From Milton’s vantage outside the threshold, a barrel-chested man stood perilously close to a stooped, elderly woman he assumed was this household’s cook.
“I’m past due me pay an’ I’ll not leave till I has it. An’ if you’ll not give it, I’ll take sommat else fer it instead.”
At which point the young lady inserted herself directly between the burly butcher and cowering cook, but not before pasting the most ridiculous, false smile upon her face that Milton had ever seen.
He remained just out of sight, transfixed.
“Mr. Wilkes, I apologize for keeping you waiting.” She spoke with forced vigor. “Alas, it appears my father is indeed nowhere to be found. However, I can assure you I will come round tomorrow to pay in full what you are owed. You have my word, sir.” She bravely met the man’s eyes, though her hands trembled at her sides.
Oh, this was theperfectfamily from which to steal himself a wife, Milton thought, for to behold a respectable—albeit bespectacled—proper lady degrade herself before a mere tradesman was utterly delicious.
The butcher stepped forward and gripped the lady’s slender throat. “I’ll not wait more, miss. An’ as yer dear papa ain’t here, y’ can pay me yerself, on yer knees, like t’ other girls do.” He promptly pushed her to his crotch, then gripped her head to thrust his hips at her face in a lewd manner. The lady began to beat at his legs with her fists, but he harshly snapped her neck back. “None o’ that now, dearie.” The butcher’s leer deepened as he pressed his crotch closer. “You’llpay e’en if his lordship won’t.”
The cook screeched as she reached for a fry pan, making Milton, at last, shake off his stupor—thrilling though it was to see so common a drama played out not on a London backstreet but in a lord’s lofty home. He removed one kidskin glove with his teeth, then stepped into the kitchen to plant the butcher a facer, sending the man reeling and the young lady lurching back.
A gasp from the cook and a groan from the butcher diverted Milton’s focus before he helped the lady up, who, to her credit, righted herself quickly, her look of gratitude almost embarrassing. He then tossed the butcher directly out the kitchen’s back door into a courtyard, before he bolted the door behind him and acknowledged the cook with a nod. Only then did he take the young lady in tow to march her back in the direction from whence they had come.
“Kindly return me to your father’s drawing room, miss,” he instructed.
“Of course, sir.” She kept her eyes averted, for modesty or shame he wasn’t sure. He was only sure her bosom heaved nicely. “I must apologize for such unpleasant exchange and thank you for coming to my aid.”
“You dragged me to your aid,” he tersely told her.
“Yes, well, I hadn’t much choice, had I?” she grumbled back.
Before he could retort they reentered the drawing room to find both her father and, Milton assumed, the lady’s sister in wait. Lord Winthrop took one look at his daughter’s disheveled state and froze. Not only was her hair mussed and spectacles askew, the lady’s neck was blotched red from the butcher’s thick thumbs.
“Lizzie!” her father sputtered. “Where the dickens have you been?”
“Apologies, Papa.” Her lips thinned. “Butcher Wilkes stopped by to hassle Cook.Again.”
“Well I hope you sent him packing.” Winthrop huffed.
She bit her lip with a pair of pearly whites Milton found rather fetching. “Father, in your absence it was your visitor here”—she nicked her head at Milton—“who assisted me in sending Mr. Wilkes packing.”
Winthrop begrudgingly met Milton’s eyes. “I apologize, sir, for the manner in which my daughter so rudely?—”
“Enough!” Milton cut him off, ready to be done with their polite charade. He removed his remaining kidskin, irritated he could not find the other. “I wish to settle matters. How old are your daughters?”
Both girls swiveled their heads at him, the bespectacled one fastest.
Winthrop swallowed. “Elizabeth has two and twenty, sir, and Annabelle nineteen, both given the finest educations young ladies could possibly?—”
“Turn around,” Milton ordered both women. The one named Annabelle looked to the older Elizabeth in shock.
Clearly, their father had failed to inform them of his visit.
“Well, go on then,” his lordship urged. “Do as the gentleman says.”
Annabelle turned for Milton’s perusal, while ‘spectacles’ stared him down, biting that plump lip of hers again.
“Lizzie,” her father hissed, “do not embarrass me, girl.”
Miss Elizabeth did not budge. “I will not demean myself by submitting to your guest’s review, Father,” she ground out, “especially when he has not deigned to introduce himself nor state his business with us.”
Milton’s lips twitched. “And yet the young lady was willing to demean herself in lieu of payment for the butcher’s pleasure, if I recall.” His eyes slid over her figure once more. “No matter,” he scoffed. “I daresay I got a fair enough look at you then.”
Her eyes blazed at him through her lenses; he did not flinch.
