The Bride of Devil's Acre (3 page)

Jacqueline was embarrassed to realize she was envious. She didn’t begrudge Catherine a single moment of her happiness, but Jacqueline wanted something similar for herself, a husband, a child. Love.

“Did you have a nice visit, my lady?” the footman asked, opening the carriage door and offering Jacqueline a hand up.
 

“Yes, of course, Lady Morgan—” Jacqueline stopped, head cocked to one side. “Did you hear that?”

“My lady?” Carlson looked around, not sure what to expect. The Morgans’ townhouse was located in Hanover Square, a fashionable section of London with ample foot traffic and bustling streets.

“That sound…” Jacqueline stepped back from the carriage. Like many others along the street, Catherine’s townhouse was lined with short shrubs, the rich greenery enhancing the brick building and the wrought iron fencing that separated them from their neighbors.
 

The sound came again.

“What is that?” Jacqueline eyed the brush critically. Something stirred the bushes. “There!”

“Wait! My lady, you don’t know what might be in there!” Carlson reached out a restraining hand, but stopped short of actually touching his mistress.

Jacqueline didn’t wait. Diving between the bushes, she pushed stiff branches aside, her eyes scanning the dirt. There, tucked beneath a soft bed of underbrush and dead leaves was a newborn kitten. Still damp with her birthing blood, the mother had managed to chew through the cord before she died.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Jacqueline cooed. Unwrapping her shawl from her shoulders, she gently scooped up the tiny body and cradled it to her chest. The sting of tears blurred her vision. “New to the world and already alone.”

“Shall I take it, my lady?” Carlson stepped forward, prepared to take up the small bundle.

“No, I’ve got it.” Her melancholy momentarily forgotten, Jacqueline hurried up into her carriage. “William, take us home, and be quick about it.”

“Yes, my lady.” William, the Edwards’ coachman, already had the reins in his hands.

Jacqueline pulled back the makeshift blanket. The body in her arms was small and barely moving. “And Carlson?”

“Yes, my lady?” Carlson paused, one hand on the carriage as he prepared to step up onto the footboard.

“Please send someone to see to the mother,” Jacqueline said, softly. “She shouldn’t be left like that.”

Jacqueline sighed as the last strains of music faded, and the dance came to an end. Rising from her curtsy, she rested her hand lightly on Lord Brigham’s arm as he led her off the dance floor and handed her back to her father.

“A pleasure,” Lord Brigham said, bowing over Jacqueline’s hand before turning his attention to the rest of the assembled gentlemen.

There were six of them surrounding Jacqueline and her father, all of them sitting members of the House of Lords. Lord Brigham was a longtime friend of her father’s. A widower thirty years Jacqueline’s senior, with an heir and a spare, Lord Brigham had absolutely no interest in marriage and was considered an appropriate dance partner.
 

At least as far as Jacqueline’s father was concerned.

“Harold, you recently reviewed the Queen’s proposed bill,” Lord Edwards said, tucking his daughter safely into his side and drawing the newcomer into the conversation. “What do you think of her restoration plans?”

Jacqueline let the debate wash over her, scanning the room and admiring the crowd.
 

Papered in gold and surrounded by intricately gilded wainscoting, the Hawthorns’ ballroom was a stunning example of excess. Silver candelabras sat atop Corinthian columns that separated the gold and marble dance floor from the rest of the room. Crystal chandeliers watched over men in tails as they escorted young ladies onto the dance floor, leading them in the steps of courtship as well as the waltz before returning them to tight-lipped chaperones.
 

Lady Hawthorn was known for her banquets, and the scent of candle wax and perfume could not disguise the delicious smells wafting from the dining room. Jacqueline’s stomach rumbled. She had missed supper, spending the remainder of the afternoon with their cook, Mrs. Turner, tending to the newborn kitten before rushing upstairs to dress.
 

Jacqueline shifted, wondering how long until dinner.

“Stop fidgeting,” Lord Edwards hissed quietly, his smile never leaving his face.

Jacqueline stiffened. Her father was cross, angry at her for spending her time in the kitchen rather than dining with him.

“With all due respect,” Lord Brigham said, drawing Jacqueline’s attention back to the discussion at hand. “But you are being incredibly shortsighted.”

