After discovering two orphans living in an abandoned home, Thorne made a split-second decision. The kids would stay with him and Roland. Why did he make that decision? And how did the Sprouts react to Roland’s Mayfair townhouse? Find out in their bonus scene – THORNE AND THE SPROUTS.
Despite having been kidnapped and drugged, Lady Charity showed remarkable poise in her meeting with Lady Fitzroy and later Queen Charlotte. Curious to know how and why she kept her cool, and what drove her request to visit Buckingham House in the middle of the night? Find out in her bonus scene – CHARITY PREPARES TO FACE THE QUEEN.
Read on for both!
THORNE AND THE SPROUTS
If the two kids were going to bolt, Thorne figured, now would be the time they would make the attempt.
Together, the three had made their way closer to the Seven Dials, seeking out a hackney stand and a driver who would be willing to take them home. The mouse of a lad was relaxed. Calm. His spitfire companion was not, and as restless as a badly tempered horse at the bit. That would be the one to watch.
Out of the narrow alley, the kids could have bolted in opposite directions, and he would be hard pressed to catch them if they truly wanted to be free. To distract them, he engaged them in conversation. “What’s your name, lad?” he asked the mouse.
“I’m Wes, sir,” the boy told him, keeping pace beside him, within arm’s reach. Wes seemed to understand that if his sibling bolted, he would end up being a hostage of sort, and clearly that had the feisty one in a pucker. “That’s Will,” Wes added, lifting his chin in the direction of the other.
Thorne grinned without humour. “I’m no ‘sir’, lad. Not at all.” But he patted the child briefly on the shoulder, which Wes tolerated well enough, but caused Will to bare teeth at him.
“No? Your friend was a swell, all airs and graces,” Will spat. “Them ladies too, though I reckon they ain’t gonna be ladies long. Like as not they’ll be caught and disgraced.”
“Not a very gracious way to talk of people who wanted to take you home and feed you,” he murmured, his smile becoming more genuine.
The child bristled in all directions, dropping some of their badly affected street patois. “We don’t need your help.”
“Stow it, Will,” Wes said tersely, finally showing his own backbone. “We haven’t eaten in two days. If he wants to feed us, I won’t say no.”
That caused Will to subside, finally. Will still looked defiant, but hunger shone in his face at the words. Roland was right. A meal would domesticate the urchins in a way no other kindness could now.
He found a hack a block off, bathed in the dim glow of nearby oil lamps. Despite its reputation, the area was typically a bustling junction of seven streets, but at this hour it was quieter, still echoing with the residual hustle of the city. The horse waffled softly into the cool night air at their approach, jingling its harness restlessly.
The driver baulked at Thorne’s dirty charges. “You have business with those two… ragamuffins?”
“Aye, and that business is my own.” But Thorne dropped a couple halfpennies into the man’s hand in addition to the fare and then raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Will’s glowering face. “They won’t scuff your seats.”
“See they don’t,” the man grumbled, but he allowed them in.
Wes settled onto the hack’s seat in a way no true urchin ever would, further giving away their former status in life. Will crowded in beside him on the bench where he could continue to glower.
He? No. Thorne looked closer as the light from the streetlamps filtered through the windows. The curve of Will’s jaw and eyebrows were a shade too delicate for a lad. Wes’ sibling was no brother, but a sister. He’d wager his life on it. No wonder the child was so prickly. Pretending to be a boy offered only so much protection, and certainly that protection would be lost the moment they started to sprout into their adult growth. That could be any time now, to judge by the gap showing at their wrists and ankles.
Relaxing, Thorne slumped back. Now was not the time to tell Will she had been made.
“Grosvenor Square?” Will asked softly, still looking troubled. Of course, she had heard the directions he had given them.
“You were right about one thing,” Thorne said, allowing a lazy smirk to rise to his face. “Our lordship is a bit of a swell. But… he is one of the better sorts.”
