A Rogue's Autumn Bride Page 2

  Heaven forbid if his opponent shoved him. His balance was something with which he continued to struggle even with his cane.

  The loose pant leg of his trousers hid his disability along with the boot fitted to the foot of the wooden appendage that served as his replacement leg. Harry had practiced walking for hours upon hours to hide his limp with the false leg. That had been months after he’d recovered from the cannon blast that had stolen the limb below his knee. He was one of the lucky ones as he still had his knee and therefore more mobility. Numerous adjustments to the wooden post with its cords and connected foot had been necessary to make his gait relatively smooth given that his ankle bent very little.

  The last thing he wanted from others was pity. Announcing his injury to the world by limping felt as if he held out his hand, waiting for assistance. He didn’t need anything from anyone, and he preferred his life that way.

  “The ladies stated that they do not want your company.” Harry kept his tone pleasant if firm, preferring to defuse the situation if possible. “Isn’t that right?” He glanced at the lady in grey for confirmation as she seemed to be the leader of the trio.

  Those wide eyes behind the spectacles held on him as if she were unable to decide if he was friend or foe. After a moment’s pause, she apparently made up her mind and nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  One of her companions appeared to be of a different mind based on the flirtatious looks she sent the man who held her bag. She also appeared to be fresh from the country and therefore unaware of the trouble in which she could land. The other woman remained behind them as if hoping the ground would swallow her whole.

  “Thank you, sir.” The lady in grey gave Harry a nod before casting a glare at their opponent. “Kindly return the bag, and we will be on our way.”

  Harry was pleased she’d found her backbone, much preferring the bright spots of color in her cheeks to the paleness earlier. Now that he was nearer, he could see her eyes were a dark chocolate brown and held a gleam of anger. He held back the urge to encourage her newfound pluck. That would never do.

  Instead, he raised a brow as he waited for the man to do as she asked, his body tensed in preparation for a fight. He might not have good balance, but his fist worked as well as it ever had, thanks to the boxing he still practiced.

  “Are ye sure ye wouldn’t like a ride?” The stranger studied the new arrival. “I could show ye the sites if ye’re new to the city.”

  She glanced at her friend and found the good sense to shake her head. “No, thank you. Please return my bag.”

  “Yer loss.” The man dropped the bag, his expression one of disgruntlement. “I was tryin’ to be helpful.”

  The lady in grey’s lips tightened, suggesting she was tempted to argue. Harry rather hoped her courage didn’t extend that far, lest he be forced to engage in fisticuffs after all.

  “Are all of you unhurt?” Harry asked once the man had strode away through the crowd.

  The lady glanced at her companions who both nodded before looking back at him. “We are. Thank you for your assistance.”

  “I’m pleased to have been of help.” He touched the brim of his hat then took a step only to stumble, blast his leg. Or rather, the lack thereof.

  “Sir?” The lady reached out to steady him, her dark eyes holding on his and full of questions.

  He pulled away, teeth clenched with embarrassment and the anger he had difficulty suppressing, unable to bear the help. Not when he didn’t need it. If only his body would listen. “I’m fine,” he bit out.

  “May I ask your name so we might know who assisted us?” She did an admirable job of hiding how rude she thought him.

  “No one,” he repeated. Then he walked away with careful strides, determined not to misstep again. The lady didn’t realize he’d done her a favor by leaving. His foul mood meant he wasn’t good company for anyone, let alone the fairer sex.

  Yet guilt plagued him as he returned to where a coach was unloading. He shouldn’t have been so discourteous. She’d already had a fright and didn’t need him to add to it. He couldn’t pick and choose what parts of gentlemanly behavior suited him. Either he played the role in full or he didn’t do it at all.

  It didn’t matter, he told himself. The likelihood of him seeing her again was nil.

  “Sergeant Johnson,” he called as a man from his squadron stepped down awkwardly from the upper seat of the coach that had just arrived.

  “Captain.” Johnson smiled with a nod as he adjusted his crutch. “Good of you to meet me, sir.”

  “My pleasure.” Harry was careful not to look at the folded pant leg where the soldier’s leg used to be.

  Based on his weary look and thin frame, the sergeant was struggling with the loss of his limb and the return to a normal life. That struggle would soon be eased, assuming the man was willing to make a few changes and accept assistance.

  When Viscount Redmond had first approached Harry to ask that he become involved in the charity for wounded soldiers, Harry was certain it was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d only agreed when Redmond pressed him. After all, he had no desire to be reminded of all that he and many of his men had lost in the war.

  But the past few months of work had proven how great the need was for the former soldiers to realize they could still serve a purpose and earn a decent living, thereby helping their families. Redmond insisted Harry was an example of what was possible despite a permanent, life-changing injury.

  The memory nearly had Harry shaking his head. Harry Clarke, the fourth son of the Earl of Stanwick, serving as an inspiration to anyone? His father would chuckle while his mother would merely frown in disbelief.

  His task was to assist—convince, harangue or coerce, at times—former soldiers who’d been wounded in battle to be trained for new work given their injuries.

