Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] (5 page)

Grant shoved to his feet, his hands clenched in a fury. This was his Great Moment! How had it suddenly gone wrong? And what the hell did all this have to do with his brother? Yes, Will was ten times the man he was. But that’s what this whole five years had been about: proving that Grant was a man too. That he deserved the title. That… “I have the money,” he whispered. “The mill will turn more profit—”

“You don’t have the money,” Lawton said coldly. “And I won’t be selling a single rock, bush, or drop to you ever. Good-bye, Crowle. And if you cause a scene at the wedding, I will beat you senseless.” With that, the man grabbed his hat, nodded at his solicitor, and strode from the room.

It was a quick exit, perfunctory and final. It took awhile for Grant to process what had happened. He would not be getting back his family’s land. After five years of blood and sweat, it was all over. He’d failed. He’d shamed his name, failed his ancestors, and now, he had no way to redeem himself in his mother’s or his brother’s eyes. After everything, he’d proved himself useless. Again.

The disappointment of that crushed him completely. In truth, it was a shock to realize some fifteen minutes later that he was still alive.

It wasn’t until he stumbled back to his tiny inn room that his madness chose to reassert itself. Two words formed a question with no answer.

What
wedding?

What lingered most in Irene’s mind was the way he’d smelled: clean. Not with the perfume of the aristocracy. He smelled of the same harsh lye soap she’d used as a child at school. That, plus a fresh mint leaf, as if he’d chewed one, probably right before she’d arrived. It had been just a hint on his breath, but it had made her lean toward him when he spoke. And once she’d leaned in, the rest had happened as if by magic. The talk, the dance, the kiss.

Well, she hadn’t kissed him, had she? Not in truth, but in her fantasies? Oh yes. In fact, they’d kissed a million times in the barely twenty-four hours since she’d first met the sweet-smelling Mr. Grant. Which was wonderful and terrible all at once.

Wonderful, because really, what woman didn’t dream of kisses? It was a sign that she was coming back to life as a grown woman, not a widow. Terrible, of course, because Nate had been the one to teach her about kisses, and she should not be thinking of another man’s mouth on hers. There was no moral or legal law against it, of course. Nate had died three years ago. And yet, she felt as though she were betraying the man she still loved with all her heart.

“Lady Irene! I deeply apologize. We’re having a bit of a problem, and I was delayed.”

Irene turned around, her mind stumbling at the use of her correct title. Few people knew her as the daughter of an earl. To nearly everyone, she was simply Mrs. Knopp, the widow of a sailor and daughter-in-law to a wealthy shipping family. “Father Michael,” she said with a smile, holding her hand out to the young priest. “No apology necessary. I was just enjoying the delightful architecture here at St. Clement,” she lied. Then she winced, thinking that of all places, a church was not the place to lie.

“Why yes, it is stunning,” Father Michael said as he settled into a subject he extolled by rote. “We’re an old Roman church, rebuilt after the Great Fire by Sir Christopher Wren. There are quite a few distinctive features.” He put on a rather pained smile. “Did you wish a tour? I could fetch Father Alfred. He knows the most about—”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said to save them both. “You mentioned a difficulty? Nothing terrible, I hope.”

The man shook his head, but at that very moment a crash came from the back of the church, near the vestry. Then they heard a small child wail.

“Oh goodness,” breathed Irene. Clearly some disaster had just occurred. “I believe you should go check on that.”

“Er, yes. I’m terribly sorry.” But he hesitated, looking painfully back at her. “I do not wish to delay our conversation, Lady Irene—”

Of course he didn’t. She was here on a charitable mission, and he didn’t want to lose that. “Please, Father Michael, the boy sounds quite desperate.” Then she touched his arm. “We can go talk in there together. I quite enjoy children.” She winced again at uttering a second lie in as many minutes. Truthfully, children pained her a great deal, as she likely would never have any of her own. But she kept that from her expression. “His wails are growing quite loud.”

“He is hungry, my lady,” the father answered.

“Then by all means, let us convene in the kitchen.”

He walked quickly, his dark robes flapping as he moved. They passed through a door to the side of the altar and then back into the offices of the church. It was dark and cramped back here, and now, she heard another voice—a young girl’s—but there was no lessening in the child’s wail.

Then she saw them. The boy was thin and sporting a swelling bruise on his face. He was held in the arms of a girl of approximately eight years. About them lay the scattered remains of a pile of books. Clearly, one had hit the little boy.