The two sprouts had nothing more to say to that, and they rode the distance in the uneasy silence of this poor truce. Hopping out of the hack at Grosvenor Square, they melted down the street to the townhouse.
“Here,” Thorne said, taking them in by way of the stable. It was small, as those belonging to townhouses were wont to be, but roomy enough for Roland’s Arion and his own Horse. Both beasts lifted their noses over the stable walls to investigate—and hopefully get treats. Thorne stroked the noses of both and broke an old carrot in two to feed them.
Wes, at least, watched him without fear and offered his hand palm up to Arion to smell in introduction. Thorne nodded, knowing that the child had not lied about his own experience with horses, at least. Will—well she would find other work to do eventually once she gave up her pretence.
“You can bed in the hayloft,” Thorne told them, pointing out the stable’s amenities… such as they were. “Come to the kitchen. I’ll get you some food.”
That was all the convincing they needed. He instructed them to clean their hands of soot in the cold water, at least, and threw a kettle of water on to heat. Roland did not care for the townhouse’s decor, but Thorne knew at least enough to appreciate the luxury of piped water. The sprouts hungrily devoured every crumb of the half loaf of bread and leftover cheese he gave them, and he stifled his laugh, not wanting to spook them.
He, too, remembered days of hunger with a pang. There had been many lean times in his life before he had gotten good enough to filch enough to eat, and then when he was older, to supplement what passed as an ‘honest living.’ But then, his mother had started getting ill. The difficulty in finding good employment had been in part of what had driven him to the Northumberland estate in the end. Hat in hand, he had been prepared to beg Earl Thaddius Percy for the means to support her.
It had not worked out precisely as he had expected it would. But then again, what he found had been better. And as he guided the full, sleepy kids back out to the stables with the kettle of warm washing water, he suspected that they wouldn’t regret crossing Roland’s path either.
CHARITY PREPARES TO FACE THE QUEEN
Lady Fitzroy was all but a stranger to Charity, little more than the mother of a fellow debutante she had crossed paths with at events. Certainly no one Charity had thought about before she had stepped out into the woman’s garden for a breath of fresh air and ended up locked away from all she knew and loved.
Now, the dowager stood with her back straight and head held high, as regal as a monarch despite wearing a simple dress. Looking at her, one would never guess she had been unmasked as a kidnapper. Her proud features bore no sign of shame or regret. She had drugged the queen’s diamond and hidden her away for a week, ruining the young woman’s reputation in the process. So what?
Some part of Charity admired the woman for her brashness. A small part, one that shrank with every evil word that tumbled from Lady Fitzroy’s mouth. Lady Fitzroy’s face grew florid as she listed off her ill wishes for Charity’s future.
“I hope all that brings you joy turns to ash within your hands. That your beauty fades…”
Lady Fitzroy continued in the same vein, but Charity ceased to pay the woman any attention. She needed all her concentration to determine what to do next, for she stood upon a precipice, where one wrong move would send her tumbling into social oblivion.
For certain, nothing was to be gained from lingering any longer in the Fitzroy manse. Here, she was powerless, like an injured cub with her neck exposed. Lady Fitzroy would like nothing more than to rip out her throat and watch her bleed.
But Charity would not show any fear or doubt. She forced her shoulders to drop and her chin to rise, until she was as unbending as a Grecian goddess carved from pure marble. With a smile on her face, she replied, “How strange, Lady Fitzroy. I wish you nothing but good health and happiness.”
The dowager’s lip twitched, that small movement betraying her frustration over her inability to break Charity. She raised a hand and pointed them toward the door, declaring their conversation at an end.
Hours of practice ensured that Charity exited the room without a backward glance. Her smooth steps carried her to the carriage that awaited them outside. She climbed in, settled upon the cushioned bench, and turned her gaze toward the window. She nudged the curtain aside, allowing a slim beam of moonlight to shine upon her face. If only the gods of old existed, for one might descend from the sky to save her from her troubles. But no matter how hard she looked, she could see nothing more than a few stars twinkling in the sky.