  Much to his surprise, Harry found that the work suited him. He’d started as a volunteer for the organization but now received a stipend for his time. He was lucky in that he had enough funds from selling his commission as well as from his penchant for winning at cards to live comfortably.

  He’d met Redmond at Madame Gaston’s gaming hell. In all honesty, watching Redmond change over the past year from a brooding man to a happy one had been interesting. Harry hadn’t thought it possible. When Redmond had shared that a woman was behind the shift, Harry had nearly laughed, certain he was jesting.

  Now the viscount was happily married and on another trip with his wife. Harry was helping more in his absence, hence his presence at the mail coach this afternoon.

  “Which bag is yours?” Harry asked as he gestured toward the ones being unloaded.

  “Here it is.” Johnson reached for a small bag and stood, leaning on his cane.

  “Allow me.” Harry didn’t want to offend the man, but he looked as if he could barely stand without the bag, let alone with it.

  “I’ve got it, sir.” The flash of anger in the man’s eyes was something Harry recognized, for he saw it often in his own reflection.

  Life wasn’t fair. Then again, Harry had realized that years ago, well before he’d joined the army. There was no point in dwelling on such truths as it didn’t change them.

  “I have a hackney waiting across the street.” Harry led the way toward it, unable to resist glancing about to see if the lady in grey was still in sight. To his disappointment, there was no sign of her.

  For the best, he told himself. His curiosity about her couldn’t lead anywhere. He was unfit in numerous ways for a lady.

  Chapter Two

  Sarah returned to the marchioness’s residence after escorting Anne to a reputable servant registry office where she’d provided details of her preferences for a position along with her experience. Then Sarah had deposited her at a lodging house where she’d be safe until she found work.

  Sarah had also taken a few minutes to warn Anne of the dangers in the city. Those came in so many forms that it was impossi
ble to share them all. However, Sarah couldn’t bring herself to share why she was so adamant that Anne avoid the man at the coach stop.

  Whether her friend would heed her advice remained to be seen. The girl had too easily been taken in by his smile. If she fluttered her lashes at every male who looked her way, she’d be knee-deep in trouble before the week’s end.

  Sarah knew all too well how terribly wrong events could go. When she’d arrived in London, so confident that she’d find an excellent position as well as the excitement she craved, she never would’ve guessed what would happen.

  After being handed the name of a servant registry office at the mail coach stop, she’d registered with them despite the warning from her friend, Beatrice Linfield, about that very office. She’d been certain Beatrice had been mistaken. That her own experience would be different. Plus the nice clerk there had provided her with the name of an affordable lodging house. She’d taken heart in how her arrival to the city was working out so well, just as she’d expected. Little did she know that the owners of the lodging house worked with a brothel to supply naïve young women as prostitutes.

  Sarah had woken in the brothel, more frightened than she’d ever been, realizing too late she’d been given some sort of drug.

  If it weren’t for Beatrice, now Beatrice Walker, and her husband, Daniel, Sarah might still be in that terrible place. Not a day passed when she didn’t think of them with gratitude for rescuing her before she’d been sold to the highest bidder. Virgins brought in significant money and were always auctioned off more than once.

  Beatrice was from the same village as Sarah and Anne. And Beatrice had been in the same situation as Sarah but had managed to escape before being sold. Sarah admired her courage more than she could say. Would Sarah have had the same level of bravery if she hadn’t been rescued? Thank goodness, she hadn’t had to discover the truth.

  What had happened to Beatrice was a secret. Sarah hadn’t even told her mother. She knew her mother’s penchant for gossip well enough that she realized the entire village would be privy to the horrible fate that had almost found Beatrice. Yet she’d expected her mother to react with more sympathy when Sarah had written to share her own experience.

  She didn’t think she needed to ask her mother to keep it a secret but had assumed she would. Then again, perhaps she had since Anne hadn’t acted as if she’d known.

  Sarah peeked into the sitting room where the marchioness normally spent her afternoons, smiling at the sight of her sitting by the window with paints and paper before her and a brush in hand. “I’ve returned, my lady.”

  “Excellent.” The marchioness looked up from her watercolor efforts. “How did everything progress?”

  Though nearly into her sixth decade, Lady Whirlenhall was still beautiful. With pale hair, relatively smooth skin, and a fine figure, most who met her thought her much younger. Her positive outlook and passion for life added to her youthfulness. Sarah adored her. The lady was independent, knew what she wanted, and wasn’t afraid to pursue whatever that was.

  However, that last bit made Sarah’s job more difficult at times. Reining in the lady’s impulsive behavior with tact and reason was no easy task. Given the fact that Sarah was impulsive, or at least had been in the past, she could often guess the marchioness’s thoughts and curtail any ideas that might cause her harm before she acted on them.

  “Well enough, I think.” Sarah drew nearer to study the hyacinth taking shape on the paper in pink and purple tones. The marchioness was quite talented. The delicate flower was done more like an impression than an exact image as if taken from a daydream or a distant memory, and Sarah thought it lovely. “Though I worry whether Miss Hunter will take my advice about proceeding with caution in her new life.”

  The marchioness raised a brow. “Do you believe her to be the rebellious sort?”

  “Based on her flirtatious behavior with a complete stranger at the coach stop, yes.” Sarah sighed.

