“I don’t detest him.” Pippa shook her head from side to side without looking up. “Whatever I feel or don’t feel for the duke has nothing to do with the friendship I had with Amelia. We’ve just never been amiable, but if you and he were to marry, I promise to try to like him.”
Julia’s mouth gaped open. She blinked rapidly and played with the jewels at her neck with one gloved hand. “St. Clara and I are friends, Pippa. Nothing more.”
In truth, she hadn’t thought of marrying anyone. She never again wanted to give another person the power to destroy her.
Julia had once relinquished everything she was over to the one person who was supposed to stay by her side forever. Henry Livingstone, the Marquess of Heartford, took Julia’s gift of unconditional love and devotion and crushed it in the palms of his hands.
It’s official, he’s back and my is he magnificent! How will the Marquess of H react to discovering that he is now penniless? If only there was an heiress who could save him.
Henry and Elijah weaved their way through the crowded docks. Beggars surrounded them, both black and white. A small negro child approached Elijah with wide-eyed wonder. Henry thought perhaps the child had never seen a black person such as Elijah: tall, well-dressed and domineering.
The young boy’s clothes were nothing but rags. His cheeks were sunken with hunger. His brown skin scarred, evidence of a life lived on the streets. He was no older than six or seven years.
Elijah stopped, reached into his waistcoat, and pulled out a sovereign, his cool eyes surveying their surroundings. “Here you are, boy.” He handed the boy the coin.
The child’s eyes grew as wide as carriage wheels as he looked from the gold coin to Elijah. “Are you an African king? I’ve heard stories of negro kings that live in Africa and protect their people from slavers.”
Elijah chuckled at the child’s explanation of kings. He was as far from a king as Henry had ever met.
Noticing that their conversation with the child was garnering unwanted attention, Henry shifted uncomfortably from side to side and kept his gaze on the shadows. He had learned early on in his travels to watch his own back. It was exhilarating to know that he could protect himself. There was a difference between fencing for exercise and fighting for your life. There were so many desperate people in the world who would do anything to survive. People so unlike himself who had to steal or kill for their next meal. He took comfort in knowing that he could defend himself.
Bending down to the child’s level, Elijah placed a large hand on his threadbare shoulder. “I am not a king, just a hard worker, but I have met many African kings in my country of Sierra Leone.” His voice was full of pride. “Find yourself a ship and join the crew. It’s good, honest work for a boy like yourself. You’ll be your own man and make your own money.”
The boy looked around suspiciously, holding the coin to his chest as if it was his very own life in the palm of his hands before he ran off without saying another word.
Several shifty-looking characters eyed them like they were their next meal. Henry reached down to palm the revolver at his side. “We need to leave, now.”
Elijah’s hand went to the pistol he kept on his hip. He took it out and held it visibly at his side so all who dared approach them could see. “Lead the way.”
Henry led them through the throng of people, the moon high in the sky lighting their way to a row of waiting hackneys. Once inside one, Elijah put away his weapon and both of them let out a sigh of relief.
“I see London’s thieves are just as hungry as anywhere else. I still remember the man you had to shoot in Paris.” Elijah gave him a knowing grin.
“That was your bloody fault for keeping us at that brothel all night and getting us foxed.” Henry ran his hands through his short hair.
He had cut off his boyish blond curls when he first left London. They reminded him of the person he was—selfish, entitled, and happy. He was no longer any of those things, perhaps still a bit selfish. Henry hadn’t written to his solicitor since he left London. The idea of becoming his own man and providing for himself had fueled him. Knowing what it was like to be able to earn one’s wages, to take care of oneself without it being automatically handed down from centuries of undeserving gentlemen made him feel like he could do anything. It gave him confidence.
Henry loved the ache in his bones after a hard day’s work. Receiving funds earned with his own two hands gave him immense pride. It was a different type of pride than that of inheriting one’s wealth by proxy.
“It is a good thing I’ve taught you how to fight dirty.” Elijah laughed, and Henry knew he was thinking of the time they were cornered by two men in Jamaica. He sobered, tilting his head to where the child recently stood. “Are there many children like the one at the docks? I know what it’s like to lose your parents so young.” Elijah’s voice had a hint of sadness.
“Yes, many children without a mother or a father are left to fend for themselves on the cold streets of London.” Henry thought of his motherless niece, Emily, and what her life was like without the love of her mother.
He wondered if she was happy with Karrington and his new duchess. The duke’s letters held little information, but Henry knew they loved her like their own.
Thinking of his niece brought memories of her father, the Earl of Windchester, and his deception. Though it had been three years since his sister’s death, Henry still felt the cold sting of betrayal from one of his oldest and closest friends.
The carriage rattled through the cobbled streets of London. Henry noted the clear separation of rich and poor through the slits of the small curtain. The dirty, crowded streets changed as they entered Mayfair. Elaborate townhomes with gilded brass plates lined the cobbled stones. The carriages changed from mostly hackneys and carts to decorated coaches with coats of arms painted on the doors.
His breathing became quick and shallow as he thought about what awaited him in society and at home. Henry had abandoned his life, left everyone he loved with barely a word, and now he would have to face them. He knew his mother was not happy with him. The one letter he received from her after his departure was simple:Return home this instant!He did not send her a reply; he just continued with his travels.
He had to escape the sinking feeling that followed him after Amelia’s death. There was nothing he could do but run. Run away from it all.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the stately townhome. It was dark. His mother and uncle must be out at a ball. Henry had no doubt that his mother wouldn’t allow his disappearance to interrupt her social calendar.
He exited the carriage with Elijah following behind him. Between the two of them, they only had meager luggage. He was sure his mother would be altogether appalled at the threadbare waistcoat, trousers, and hat he wore.
He rapped on the door expectantly, wanting nothing more than to retire in his own bed for once. It had seemed like an eternity since he had slept in his own bed and felt the cool softness of the linen sheets. He had enjoyed working, but he missed certain luxuries that came with being a marquess.
