Miss Macy blinked, a slow closing of her eyes. Her head dipped before she faced Rose again. “Aye, ma’am.”
Rose frowned. If that was indeed the case, Rose had no other option but to step away. “Um, what is it you do to assist with the household expenses?”
A harsh red stained her chapped cheeks. “I take in callers,” she whispered.
Anger surged through Rose, but she tamped it back. “Is it the callers who gave you the bruises, then?”
Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t answer.
Rose gripped her hands. “Listen to me carefully, Miss Macy. If that scoundrel isnotyour husband, I can help you. If he is, then I fear you are on your own. That is the way the law works, I’m afraid. So, I shall ask you once more: isheyour husband?”
One stray tear pooled and tipped over her bottom lid, leaving a track of filth in its wake. “No, ma’am. ’e’s not. ’is name is Billy. They call ’im ‘Billy Buster’ in these parts.”
Rose could only imagine where the “Buster” portion of his name originated. “I know of a place where you will be safe. Fed, given a new frock, a warm bed.”
Her gaze turned from hopeful to suspicion.
There was no time to reassure her. “The only stipulation is that you must leave now, as I would fear for your safety should I leave you behind.”
“Now?” she squeaked.
Rose glanced at Mr. Whitmore, fearing he’d heard her. Considering the tight expression and the shifting of his stance, he had. “Stay close to me, Inez. Mr. Whitmore will see us safely from here.”She hoped.
“Mr. Whitmore? Of Whitmore’s Warehouse?” Inez’s gaze moved to the brick building Rose and Emerson had just departed and widened again. She eyed Mr. Whitmore, then drew in a deep, bracing breath before giving a sharp nod.
With Inez at her side, Rose marched them toward Mr. Whitmore. “Miss Macy has indicated that Mr.”—Rose looked down her nose at the scoundrel—“Buster isnother husband. She shall be accompanying us from the docks, Mr. Whitmore.”
Billy Buster shot to an imposing height, sputtering his outrage. “Now, see ’ere—”
Mr. Whitmore had straightened as well, and Rose felt Inez flinch and edged closer to her side. “Is that the case, Billy? Is Miss Macy your wife? Yourlegalwife?”
Rose found herself fascinated by the quiet yet intimidating softness in Emerson’s voice. Etched with steel and implacability. She’d been right when she’d told Inez he would see them safely from the dregs of this vile neighborhood.
“No.” Billy scowled, and reluctantly admitted, “But she works fer me.”
“It does appear she has no wish to work for you any longer. Miss Macy shall be accompanying us, as her ladyship says.”
Billy eyed Rose then turned his gaze to Inez. “Ye’ll regret this,” he hissed.
Rose received his intended message.
“And if anything happens to either one of them, I assure you, you will not live to see the next day,” Mr. Whitmore said in his calmly remote tone that sent a shiver up Rose’s spine.
A second later, Emerson led Rose and Inez to the waiting hackney-looking carriage, where his driver stood at the open door and handed them up the steps. “I’ll ride atop.” He spoke through a clenched jaw that sent another shiver over Rose.
She could handle him, she told herself. He was a merchant, not a nobleman.
“You may have your driver deliver us to Hope House on Hope Street,” she said in her haughtiest voice.
“Of course, Lady Stanford. Your wish is my command,” Emerson bit out.
Oh, dear. He was well and truly angry.
~~~
Emerson had never been so enraged in his life. Not at his father for putting Benjamin under Emerson’s constant watch encased with guilt and laden down with conditions. Not at Ben for all his immature antics and unthoughtful comments and the general stupidity of his actions. Not even for the sudden downpour currently trickling down his neck, since the high and mighty Lady Stanford still wore his cloak.
If he’d entered that carriage, he was certain he would have shaken her until her pearly white teeth rattled loose. Surely one of the two of them was destined for an early demise. He fumed all the way to Hope Street. A ridiculous name for a street that was likely anything but.