“Nonsense,” Lord Murphy said, throwing back his shoulders and puffing up his considerable chest. “The aptly named Victoria Street is just what that area needs to get rid of the riffraff.”

 
“I’m sure it will,” Lord Brigham sighed, and sent Jacqueline an apologetic smile. “But the question remains, where will they go?”

“Who cares?” Lord Murphy snapped. “That’s not my problem.”

“It will be if they decide to move into Hanover Square,” Jacqueline said. Lord Murphy owned a townhouse in Hanover Square.

A hush descended over the gathered group of gentlemen.

“My point exactly,” Lord Brigham said, tipping his head and acknowledging Jacqueline’s point. “Moving the scum out of the rookeries is all well and good, until you consider where they might relocate.”

“Well,” Lord Edwards said, his narrow gaze on his daughter, “they certainly can’t afford the rent in Hanover Square.”

Lord Murphy and the others laughed.

Jacqueline met her father’s warning glare. “I dare say they won’t be able to afford the rents on Victoria Street, either.”

Lord Edwards’ lips parted, and his grip on her arm tightened. But for the second time that day, Jacqueline was saved by the timely interruption of a new arrival.

“Good evening, Lady Edwards.” Mr. Henry Gates bowed deep at the waist. “Lord Edwards.”

“Mr. Gates,” Lord Edwards said.

“Hello, Henry,” Jacqueline said. Pleasure at seeing her childhood friend warmed her smile and smoothed over her father’s chilly greeting.
 

“I was wondering if you would honor me with a dance?” Henry asked, offering Jacqueline his arm. He was used to Lord Edwards’ response to his presence. He couldn’t fault the man for wanting to protect his daughter, even if Henry’s intentions were considered perfectly respectable.

“I’d love to,” Jacqueline said. She refused to look at her father, and there was the slighest hesitation before he released her arm.

“I shall return her shortly, my lord,” Henry said, bowing to Lord Edwards.

“See that you do,” Lord Edwards said, watching through narrow eyes as his daughter was led away.

“That’s Lord Gates’ oldest boy, isn’t it?” Lord Brigham asked. “Though with that brood of boys it’s hard to know which is which.”
 

Lady Gates had honored her husband with not one, not two, but five sons. All of the boys possessed the same fair complexion with light brown hair and brown eyes.

“Henry is the oldest,” Lord Edwards confirmed, turning back to the group. “He and Jacqueline grew up together.”

“A fine match,” Lord Murphy observed. “Your daughter would be a countess one day.”

“My daughter is a countess in her own right,” Lord Edwards said, stiffly.
 

“My apologies,” Lord Murphy offered. “I forgot that your daughter took her title from your late wife.”

Lord Edwards nodded but didn’t say anything more on the subject. Catching sight of his daughter, he watched as Henry spun Jacqueline down the length of the dance floor.
 

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Jacqueline said, smiling up at Henry. His was a face she knew almost as well as her own.
 

“I confess I came looking for you,” Henry said. “I was hoping we could pick up where we left off.”

“Henry, don’t,” Jacqueline pleaded, the pleasure of the dance quickly fading.
 

“Why won’t you let me speak with your father?” Henry asked, his voice gentle.

“You know why,” Jacqueline whispered, looking around. It wouldn’t do to have their conversation overheard.

“No, I don’t,” Henry insisted. “We get on well, and one day I will be an earl. I know my father’s estate is small compared to your father’s, but it’s supported the Gates through generations, even with my four brothers, and it will stand fast for us.”

“You know that’s not it,” Jacqueline said. Why did they have to keep having this conversation? She adored Henry. They’d grown up together, and while she wasn’t in love with him, she could do worse than a marriage based on friendship.
 

“I know your father is resistant to the idea of your marrying,” Henry said.

“Resistant? Is that what you call it?”

Henry smiled as the dance drew to an end. Lord Edwards could be intimidating, but Henry had grown up with the man, their families’ country estates not far from one another.

“At least let me talk to him,” Henry insisted. Offering Jacqueline his arm, he steered her off the dance floor, away from her father, and into the crowd.
 

