Lucy’s gaze fell to her feet. He might as well just say that she was gaping like a hayseed. “What if I am?”
“Ah, good for you. I’m country bred myself.”
“You are?” He looked so at home, walking along the city street, fine in his rich livery. But his nod seemed heartfelt. “I grew up in Hampshire. We lived there until last year when Miss Charlotte got married.”
“To Mr. Henry Wylde. Seems that was a bit odd, eh?”
Lucy put up her chin. She wouldn’t be gossiping about Miss Charlotte to anybody.
“I’m a Derbyshire man, myself. It’s my first time in London, as well. ’Course I’d heard a good deal about it from my family.”
“They’d been before?”
“Aye, with the old master as died a few years back. My dad’s head of the stables up at the estate. Ma was a nursery maid there before they married. Granddad used to be head gardener, before his joints got so bad.”
Lucy had heard of these families with generations of service. They were a kind of gentry below stairs. She was just a farm laborer’s daughter. The contrast kept her silent until they reached the shop.
Her business was quickly managed. Ethan joked with the apothecary’s assistant like an old friend, somehow bringing her into it until she felt like she knew him, too. When the parcel was made up, Ethan took it; then he opened the door for her. Lucy reminded herself to think nothing of it. She had no doubt he treated every female to his easy charm.
As they left the shop a heavy cart trundled by, barely missing their toes, the driver cursing at the top of his lungs. Ethan pulled her back into the doorway, holding on just a bit longer than strictly necessary. Before Lucy could object, a loud thump suggested the reason for the driver’s rage, and when they edged around the cart, they saw that it had collided with a sweeper’s barrow. Manure lay scattered over the cobblestones and the pavement opposite like a smelly carpet. The boy clutched his broom and cowered under the driver’s tongue-lashing. “Give over,” shouted Ethan in a voice that easily carried over the din.
The burly driver turned to glare at him. Standing in the cart, he towered over them.
“You hit him,” Ethan said.
“He was right in the bleedin’ way, warn’t he? Halfwit!”
The sweeper sniveled and wiped his nose with a dirty sleeve.
“And now he has all his work to do over again. Let him be.” Ethan showed no sign of fear under the driver’s scowl. He met it steadily, and after a moment the man growled another curse and slapped the reins of his huge team. The horses leaned in, and the cart slowly moved off. Ethan stepped over to the sweeper, nimbly avoiding the clumps of manure.
The boy ducked his head as if he expected a blow. Ethan pulled a small coin from his pocket and held it out. Wide-eyed, hardly daring to believe, the young sweeper took it and made it disappear into his ragged coat. “The big wagons can’t turn easily, you know,” Ethan told him. “You should take care when you see one of them coming.” Mouth hanging open, the boy nodded.
Ethan picked his way back to Lucy and led her around the mess as they headed toward the house. “I hate this great dirty place!” he exclaimed.
Lucy had a lump in her throat, moved by what he’d done. Nobody paid any attention to the boys who swept the streets. “All the noise and shoving,” she agreed.
“What sort of job is that for a lad?” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Mucking out a stable is one thing. Doesn’t take you all day. And afterward, you can go out into the air. Maybe exercise the horses.” He was moving so fast that Lucy had to trot to keep up. “I can’t wait to be home again,” Ethan declared fiercely.
Lucy would have agreed with this, too, and just as fervently, if she’d had a country home to return to. Reminded that London was likely her fate, she said only, “Slow down, can’t you?”
Seven
Three days later Alec knocked at Anne’s bedchamber door just before noon. Invited in, he was startled to find her dressed and sitting in the armchair by the fire with a book. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I’m feeling so much better the doctor said I could sit up today.”