“Enough!” her brother roared surging to his feet. "Do you think I didn't notice, Flo? But Emery has all the rights. I even tried to get Sylvia to come home. Once she was under my roof… but she kept telling me nothing was wrong. What can I do? He won't even let Charles stay here, though I've begged him.”
Flo bit back tears. “There’s more, Will. You have to listen to me.”
Her brother, up until recent months the best of men, had never shouted at her before. He struggled to compose himself, and nodded to her to continue.
“He attempted to strike me once.” She rushed on at her brother’s stricken look. “A swift knee to his privates—that move you taught me—disabused him of the notion. Besides, he knew I would tell you, and you would kill him.”
He had his arms around her then. “Damn, Flo. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She wiggled free. “I would have, but then they left, and I was here, and…”
“You didn’t want me to know you were on your own.”
She bit her lip, unable to answer.
“I’ve obviously not paid the attention I should. I’m sorry, but what am I to do? I couldn’t send you to Louisa in Philadelphia. Even if we weren’t at war—which we are—it is too far away. It never occurred to me he could be so stupid as to harm you. I thought you would be safe until Aunt Imogene came down from Yorkshire. She promised she’d be here in a month.”
“Can’t I just stay here alone?” She knew all too well that would not be permitted. The tears broke loose, and his arms were around her again before she could stop. She sobbed quietly into her brother’s coat, while he murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked rhetorically. “I won’t send you back to Sylvia—” Her heart lifted, and she opened her mouth to thank him, but he waved her off. “If I move back, this becomes a bachelor establishment. I’ve been providing temporary quarters for men who need it. Am I to push them out?”
“You could leave them at your rooms. Or move them here. There are more bedrooms, and you could assist more of them.” She bounced upright on a wave of enthusiasm. “I could help.”
Will looked at her dubiously. “If you think I’d house you with a group of ex-soldiers, you need more supervision than I realized. Even if I’m here, I can’t watch you every moment.”
“I don’t require watching.”
“Your behavior suggests otherwise. I’m going to have to find a respectable companion to stay with you here, one who can’t be wrapped around your fingers as our servants obviously are.”
“Thank you, Will. Even some horrid dragon would be better than Emery and Sylvia. But know this: I won’t stop trying to help our soldiers. I’m going to the Benevolent Pauper's Hospital of the Apostles today. It should be safer, and—”
“Absolutely not; they care for the sickest of the poor, not just injured soldiers. I’ll not have you falling ill.” An idea lit his face. “The Duchess of Haverford and some of her friends have begun organizing projects to help. You’d do well to meet with her.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I read about that.The Ladies' Society for the Care of the Widows and Orphans of Fallen Heroes and the Children of Wounded Veterans. Have you ever heard a more ridiculous name? It must have taken them several meetings just to name the blasted thing while they sat around over tea and cakes. I want to do more than talk, more than knit scarves to send to Spain.”
He grinned at her. “The duchess would agree. You’ll like her. Glenaire’s sister is involved.”
“The Countess of Ardmore? She spends her time spewing bile and lording it over the entireton.Glenaire’s mother believes all of England is beneath them except the royal dukes and maybe the Haverfords. The countess is worse.”
“Not her. His older sister, Georgiana.”
“The Recluse of Cambridge? I’ve never seen her in town.”
He shrugged. “Her parents removed to the country, and Richard convinced her to spend some time in London. You’d like her, I think. Eat your breakfast and think about it.” Servants had been waiting patiently at the door.
Food did help. They ate in companionable silence. “One thing, Will,” she asked at last. “How did you find out I was at Finnegan’s.”
“Ethan Alcott came to me.”
“Ethan Alcott? Who is that?
“The Marquess of Welbrook’s second son. You met him, I gather.”
Her brows drew together, until a peculiar suspicion surfaced. “Is he missing one hand by any chance?”
He peered back sadly. “French saber.”
“Filthy, bug ridden, malodorous…”
