After dinner ended, they still had another dance to go, and when her reticule walloped him in the shoulder, he’d offered to put it in his pocket for the duration.
“No,” she’d practically shrieked when he’d reached for it, losing her calm demeanor for the first time.
He’d given her such a curious look, she feared he knew what was in her small satin bag.
“My apologies,” she muttered quickly. “One is taught when in London to be wary with one’s purse at all times.”
He’d smiled wryly. “I don’t think that applies to earls.”
Nevertheless, he’d let her reticule alone. And she’d been sorry to part with him when Mrs. Zebodar deemed it time to leave. It was the first event in London in which Julia had enjoyed the company more than anything else. Usually, the success of snagging a few baubles was the reward of the night, knowing within two days, she would be able to turn over a sizable sum to an orphanage or workhouse.
That night, however, she’d gone to bed feeling something else entirely — the thrill of being interested in a man who seemed to be interested in return.
Moreover, Julia started thinking about when Sarah might marry again. If this Denbigh fellow her sister had enjoyed meeting a few weeks earlier turned out to be a love interest, that would be splendid. Not that Julia wished to be rid of her, but Sarah had promised her the Worthington house if ever she remarried. And the previous night, it had occurred to her a single woman with a modest allowance, as she received from her sister, could fairly well do as she pleased if she had a home of her own.
Julia could, in fact, invite a certain earl over for a late supper with no one the wiser. And Marshfield seemed exactly the type of man who would accept.
Which was precisely why she shouldn’t be dreaming of spending time with him, particularly not time alone. His reputation was well-earned, and she would be nothing but a passing fancy of his. In the interim, before his fancy passed, she could — and probably would — get into all sorts of trouble.
Sighing and finishing her breakfast, she turned her thoughts to a higher calling than dallying with the earl and kissing him and feeling his hands on her, not just while dancing but while doing other wicked things.
Instead, she would sell the valuables and seek out St. James’s Workhouse, one of the most well-respected of London’s residences for the poor, of which she believed there to be about seventy others. Months ago, she’d sent her father a letter, asking his advice on what he would do were he in London, surrounded by such poverty. He’d suggested she ask if they needed spiritual guidance. It was far more likely they needed new linens, meat, vegetables and ale.
To that end, at eleven o’clock, wearing a day dress of pale primrose with cream trim, she set out for a new place to pawn, having decided her regular shop didn’t have the funds necessary to pay her a fair price, not for everything she had with her that day.
Leaving Sarah’s maid in the carriage, Julia entered through the attractive four-columned storefront of the jeweler Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell, in the shadow of St. Paul’s Cathedral. She not only had Lady Pritchard’s earrings, but also Lord Marshfield’s cravat pin. If he hadn’t been wearing another fine one at the ball, she might have relented and slipped his pin into his pocket at some future occasion.
The store’s interior was plainer than she’d expected for such a well-known establishment, but all around her were sumptuous wares, indicating they dealt in high-cost items.
As if to assure himself of not being culpable in any crime, the jeweler with whom she spoke, Mr. Bridge, asked her in a rather bored tone if the goods she wanted to sell had come into her possession from a thief to the best of her knowledge. Since no thief had given them to her, she answered truthfully.
“No, sir.”
After Mr. Bridge inspected the jewelry, particularly the large sapphire in the earl’s pin, he gave her a long stare. She held his gaze without blinking, until, finally, he broke away first and pronounced a grand sum.
When they’d concluded their business, Julia headed off to St. James’s Workhouse, a large brick building on Poland Street. This time bringing the maid, she entered to find plain walls but also enormous windows letting in the light. While colonnades of posts held up the high ceiling, sadly, much of that ceiling’s plaster had already come down.
As usual, more women and children, along with many elderly people, made up the residents despite the workhouse being designed to house the able-bodied poor. Some had crutches or were seated in invalid chairs on the wooden floor, which while appearing swept clean appeared prone to damaged planks and rather large gaps.
In the main room, women were gathered in groups, some seated on benches, some standing by tables. Those who could see well enough were sewing various items, all hunched in a position that seemed permanent.
Julia straightened, feeling her back twinge in sympathy, and glanced at Sarah’s maid, whose eyes were round, taking it all in. Undoubtedly, she was thinking how but for the grace of God — and a good servant’s job in Mayfair — this could easily have been her fate, too. Although wearing a haunted look whenever she accompanied Julia, the maid was sworn to secrecy by way of a few coins for her and a couple more for the driver.
Julia ventured farther inside. A tall porter, the only hale man in the large room, intercepted her at once.
“What’s your business, miss?” he demanded.
“I wish to speak with the master or matron,” she told him, “to make a donation.”
At that last word, the man’s eyes lit up a little, and he nodded.
“Actually, you’ll be wanting the clerk, miss. Go through that doorway, past the women’s ward and the infirmary, and you’ll see a door with a brass knob. That’s the clerk. He handles all the money.”
“Thank you.” Julia made her way out of the room and along the passage. More signs of dilapidated, half-hearted repairs were everywhere. Wishing it were more pleasant for its inhabitants, she knocked on the clerk’s office door.
“Enter.”
A craggy man with spectacles arose from his chair upon her entrance.