“I’m sorry, Father,” the girl said, her eyes welling with tears. “He grabbed for the cup, and it all tumbled.”

Only now did Irene see a heavy stein had rolled under a table.

“No matter,” said Father Michael as he knelt to pick up the boy. At least that is what she thought. In truth, he picked up both children—boy and girl—holding them together in his arms. The novelty of it startled the little one into temporary silence. “Where is your mother?”

Just what Irene was thinking. The answer came when the girl waved her arms to a bench. There, slumped like a sack of old rags, was a young woman with sunken cheeks and a frightful pallor. For a moment, Irene feared the woman was dead, but when she looked, she saw the slight movement of her chest. The woman was asleep and clearly exhausted, since she’d apparently dozed through her son’s book disaster.

“Come along, shall we?” said Father Michael as he began walking down the hallway. “Let’s let Mama sleep a bit.” He smiled at the boy who was still perilously close to wailing again. “I promised you some broth.”

He started walking faster, bouncing his arms as he went to keep the boy quiet. Irene spared a last glance at the paper-thin woman then rushed to follow. They made it to the kitchen where a tiny woman with gray hair stirred a watery stew. “There’s not much left,” she said by way of greeting. “And it’s mostly water.” Then she took one look at the boy and grabbed a hard piece of bread and shoved it into his hand. The child went to work on it immediately.

Meanwhile, Father Michael set the children down, putting the boy into a rickety high chair.

“Lady Irene, I’m sorry—” Father Michael began.

“Please don’t bother about me. I can happily wait,” she interrupted as she watched the woman ladle what little there was into a bowl for the girl. “Is there nothing else?” Then she mentally chastised herself. Hadn’t the woman just said there wasn’t anything more?

Meanwhile, the woman glanced significantly to the larder—a small closet, but it should have been filled with foodstuff. To Irene’s shock, it was nearly bare. But that made no sense! This was a large church, one of the oldest in London. Certainly she knew it served a poor segment of the population—it was dedicated to the patron saint of sailors, after all—but they needed more than just water to feed the children.

As if reading her mind, Father Michael gave her a wan smile as he gently tied a rope around the boy’s waist to keep him in the chair. “We’re a poor parish, my lady, despite our grand architecture. The diocese is talking about closing our doors.”

“Closing them!” she gasped. “But why?”

He shrugged and looked pointedly at the empty shelves. “Not enough money, congregation too poor. We’re a significant drain on the church coffers.”

“But that’s what the church is for, isn’t it? To aid the poor.”

He nodded. “But there are a great many poor, my lady. A great many.”

She looked down at the children. She had come here specifically to donate some of her newfound wealth to the church. After all, her in-laws had more than enough money. She worked to give herself something to do, not because she needed the funds. It had only made sense to give a portion of her earnings to a church that catered to sailors and their families. She had no idea that it was on the verge of closing.

Father Michael said nothing, too busy pushing a spoonful of broth into the boy’s mouth. The child didn’t want to stop gnawing on the bread, so it was a laborious task. And next to the boy, the little girl slurped from her bowl as if she hadn’t eaten in a week.

“Their mother…” Irene said, unable to voice the question.

“Sad case that, but all too typical. Her husband died of a fever on his last voyage.”

Irene nodded, a wave of misery washing over her. That was exactly how Nate had died, and she had refused to leave her bed for a month after getting the news. She couldn’t imagine what would have happened if she’d had children to care for.

“What about his family? Hers?”

Father Michael shrugged. “Gone. Fever one side, drunken disaster on the other.” He sighed. “She’s on her own except for us, and she’s worked to the bone to keep them above water. You see how exhausted she is. Sadly…” He didn’t have to complete the sentence, as the rest was obvious. Sadly, they hadn’t the money to support this woman or her little family. Not to mention however many other families like her were slowly dying of starvation.

With a snort of disgust, Irene fished into her reticule and pulled out all her coins. She’d meant to donate most anyway. Passing them to the older woman’s hand, she said, “Let us start there. Get a chicken and some bread that doesn’t have to be softened to eat. No one could survive on that thin paste. Not them, nor you.”

The older woman’s eyes widened, but the money disappeared fast enough. She bobbed a curtsy and gibbered a quick, “Thank you, my lady. Most gracious. I’ll go right now.”

Irene waved her off, watching as the woman set the stove to rights, then grabbed her hat and rushed off. Meanwhile, Irene’s gaze turned to the children.

