thought of the valet he’d shipped off. He could have made him marry poor Rosie, but Rudy had left too soon. Hell, he could pay some down-at-heels gambler’s debts and get him out of Fleet prison—and in front of a vicar. But then Rosie and her babe would be the property of some ne’er-do-well, some brute who could steal her nest egg, beat her, sell her son to the chimney sweeps, her daughter to white slavers.
Dash it, he had not challenged Lynbrook to that duel just to have Rosie abused by another mawworm.
“I’ll think of something, my dear. I swear it, and you know I never go back on my word.”
Rosie wrapped her arms more tightly around him and whimpered onto his shirtfront. “I always knew you was a right ‘un.”
He tried to reach around Rosie’s bulk for his handkerchief to offer her. He looked back up—into blue eyes wide with shock, right behind Rosie. Homer was barking a welcome. Some distance away his own man, Barrogi, was shaking his head. The rest of the world seemed to have come to a standstill, including Wynn’s brain.
He could never pretend Lady Victoria Ann Keyes had not seen them.
He could never explain why his arms were around an enceinte ladybird.
He sure as Hades could not introduce them.
Wynn would not get the chance, anyway, for Lady Torrie spun on her heel, took the arm of her gray-clad maid, and hurried down a different path.
“You see?” Rosie wailed, loudly enough to be heard by the retreating women, and anyone else in the park that morning. “Decent women are always going to turn their backs on the likes of us.”
“Us?”
----
Chapter 13
Wynn wondered what Rosie meant by “us.” The frail sisterhood? Herself and her babe? Fallen women and their keepers?
Perhaps it was all for the best. Now Lady Torrie would be convinced that he was no fit consort for her, which was fine. He had no desire to be her friend, not when she was proved to be just another well-bred woman ready to believe the worst of a man. Of course, he admitted, having an armful of weeping Rosie would have been hard enough to explain under the best of conditions. He might have tried, gone traipsing after Torrie in the park as he’d vowed never to do, but he had promised Rosie an ice. He was not going to go back on his word, by George. He was a man of honor, no matter what the ton thought, no matter what Lady Victoria Ann Keyes thought.
Then he thought again. Where was the lady’s father? A footman or a groom? She and her maid seemed to be alone in the park, which would have been fine later in the day when the paths were full, or if someone had not set the dressmaker’s shop on fire with her inside. Dammit, did the earl not care for his daughter’s welfare that he left her unprotected, or was he so trusting of his fellow man that he ignored Wynn’s hints about arson? Thunderation, Wynn would have to warn her.
He called Barrogi over and introduced him to Rosie. “You take Miss Peters to Gunter’s and buy her an ice,” he ordered, handing over a handful of coins. Then he added a few more, recalling Rosie’s condition. “Buy her two. And whatever you want. Then see her home in a hackney, and make sure she is comfortable, all right?”
When Barrogi nodded, Wynn told Rosie that he would come see her soon. “And try not to worry in the meantime, which cannot be good for the baby, for I will come up with some solution to the dilemma. We still have two months. Oh, and Barrogi, make sure you treat the lady like fine china.”
Barrogi bowed to Rosie and offered his arm. “Me, I will treat the signora as if she were fine Roma.”
* * * *
“We should not have run off like that, without waiting for an explanation. Perhaps the woman was his cousin.” Torrie did not know anyone in London whose cousin wore such outlandish bonnets with such bright pink ribbons. For that matter, no respectable woman, cousin or otherwise, would be out in public in such a state of incipient motherhood. “Perhaps the lady was
Dash it, he had not challenged Lynbrook to that duel just to have Rosie abused by another mawworm.
“I’ll think of something, my dear. I swear it, and you know I never go back on my word.”
Rosie wrapped her arms more tightly around him and whimpered onto his shirtfront. “I always knew you was a right ‘un.”
He tried to reach around Rosie’s bulk for his handkerchief to offer her. He looked back up—into blue eyes wide with shock, right behind Rosie. Homer was barking a welcome. Some distance away his own man, Barrogi, was shaking his head. The rest of the world seemed to have come to a standstill, including Wynn’s brain.
He could never pretend Lady Victoria Ann Keyes had not seen them.
He could never explain why his arms were around an enceinte ladybird.
He sure as Hades could not introduce them.
Wynn would not get the chance, anyway, for Lady Torrie spun on her heel, took the arm of her gray-clad maid, and hurried down a different path.
“You see?” Rosie wailed, loudly enough to be heard by the retreating women, and anyone else in the park that morning. “Decent women are always going to turn their backs on the likes of us.”
“Us?”
----
Chapter 13
Wynn wondered what Rosie meant by “us.” The frail sisterhood? Herself and her babe? Fallen women and their keepers?
Perhaps it was all for the best. Now Lady Torrie would be convinced that he was no fit consort for her, which was fine. He had no desire to be her friend, not when she was proved to be just another well-bred woman ready to believe the worst of a man. Of course, he admitted, having an armful of weeping Rosie would have been hard enough to explain under the best of conditions. He might have tried, gone traipsing after Torrie in the park as he’d vowed never to do, but he had promised Rosie an ice. He was not going to go back on his word, by George. He was a man of honor, no matter what the ton thought, no matter what Lady Victoria Ann Keyes thought.
Then he thought again. Where was the lady’s father? A footman or a groom? She and her maid seemed to be alone in the park, which would have been fine later in the day when the paths were full, or if someone had not set the dressmaker’s shop on fire with her inside. Dammit, did the earl not care for his daughter’s welfare that he left her unprotected, or was he so trusting of his fellow man that he ignored Wynn’s hints about arson? Thunderation, Wynn would have to warn her.
He called Barrogi over and introduced him to Rosie. “You take Miss Peters to Gunter’s and buy her an ice,” he ordered, handing over a handful of coins. Then he added a few more, recalling Rosie’s condition. “Buy her two. And whatever you want. Then see her home in a hackney, and make sure she is comfortable, all right?”
When Barrogi nodded, Wynn told Rosie that he would come see her soon. “And try not to worry in the meantime, which cannot be good for the baby, for I will come up with some solution to the dilemma. We still have two months. Oh, and Barrogi, make sure you treat the lady like fine china.”
Barrogi bowed to Rosie and offered his arm. “Me, I will treat the signora as if she were fine Roma.”
* * * *
“We should not have run off like that, without waiting for an explanation. Perhaps the woman was his cousin.” Torrie did not know anyone in London whose cousin wore such outlandish bonnets with such bright pink ribbons. For that matter, no respectable woman, cousin or otherwise, would be out in public in such a state of incipient motherhood. “Perhaps the lady was
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