following this situation through to the end and knowing he’d assisted in freeing the women would be rewarding. Even more so would be seeing those involved in the scheme arrested and punished, keeping them from ruining more lives than they already had.
He forced his thoughts back to the present moment and Beatrice. “I know that took courage. Thank you for accompanying me.”
“I only hope Mary and any others can be freed.”
“I plan to make certain they are. Now then, how do you feel about venturing to Covent Garden for a stroll?”
“I appreciate your offer, but I’d much prefer that you visit Mr. Hurdy as soon as possible to give him the address with the hope he’ll act quickly.”
Daniel stared at Beatrice, realizing his admiration for her grew each time they were together. Few other women in his acquaintance would place the concerns of others before their own. Beatrice had a good heart along with courage. If only more people in the world did.
BEATRICE FROWNED AS Margaret Gold, Caroline’s youngest sister, eyed the cerulean silk gown draped over her. The color was a dark sky blue, rich and vibrant. It seemed like a bold choice. Too bold, perhaps, when Beatrice felt anything but.
“The color is perfect for you,” Margaret declared. “But I want to adjust the waist to better flatter your form.”
“Is that a polite way of saying I lack curves?” Beatrice stared down at her thin body with a scowl. She’d lost weight when her father had passed, too distraught to have an appetite. Then she’d lost even more with the worry of her future. And a little more after being drugged and held at the brothel.
Margaret smiled. “I have no doubt we’ll soon be letting out the gowns. Caroline tells me she’s been feeding you as much as possible.”
“Her cook is truly gifted, especially when it comes to desserts. Her ratafia cakes are irresistible, like a macaroon only better.”
Margaret held her gaze, her expression sobering. “I don’t think I’ve told you, but I am so impressed that you managed to escape that terrible place.”
“I only did what I had to do. But I have to wonder if there is a point to all this.” She gestured toward the various gowns on the floor around them, her worry returning.
“Why would you say that?” Margaret looked appalled that Beatrice said such a thing about the fabric of which she was so fond.
“People will think less of me if they knew where I was held.” That morning, she’d penned a letter to Sarah Ramsey, a woman two years younger than her, who lived in the same village. She’d promised to tell her what she thought of London and where she’d be working when they’d said goodbye.
The letter had been difficult to write since she didn’t want to share much of what happened. Sarah had been so envious of Beatrice’s plan to come to the city. Telling her how poorly it had gone had been impossible, especially when doing so would be admitting she’d been ruined.
Margaret pursed her lips. “Don’t tell them. It’s no one’s business but your own.”
Beatrice hesitated. She hadn’t found the right moment to raise the subject with Caroline, but she felt she could with Margaret. “If I am to find a husband, I wouldn’t want to start a life together based on lies.”
“If? Does that mean you’re having doubts? Would you rather seek employment as a governess or companion instead?”
“When the truth comes out—”
“You mean if it does,” Margaret countered.
“For all intents and purposes, I’ve been ruined.” There. She’d said it out loud. “Should I even try to catch the interest of a man with the hope he’d offer for me? What if he finds out what happened? What if he doesn’t? The idea of hiding the truth for the rest of my life is daunting.” The words spilled out in a rush, leaving her breathless.
“But you escaped before anything truly untoward occurred. The right man won’t care about any of that. Besides, none of it was your fault.”
“You know that doesn’t matter.” Beatrice shook her head. “And as far as the right man not caring, you only say that because your sisters have amazing men in their lives. Lord Aberland, Mr. Raybourne, and Daniel—”
“Daniel?” Margaret raised a brow. “Are the two of you on such intimate terms?”
“I mean Mr. Walker.” The slip of using his given name was one she didn’t want to make again. She couldn’t deny that she thought of him often and on a personal