  The marchioness knew what had happened to Sarah and had been appalled at the events. Her empathy for what Sarah had endured was something Sarah appreciated more than she could say.

  “Oh dear. Well, some of us must learn from our mistakes the hard way rather than by advice from others. We must hope she doesn’t find any serious trouble.”

  “Indeed.” Sarah settled into a nearby chair, the flyer she’d stuffed into her pocket crinkling as she did so. She pulled it out, anger filling her as she read the advert again.

  “What is that?” the marchioness asked.

  “There was a man at the coach stop handing out these flyers. Miss Hunter flirted with him, and he did his best to convince us to allow him to provide us with a ride.” She held up the printed paper. “It mentions a maid training service that sounds too good to be true.”

  “You don’t believe it to be a legitimate opportunity?”

  Sarah met the lady’s blue eyes. “I’m certain it’s not. The man who handed them out was one of the guards from the brothel. I remember him clearly. Given his involvement, I fear the service’s true purpose might be to supply women to brothels.”

  “I thought the man behind the scheme that caught you in its grip had been arrested.” The marchioness paused with her paintbrush in mid-air, her brow puckered with concern.

  “He was. But from what Mr. Walker said, each time they close such a place and make arrests, they’re soon set free to open another similar establishment. The demand for new girls at brothels is never-ending and pays well.”

  “Good heavens. We simply must do something. To think of all those poor young women unaware of what could occur.” The marchioness set her brush in the small pot of water on the table. “Perhaps we should call on Mr. and Mrs. Walker and advise them what you discovered.”

  “They’re travelling for the next few weeks.” Sarah stayed in touch with Beatrice and valued her friendship. How she wished they were in town.

  “Hmm. Then we shall mention it to Granger.”

  The Earl of Granger was the marchioness’s son-in-law, married to her only child, Louisa. He was a wonderful man and had started a charity to aid wounded soldiers and help retrain those who’d lost limbs or were otherwise unable to return to the work they’d previously performed.

  “I hate to bother him when he’s already so busy,” Sarah murmured as she studied the offending advert, wondering what else she could do.

  “Let us see what he suggests. He might be familiar with the Bow Street Runner with whom Mr. Walker worked and could aid us in contacting him.”

  The fact that the marchioness was willing to take action made Sarah admire her all the more. In her limited experience, much of the nobility turned away when they encountered anything unsavory as if becoming involved in halting it would somehow dirty their hands.

  “Thank goodness you were able to escape that man.” The lady shuddered. “To think you were in danger and might not have returned from meeting Miss Hunter. Why, I don’t know what I would’ve done to find you.”

  Her concern warmed Sarah’s heart. How nice it was to have an employer who cared enough to worry over her. “I know enough to be cautious. But I nearly didn’t convince the man to let us be. He took hold of Miss Hunter’s bag and refused to release it. Thank goodness another gentleman intervened on our behalf.”

  No one. How odd for the man to have called himself that. He had been handsome with black hair clipped short and a stiffness to his movements that suggested he’d been in the military as did his serious demeanor. His unusual jade green eyes had caught her notice. But the fact that he’d stepped forward to assist them was what truly captured her attention. He was proof heroes still walked about London. She could easily overlook his abruptness given his actions.

  What might he look like if he smiled? Her breath caught at the thought, her imagination catching hold.

  “Isn’t that right?”

  Sarah jerked her gaze to the marchioness’s, realizing she’d been woolgathering, a te
rrible habit of hers. “Pardon me?”

  “I asked if you remembered that Granger and Louisa are joining us for tea this afternoon.”

  “Yes, of course.” Sarah had nearly forgotten. Luckily, she kept a calendar of the marchioness’s various social functions. If only she remembered to look at it more often. She needed to focus on her duties rather than the stranger with compelling green eyes.

  ~*~

  Harry eyed the other men as he entered Madame Gaston’s card room that evening. Most he knew since they were frequent players. He’d taken more than his fair share of winnings from them, but thus far, they had been more or less good-natured about it.

  He preferred gambling at this establishment as it had a nice mix of players—nobility and gentlemen for the most part. Only those with fairly deep pockets played here. He’d played once or twice at other less popular establishments but had run into a few of his men. The last thing he wanted to do was take money from them.

  Cards had been something to pass the time while in the military when the days had been a mix of extreme boredom followed by high stress. His preferred game was Piquet as it required skill, strategy, and a good memory. For some reason, his luck nearly always held when he played it.

  He also indulged occasionally in other games that relied more on chance, such as Faro. The rush of adrenalin that came from a particularly close game reminded him he was still alive. That he could still feel.

  That sensation was one of the few things he missed about military life. Moments when his pulse thrummed and his mind cleared. When he had a certain sense of knowing what action to take next.

  He knew he was lucky that he’d found the cavalry bearable. If he’d been born a few generations earlier, he might’ve been forced to join the military as early as seven years of age. Only after 1795 had the minimum requirement been changed to sixteen.

  As late as 1809, a man who enlisted did so for life. However, it became clear the length of service was a detriment for many to join, and the government shifted to offering a seven-year or a twenty-year enlistment.