were tumultuous. What kind of woman was she? There was no other female of his acquaintance who would have worried about charity work. Was this second nature to her? Or was this from her God? He needed to learn more. He had known from the beginning that she was different, but with each passing day his pride in her grew to new heights. And she had gathered more information about Baxter orphanage than he or Dennis ever could have!
Gads! The woman had stood by his side in the shabbiest part of Town, threatening to shoot someone who might hurt
him.
Most
men
would be shaking in their boots in that situation. And when it was all over and he had vented his spleen on her, she had apologized and appreciated his plain speaking.
He had never told anyone about the place they were going, except Dennis and Lord Langdon, but he knew he could trust her. And he knew what she needed to see if she was to get the picture of what she had witnessed out of her head.
They left the park and travelled to the business district. Vendors hawked their wares loudly. Once through the busy throng, the noise began to subside a bit and quiet storefronts lined the street. Brandon went one or two blocks beyond and pulled up to a large building with a fresh coat of paint. She looked at him with questions in her sad green eyes, but he stayed silent as he handed her down and proceeded toward the front door.
Of a sudden, a side door opened and children of all ages, shapes and sizes rushed outside and began to laugh and throw balls and chatter loudly. The front door opened as Grace turned to look at him, and a buxom woman of indeterminate years stepped back in surprise.
“Lord Weston! We weren't expectin' to see you today,” she said as she smiled warmly. “The children will be a mite glad, they will.”
“Mrs. Dickerson, I would like you to meet my betrothed, Lady Grace Endicott. I believe she wishes to volunteer to help, if you can use another pair of hands.”
He was thankful and proud of Mrs. Dickerson's reaction. She beamed at Grace. “Come in, come in, my manners have gone abeggin', they 'ave. I can just send for tea and your lordship can look at the books and the lesson plans while we wait 'ere in the parlor.”
“That will not be necessary, but I thank you,” Brandon told her. “I just wanted to introduce you to Lady Grace today and then I think she would like to make arrangements, say next Tuesdayâ” he looked toward Grace to be sure that was acceptable to her “âto come and meet the children and perhaps set up a schedule to help you.”
“Saints preserve us, your lordship, we can use as many 'ands as we can get! We got three new little ones in yesterday alone! Thank you, my lady, I will look forward to it.”
“I will, t-too,” Grace stuttered, as she tried to absorb all that was happening.
They took their leave, and after a few minutes, Brandon spoke. “Grace, Dennis's older brother and I committed ourselves years ago to attempt to be productive in one area of our lives. I certainly was not in any other. We both had an interest in workhouses and orphanages. When David was killed, Dennis took his place in the venture, and this is the third orphanage we have been able to get renovated and reorganized.”
She did not interject, so he kept on. “After the first one, we realized we needed more help, from higher places, shall we say. We wanted to be sure the previous owners were prosecuted, or at least put in debtors' prison until they repaid the money they basically stole from the mouths of the children.” His anger was rekindled as he thought of the struggle it had been to make a judge see the wrong being perpetrated on defenseless children.
“We were approached by Lord Langdon. I believe I mentioned him to you when we were making our plans for London. He is a respected and active member of Parliament and could be our voice in legislative change, as well as in the legal arena. He agreed to assist us on the condition that we curtail our more ribald behavior.
“These children are taught trades, as well,” he continued. “If they do not get adopted, then they can still be useful members of society when they are old enough. But they get good food, exercise and learn to read and write.”
She still did not speak, but looked at him as if he were a total stranger. Gazing at him with admiration that he knew he did not merit.