Jacqueline felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle and knew her father was watching. Careful to keep a respectable distance between herself and Henry, she pasted a polite smile on her face. “I can’t let you do that.”

“You still haven’t given me a good reason why not.” Henry nodded to several peers as they passed by. He had been all of seven years old when he first met Jacqueline. He had been too young to know what love was, but as the years passed and the feeling grew, Henry was certain there was no one else for him.
 

Jacqueline watched her father’s eyes narrow as they drew near. It was time to put a stop to Henry's childhood fantasies of marriage and happily ever after. At least with her.

“I can’t leave my father,” Jacqueline said, withdrawing her arm. Her father needed her. “I owe it to him to stay.”

Henry watched Lord Edwards separate himself from the crowd, stepping forward to reclaim his daughter. Quickly, he bent his head, pressing his lips next to Jacqueline’s ear. “There is more to life than duty,” he told her. “Sometimes, you have to follow your heart.”

“Where the bloody hell is Jimmy?” Finn snarled. It was just after midnight, and they were overdue to meet Devil. The man wasn’t known for his patience, and Finn didn’t want to be the one to explain why they were late.

Moose shrugged his massive shoulders. He was feeling loose in the joints. Good to his word, Finn had taken him to see Annie. The pretty whore had taken one look at Moose and smiled.

“I’ve got just the bit of flesh for you,” Annie said, leaving them to wait in her room. She’d come back leading a darkhaired woman with black eyes and a ready smile. “Carly here likes ‘em big and a bit rough,” Annie said, introducing her to Moose. “You won’t have to worry about hurting her none.”

Moose had done his best to be careful, until Carly showed him how she liked it. He’d learned his long legs and wide hips were good for banging between the woman’s plump thighs. In the end, she’d invited him to come back around after his night’s work was done with or without coin.

“Damn!” Finn said, throwing himself up onto his horse. “Come on, we’d best meet Devil and see what he wants us to do.”

Back at Purgatory, Devil stood behind his desk, his narrow eyes watching Finn’s face closely.

“What do you mean you can’t find Jimmy?” Devil asked, his voice disturbingly calm.

“Just what I said,” Finn said. “He never showed.”

“Did you bother looking for him?”

“Aye, we went past the Pike House,” Finn said, referring to the large house on Pike Street that Devil set aside for his gang of pickpockets. “The place was empty.”
 

It would be
, Devil thought. The boys would have hit the streets when the sun went down. Most of them had been orphans living on the street when Devil found them. He offered them a home, clothes, and food. In exchange, they learned how to be fast and light with their fingers, picking the pockets of the lords that wandered into Devil’s Acre, enticed by the high-stakes gaming tables and pretty whores.

Everything was handed over to Devil. He converted the trinkets into coin, which he invested back into Devil’s Acre. He was well aware of Queen Victoria’s plans for Devil’s Acre and nearby St. Giles. But Devil had restoration plans of his own.

“No sign of Jimmy?” Devil asked.

“No one has seen him since this afternoon.”

“You did tell him the right time?”
 

“Are you implying I steered the lad wrong?” Finn asked, fists clenched at his sides. He was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them.

“I’m simply wondering if maybe your personal feelings led to a misstatement.” Two men weren’t enough to get the job done. They needed two just to make the grab. A third man was required to deal with the coachman.

“I was with Finn when he talked to Jimmy,” Moose said, his rough voice easing the tension in the room. “He told the boy true.”

Devil considered Moose. The man wasn’t dumb enough to lie.

Devil swore. He didn’t have time for this. The bastard son of a whore. He’d spent years—
years
—pulling himself out of the gutter. He would not lose everything now.

“What do you want us to do?” Moose asked.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Finn offered.

“Since when do you believe in divine intervention?” Devil asked.
 

“Call it fate,” Finn said. You couldn’t be Irish without believing in the divine, though Finn had long given up on God. Or, more accurately, God had given up on him.

“We’re not abandoning the plan,” Devil said. Striding across his office, he threw open the door to Purgatory. Music combined with the various sounds of debauchery poured in through the open door.
 

Devil grabbed a passing steward. “Find Carver; send him to me.”

“No,” Finn said, standing as Devil circled back around his desk. “You said it yourself; the man enjoys his work too much.”