“We are deeply grateful to you, my lady,” said Father Michael in his rich tones. He had a beautiful voice, she realized. Quiet and soothing—most perfect for a man of the cloth. She was so intent on listening to his voice that she nearly missed the meaning behind his next words. “I only wish that we had a way to get past more than the next meal.”

“What?” she said. Then she frowned. “No, no, don’t answer. I can see your problem, of course.” As a child, she’d also had to live from hand to mouth, constantly wondering where she’d find her next meal. Her father had been a gambler and a wastrel, and there were times she and her mother had been in very dire straights. “I came here looking for an apprentice. A boy who knows numbers and can help me lift and carry.” She shook her head. This boy was too young, and if the mother was ill, the girl was needed to care for her brother.

Meanwhile, Father Michael was clearly thinking hard. “I might know of someone, though most boys who are presentable in an elevated household are already apprenticed.”

“I can read,” said the little girl. “Mama taught me.”

Irene smiled. “Well, aren’t you a clever girl. How old are you?”

“Ten years, my lady,” she said in a clear voice. “I know my numbers too and have a good memory. Mama teaches me all sorts of things, but she’s been too tired lately.”

Irene glanced at Father Michael. “What has the mother been doing?”

“Looking for work, mostly. But no one wants to hire a woman with two children in tow.”

“Of course not.” Irene sat down, pleased at the solidness of the heavy worktable. At least that was as it ought to be, but everything else showed desperate need. Very odd, given the age and standing of this church.

She focused on the little girl. “What’s your name?”

“Carol Owen, my lady. And my brother is Gavin, after my father.”

“Lovely names. Tell me a bit about your life, will you Carol? What did you do yesterday?”

The girl started talking. Her eyes were huge, and she kept looking to Father Michael for her answers. He didn’t do anything but give her an encouraging nod. And as she spoke, Irene’s heart broke into a thousand little pieces. The girl and her family were indeed in terrible straits. And when Irene’s rude interrogation ended, Father Michael set a gentle hand on the child’s head.

“The need is real, Lady Irene.”

Irene sighed. “Is the church really in danger of being closed?”

Father Michael nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so.”

She winced. “I cannot help you more, Father Michael. I am but one woman and…” And she’d just spent all her money buying Mr. Grant’s goods.

“Lady Irene—”

“Stop calling me that. Everyone knows me as Mrs. Knopp. I should prefer to keep it that way.”

“Er, of course, my—er, Mrs. Knopp. Is there not—”

She held up her hand, effectively silencing the man as she studied Carol. “I am not a grand patroness, Father Michael. You have just received my last coin but…” She bit her lip. She could do small things, could she not? In a small way. “I have need of a smart girl with a good memory.” It was her third lie of the day, but it was one she hoped God would not damn her for. She had no real need for a too thin, too young girl, even if she was the cleverest child on the planet. She’d come here looking for a strong boy. But who was she to discount a child merely because of her sex? She knew better than most that a smart girl could do the work of ten dumb boys.

Meanwhile, Father Michael was eyeing her with a frown on his face. In time, it grew irritating enough that she exhaled a long breath. “What is your worry, Father Michael?”

“The family needs steady income, my—Mrs. Knopp. Steady pay, not a grand gesture today and—”

“And disappear tomorrow. Yes, I am all too aware of that particular nightmare.” Her father had been a master of the grand gesture. Wild extravagance today, only to have nothing more for weeks, if not months. She had learned young not to trust grand gestures. So she crouched before Carol. “I have need of a secretary. You could be that, child, provided you know your sums, can read tolerably well, and have an excellent memory. Those are things you have promised me Carol. Were you lying?”

Carol mutely shook her head.

“Good. I shall have Father Michael test you though. And you will have to stay home to help your mother until she is better. Then you may come to my address, and we shall see if you will fit my needs.” She straightened, her heart twisting at the sight of the children before her. “I cannot keep your church open, Father,” she said softly. “But perhaps I can help Carol.”

And with that, she left quickly. The very first thing she had to do was visit the dress shop. It was possible—just possible—that they already had the funds available to pay her for her last purchases. If that were the case, then she had the money to pay Carol’s salary for a month at least. If they didn’t… She grimaced. Well, she could always ask her father-in-law for a loan, although that thought soured her stomach to the point of pain. Still, she was very hopeful. The dress shop was doing well. She ought to have some funds waiting.

Her hope lasted until she walked into the back room of the shop. One look around at the tight faces of her friends told her that something was amiss. Something very bad indeed.