Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager - By Sarah Mallory Page 0,54
out and covered her hand. She did not draw it away. ‘Will you tell me about it?’
She sat up a little straighter but she kept her eyes on the fire, as if reading her words in the flames.
‘When my father died in Gibraltar we—my mother, sister and I—went to live with his sister in London. My aunt was a strict Evangelical and when my mother died of the fever a year later we were left to her care. Our family was not rich, but respectable enough, and very soon after my mother’s death my sister Florence was courted by a young man who promised to marry her.
‘He was very dashing and handsome, a very fashionable beau and Florence believed his promises enough to...’ He felt the little hand tremble in his. ‘He disappeared, leaving her pregnant. When my aunt learned that Florence was with child she threw her out of the house. I was forbidden ever to see her again. I smuggled money and food to Florence, who managed to find lodgings nearby. My aunt discovered what was happening and she stopped my pin-money and kept me locked in my room. I think she must also have spoken to the landlady, too, because Florence left her lodgings and I heard nothing more of her.
‘After six months my aunt thought it would be safe for me to go out alone again, and at the market one day a woman approached and told me Florence had died in childbirth a few weeks earlier. This woman was a milliner, earning appallingly little and living in the same house as Florence, close to Drury Lane. She said her landlady had a kind heart and had taken my sister in when she found her on the street. Florence would not say how she had got there, or what she had gone through, but she was very near her time so they gave her a bed and did what they could, although there was no money to pay for a midwife.
‘I went to the house where Florence died, I had to see it for myself. It was very squalid, but the landlady was a kindly soul, and it was a comfort to know Florence had not been quite alone at the end. The landlady told me there were hundreds of women like my sister, gently bred girls who were pursued and courted by fashionable men who took their virtue and then abandoned them. It is the way of the world. Neither she nor the milliner would take any money for their trouble, but they said Florence had begged them to get a message to me, to let me know what had become of her.’ Her mouth twisted and she added bitterly, ‘By that kindness they showed more mercy to my sister than her family had ever done.’
She pulled her hand free and wiped a tear from her cheek.
‘The letter from my Uncle Middlemass came soon after. If only he had come back to England a year earlier! As it is I left my aunt’s house very willingly. It was too late to help Florence, but I vowed then that I would do something to atone for her death. That is why I set up Florence House, and using the money from those arrogant rich men goes some way towards making them pay for their cruelty.’
‘Cruelty is a very strong word.’
She lifted her head.
‘Not strong enough, I think.’
‘But not all young men are cruel, Susannah. Some may be wild, yes, and thoughtless—this young man who courted Florence, you say he disappeared. Surely it is possible that he did not know of your sister’s condition, or mayhap circumstance prevented him from coming back to her.’
‘Believe me, my lord,’ she said slowly, ‘I know that man was an out-and-out scoundrel.’
* * *
In the dim light he saw a strange look flicker across her face—revulsion, horror, anger. Jasper’s brows drew together. What was it she was not telling him? Before he could frame another question she gave a tiny shake of her head.
‘This is a drear conversation when we should be celebrating having come safely through a most trying day. Is there any more of the mulled cider?’
She held out her glass
‘I do not think I should give you any more. You will accuse me of trying to befuddle you with drink.’
She laughed. ‘No, that was last night, when you were trying to seduce me. Today you have been a true friend, my lord.’