She felt Grace climb in beside her. Although Grace was her best friend, she wondered now if she had truly ever known her. Yes, Grace had a penchant for straying beyond the confines of society. Yes, she had oft declared her desire to adventure into the unknown. But to do all this – to risk her own reputation by sneaking out into the dead of night with a strange man – all to save Charity? It was more than Charity could comprehend.
Lord Roland Percy was even more of a mystery. With his lineage, she had set him atop her list of possible suitors. But then she had learned of his wager to wed the diamond. Not her, but a nameless, faceless woman, yet to be crowned. She was wise enough to the ways of the ton to understand that such things happened. She had kept her cool and led him on a merry march, refusing to grant him permission to officially pay her court.
In the rare moments of lucidity during the last few days, she had assumed he had set his sights in a new direction. Anyone in his shoes would. So how did he come to be here, to be working alongside Grace to ensure her rescue?
To that, she had no answer.
She shifted her gaze away from the window and studied the man. With his dark hair and shadowed eyes, he was hardly the picture of a knight in shining armour. She could sense the anger burning just below his surface. If he had a sword at his side, he would have run Lady Fitzroy through the heart and left her dead.
This was not a situation that could be resolved by violence. It was a game of wits, and she alone was skilled enough to take part.
The carriage wheels creaked as they set into motion. The grim cast to everyone’s faces left Charity feeling as though she was riding to a funeral. To her funeral. As soon as she walked into her family home, with no plausible explanation for her absence, and no proof of Lady Fitzroy’s wrongdoing, she might as well be dead. No one in society would acknowledge her, that was for sure.
She recollected all Grace had told her, spinning through the web of their investigation until she arrived at the centre. At Queen Charlotte – the woman who had raised Charity up to the heights of popularity. If she had done it once before, who was to say she could not do it again?
Charity reached over until her hand brushed against Grace’s. She coaxed her friend to relax her fist and threaded their fingers together. She squeezed once to get Grace’s attention.
“Grace?” She waited for Grace to turn her way, but she stubbornly refused. Charity squeezed again. “Grace, you said Queen Charlotte tasked you with finding me. Was she truly so upset by my absence?”
Across the way, Lord Percy stiffened. Grace inclined her head once in reply, but said nothing.
“Then we must go to her. Straightaway,” Charity insisted. Lord Percy jerked upright and questioned her sanity. This late at night, in her state of disrepair, she was hardly fit for an audience with the queen.
Unfortunately, it was now or never. Charity hardened her tone and insisted he do as she asked.
Lord Percy knocked on the roof of the carriage and issued new instructions to the driver. He studied her face, searching for some clue as to her plan. Charity turned away, not wanting any distraction.
She had one chance to make her case to the queen. One chance to convince the most powerful woman in England that she would gain more by saving Charity than by letting her fall.
But one did not make demands of the queen. Even hinting at the request was risky. If the queen was in a fine mood, she might agree to bestow a favour. But such things always came with a cost.
Before her presentation at court, Charity’s mother had let her in on the real secret to earning the title of incomparable. Beauty and charm would get one far, but they alone would not warrant the queen’s attention. Queen Charlotte sought something more. Someone like her – capable of sitting on the throne and holding her head high despite the sad, mad state of her husband the king. She valued women who were as unbreakable as she was.
And so, that is what Charity would give her. She would make no requests. She would not beg. She would thank the queen for sending Grace and Lord Percy to save her, and then bid her goodbye. No tears, no wringing hands, no gnawed lips.
Charity was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The trauma of the last few days, combined with the agony of seeing Lady Fitzroy go free, was almost more than she could bear. She acknowledged her own pain and suffering, and then tucked them into a locked chest in the depths of her mind. All that remained was an unfailing confidence and a serene countenance.
Charity prayed that would be enough to inspire the queen to save her from her fate.
Want more Roland and Grace? Grab your copy of The Ruby Dagger – book 2 in the Crown Jewels Regency mystery series.
(As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.)