Rats feeding off a dead, rotting horse, sagging timbers, dirty children, and sewage running through the street.
But when he turned back and offered me his hand, there was nothing but respect in his eyes.
4
Alec helped me from the carriage as people stopped and stared, though I wouldn’t let it bother me.
When he started to follow, I turned and said, “You can wait here.”
“A gentleman never allows a lady to go unescorted.” He smiled, somehow making me forget the filth all around us. “If your family has questions, I want to be there to answer them.”
It wasn’t a good idea—but I could see he wouldn’t change his mind.
We entered the tenement and climbed up the rickety stairs. I was self-conscious of my dress, my shoes, even my hair. I didn’t want to get any of it dirty, for fear of Mrs. Hill’s displeasure.
But mostly, I was conscious of Alec.
Slowly, I opened the door and found Aunt Orla at the table, cutting fabric. Polly was at her station, sewing, and Imogen was sitting at my spot.
All three looked up—and I felt their shock all the way to my toes.
It was rare that Aunt Orla was speechless—but she slowly rose from the table, her mouth hanging open—and said nothing.
“Aunt Orla.” I tried to swallow my nerves. “This is Mr. Alexander Paxton-Hill.”
Alec took off his bowler hat and nodded at Aunt Orla, a lock of his dark hair falling down his forehead. “How do you do?”
She blinked several times but didn’t respond.
“And these are me cousins,” I said quickly, “Polly and Imogen.”
The girls stared, much like Aunt Orla, taking in my gown, my hair, and the man beside me.
“Charlie!” Aunt Orla finally squeaked. “Charlie!” she said again, this time louder.
Uncle Charlie came out of the bedroom in his underclothes, clearly pulled from his sleep.
“What is it, wife?” he demanded.
“Look,” Aunt Orla said, pointing at me. “Look at Keira.”
Uncle Charlie glanced at me, and all traces of sleep disappeared from his face. “Keira,” he said, “what happened?”
I looked at Alec and saw that he was trying to school his features. No doubt he was shocked at what he saw—but he didn’t let it show.
“I met Mr. Paxton-Hill and his aunt, Mrs. Maude Hamilton Hill, last night outside the Metropolitan Opera House. Mrs. Hill offered me a . . .” I didn’t know how to explain—and wasn’t sure I wanted them to know all the details. “A position,” I finally said. “I’m to move into her home and start immediately.” I looked down at my gown and touched the fine satin fabric. “She’ll take good care of me.”
Uncle Charlie hadn’t taken his eyes off Alec. He narrowed them now and said, “I think I know what’s goin’ on.”
Alec lifted his chin—just a fraction.
Aunt Orla’s gaze seemed to clear, too, and she looked at me with disdain. “So the duchess found herself a man to keep her in finery. How long has this been goin’ on behind closed doors?”
My cheeks burned with shame. “’Tis not like that.”
“On my honor,” Alec said, taking a step forward, “Miss O’Day is my aunt’s guest and has been treated with nothing but respect.”
I could see that my uncle and aunt would not be persuaded to believe the truth, so I said, “I’ve come for me things.”
