Hamish’s next jolt of surprise came with a string of curses. “You were at Lucien’s?” More curses, and a confusing flushing of his cheeks. “I was earning an audience with Markus.”
Markus? “The old man told you to beat a man to death?” Sounded like the captain.
Hamish rubbed his temple. “The man said in no uncertain terms, ‘Show me you ’ave the grit to stand in the streets.’ It wasn’t as bad as it looked.”
“The man was bleeding from his ear holes!”
Hamish shook his head. “Guess he’s cleverer than you thought.”
“Who?”
“Percy.”
Camille went back through her memories of that night. The smell of the unwashed bodies and dampness of the earthen walls. The memory opened and the scene unfolded as if she were standing back in that dark, cold tunnel. The Ring and the lantern lights shone over two figures, one with her brother’s unfashionably long brunette hair and the other with curls of darkest black.
“Percy was your opponent?” Her mind shot from connection to connection to connection, her admiration for the slippery character doubling as the memory receded back into the quiet of her mind. “Youstageda fight to win over the ‘Merry Men’?”
Hamish winced. “I may have put on ashowfor the man to grant me an audience without putting anyone in harm’s way.”
Camille couldn’t believe it. “You tricky devil. Pops never suspected a thing, then?”
“‘Pops’?” Hamish frowned. “You know Markus?”
She knewthe whole family. “Perhaps we should sit and have a real talk. There are many things I’ve kept to myself.” Perhaps Hamish was right about their ‘family.’ Kin was not all blood, and Camille knew three others who had the skills and need for revenge against Nic as strong as either duke.
Imagining Syd auditioning for their merry band of ‘family’ by throwing knives at a target while playing the pianoforte in the duke’s drawing room did have its appeal.
Hamish ran a hand over his face and chuckled. “Good thing Charlotte has all but frightened the terror out of me. I’m not sure I could take any more unexpected surprises otherwise.”
Camille heard the unconditional love in her brother’s voice. Love for a woman she herself loved like a sister. How different that superior tone sounded when in context of taking on the world for those you cared for, herself included.
Camille took in a breath and held before releasing. She hadn’t come here for a cordial chat nor to solidify the knowledge that her brother was on her side. She may have been shit at reading when a man’s words were sincere, but Hamish’s actions, both before and after he’d taken her in despite their sorted connection and possibility of scandal, spoke volumes of a man she could rely on—a brother she could trust—no matter how ugly her past scars had grown.
Renard had once claimed her pride would get her killed, and he’d been right. She’d let her pride kill her dreams and her ambitions. Kill a relationship with a person who looked and sounded like her father, but with none of the flaws.
It was time to let him in. “I have a proposition for you,” she said.
Hamish leaned back in his chair, his grin wide. “I’ve had surprisingly good luck with women using a rendition of those words.”
Camille chuckled, remembering.
Charlotte’s list. The fine lady had come marching into this office, her reputation and safety—everything deemed necessary by society—left on the cold streets outside. She hadn’t balked or hesitated to take hold of her future.
Camille let her friend’s fearlessness bolster her own resolve.
“There’s a project, a shelter, I want to start for women and their children. Girls and widows, and wives, and orphans—anyone in a bad situation who needs help getting back on their feet or starting over.” She licked her lips and rushed on before her nerves, and pride, had her racing for the door. “But there’d be classes as well, volunteer lectures from people who have knowledge or a skill that the women could learn or teach each other. I have a space already and a promise from the land holder the rents would be kept reasonable.”
She’d need to send Madam Clarice a basket of specially made riding crops for all she’d done on her end. Not only would Camille have the space, but the protection of the club and its network of secrets to give the home leverage should entitled men come hunting for those whom they deemed ‘property.’
“I’ve calculated starting costs and any potential additional expenses like physician visits and building repairs. I won’t lie: Even with Pops’s offer to use the free clinic”—and Lord and Lady Quickner’s promise of funds—“the price is steep, but as the women are able to work during the day, a portion of their income would go back into the shelter until they are able to earn enough for their total independence. Without the need to pay for food, the turnover should be within acceptable numbers.” The more women she was able to get back into society, the more word would spread, and the more women would come for help, thus enabling women with both free education and a safe place to test those skills before setting back out into the world.
She’d refused to allow Renard to contribute in any way, needing this for herself. But she knew of Hamish’s efforts inDockside with Markus, how the expansion of the clinic and offering of spectacles had sent a wave of change through the rookeries, instilling the people with pride in their work and lives.
Hamish understood about pride and effort, and about earning both through compassion and nerve.
She pressed a hand to her heart and offered her brother everything she had. “I do not expect charity. I will pay you back once the home’s running offers a profit, and I will find other investors. It won’t be a risk. Iwillmake this succeed. So, if you could trust—”
Hamish held a note out to her, his expression blank.
