He could almost see Alice now. Hands on hips, foot tapping, and those soft lips he’d kissed only last night pursed in that mixture of affection and exasperation that always undid him.
“Make haste, Archie,” he muttered, leaning low in the saddle, “or I’ll be in a world of trouble.”
“It’s not his fault,” Anthony drawled from his left, “that you were too busy devouring that second slice of cake to notice the time.”
“Third slice,” Toby corrected cheerfully.
Jamie grunted and ignored them both. They had been teasing him since they left the tea shop. Behind their teasing, though, was a bond forged through years of shared pain and affection. They were the brothers he’d never had.
Above them, church bells rang the hour. He was definitely late.
They were bound for St Giles, a place Jamie rarely visited until recently. It stood two streets shy of the infamous Rookery but close enough to feel its hellish shadow. The district smelled of despair, horse dung, coal smoke, and the tang of gin distilleries.
“Alice will forgive you for being late, Anthony said.
Jamie felt a smile tug at his lips. “My wife may love me, but she’ll be sorely vexed if I’m not standing beside her when the first patient walks through that clinic door.”
Anthony leaned across his saddle. “Five months wed and still speaking of her as if she’s an angel. You’ll give us all a bad name.”
“Has it passed for you?” Jamie shot back. “You don’t still hang on your beloved’s every word?”
“Never,” Anthony admitted. His wife was due to deliver their first child any day now. Toby’s wasn’t far behind. They were both equally excited and terrified.
Jamie’s smile deepened. “You’ll both make excellent fathers.”
“And you?” Toby asked quietly.
“I hope to,” Jamie said. “Soon.”
He hadn’t thought he’d ever want such a thing. Not after Blackwood Hall, and the years of darkness that had followed. But Alice had changed that. In the five months since becoming his wife, she’d filled the hollow spaces in him with laughter, warmth, and that fierce sense of purpose that seemed to burn in her like a flame.
“How was she this morning?” Anthony asked.
“Determined and excited,” Jamie said. “She left early to see to last-minute details with Maggie, Ezra, and Bobby, but said she had no use for me until the opening. But I was told, in no uncertain terms, to be there on time.”
“Ah,” Toby said. “So you are in serious trouble.”
“Very likely.”
They turned onto a broader street, and the building came into view. Even from a distance, it stood out. Three stories of solid brick with tall arched windows, the stone newly scrubbed, and the door painted a deep green. The brass plaque he’d personally had made, gleamed in the sunlight:
The St Giles Medical and Relief House
Jamie felt something swell in his chest. Pride, perhaps. Or disbelief. He shot his friends a look.
A few years ago, they’d all been men clawing their way out of the wreckage of their pasts. Survivors of Blackwood Hall, that hellish school that had taught brutality instead of discipline. Now, they’d built something meant to heal.
All three were now married to women they loved, and with Jackson’s incarceration, their need for revenge was complete. They still watched out for any Blackwood boys in need of help, but for the most part, they were at peace.
“There is a crowd,” Anthony said as they arrived.
“I can’t believe you actually got some of the ton here, Jamie. Not only that, they are standing about outside, in a part of London I daresay they have never frequented,” Toby said.
“I am charming and persuasive when required.” He took in the elegant carriages and their owners milling about before the clinic.
“Really?” Anthony said. “I have yet to see that side of you, Jamie.”
“Very amusing.” Jamie dismounted, handing Archie’s reins to a boy, whom he handed a coin for his troubles. His friends did the same.
