Miss Lottie's Christmas Protector

Miss Verity Chambers had broken off their engagement summarily after knowing the extent of an injury she could not abide. A note had arrived from her, the physician delivering it to his bedside along with the morphine. The shock had almost killed him.

God. He shifted his leg towards the carriage door, the altered angle helping ease the pain. He could walk again at least and the broken nerves did not jump into trauma with as much regularity as they had before.

But he was still a damaged man, inside and out—a man who could destroy Miss Charlotte Fairclough with all her joy and natural exuberance just by being who he was.

Leaning forward, he threaded his fingers together. He would drop her off at the Foundation and leave. He would also write to her brother and let him know the family circumstances for he could not believe that the honourable young man he had once known well would leave them all so very much in need. He also wondered if they would accept an interim loan in the meantime from him, but did not know quite how to phrase such an offer without it sounding like charity.

Glancing out of the window, Jasper took in a breath and tried not to be mesmerised by the scent of lavender and lemon that was not quite submerged under the heavier odour of soaking wet wool.

He was scowling again, the laughing man she had warmed to at the charity event completely swallowed up by this ill-tempered one admonishing her at every turn.

It was still a few minutes at least until they reached Howick Place and Lottie wished she might have refused this ride altogether.

The trouble was, there was something about him that she felt a connection to, a connection that she had understood eight years before sitting at the top of the stairs and spying upon him as he had come calling upon her sister.

He limped badly. She had noticed this as he had led her into the carriage a few moments before and once she was inside she saw his hand drop to his right thigh and rest there. For support? For balance? Lottie had thought he was going to fall for a second when he had first joined her in the conveyance, but he’d recovered his equilibrium just in time to sit, heavily, eyes flaring in pain and anger as he’d looked away.

His rigid control was worrying for he was a man so unlike the memory of her gentle and loving father that for a moment she felt bewildered by her notice of him.

‘I am sorry to have been a nuisance to you, Mr King.’

She wanted to also add that he could let her out now but, in the light of the worsening weather, did not quite feel up to plodding the rest of her way home.

The tears filling her eyes surprised her. She seldom cried. Perhaps it was a mixture of relief over the knowledge of her brother’s recent letter and of the day’s convoluted happenings. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to temper her reaction and ended up with another fit of coughing.

Goodness, was she really much sicker than she thought and could she be spreading it to him even as she sat there?

When he handed over a clean white handkerchief she was surprised.

‘Nothing is ever as bad as you might think it, Miss Fairclough.’

It was monogrammed with his initials and pressed into such starched precise folds she hardly dared unravel it.

‘Thank you.’

He nodded, waiting until she had blown her nose before speaking again.

‘This weather will improve tomorrow.’

She had the distinct feeling that he was filling in the awkward gaps and giving her time to recover. He certainly had not mentioned her tears and for that Lottie was relieved. She sought to find some conversational small talk of her own.

‘The blonde woman with her hand on your arm at the charity event looked very beautiful.’

He did not answer.

‘Your sister looks kind, too.’

‘She is.’

‘I seldom go to these large affairs in town because they are always rather daunting. Mama is the one who more usually attends them, but she cancelled her invitation because she was going to the Malverlys’ instead. She enjoys Lady Malverly’s happy disposition, I suppose, because it is a welcome change from all the never-ending problems at the Foundation.’

At that he frowned.

‘Is Mr Septimus Clarke still there as the General Manager? I remember him as a man who had been there for a very long time.’

‘No, he retired last year and Mr Jerome Edwards has taken over his position.’

‘A new employee, then?’

‘But one who comes well recommended. He will be pleased to hear of Silas’s return, no doubt, so if there was any chance of seeing my brother’s letter, Mr King, I would like to show it to him. It might set his mind to rest regarding the funds.’

‘Of course. I shall have the correspondence delivered to you, Miss Fairclough.’

So formal. The chill of distance was back. She wished Jasper might laugh again or at least smile, but mostly she wished he might touch her as he had when he’d helped her into the carriage.

There it was again, that ridiculous sense of notice of him which had no place at all in her life. He was rich, beautiful and well connected and he had numerous women clambering after him. He was also a man who, at this moment, looked at if he was desperate to escape the cloying closeness of the conveyance and her company in particular.

People found her odd. Lottie knew that they did. She was too rebellious and independent and did not have the charitable patience of Millie or the overreaching goodness of her mother. She’d do anything to protect the women they helped, but sometimes, like Silas, she wanted more.

More of a life and an opportunity to see other places and meet other people. More of a chance to read and discover and know things that she knew she now did not.

The Foundation was finally in sight, at least, but as she waited for the carriage to slow in front of it she saw Jasper King focus on something that was happening to one side.

When she looked over she was horrified to see Mrs Rosa O’Brian hurrying towards them, very under-dressed for a freezing London day. She stopped as Lottie banged her knuckles against the window and opened the carriage door.

‘Oh, thank the Lord you are still here, Miss Lottie. I had a feeling you may have gone to the country with Miss Millie and your mother for the Christmas party. I remembered you speaking of it.’

When they alighted Lottie realised Jasper was there, too, right beside her, his large frame sheltering her from the freezing wind. Rosa was now weeping, highly distressed by something. Lottie could never remember her being quite so hysterical.

‘It’s Harriet White. She is missing and I think I might know exactly where she is.’ Her Irish brogue was strong, but Lottie had spent a good amount of time in her company to easily understand what she was saying.

‘Missing?’ It took her a few seconds to place this word into some sort of order and her heart lurched.

Rosa nodded and as she burst into louder sobs Jasper King looked away. Perhaps he had had enough of crying women today, Lottie thought. Perhaps he was at the very end of his tether with feminine histrionics. She half-expected him to simply return to his carriage, call the driver on and disappear. But he did not. Instead he stood there in the wind without even reaching for his hat.

‘Where do you think she is?’ Lottie asked this of Rosa gently, trying to understand exactly what ‘missing’ meant.

‘Old Pye Street is where she is and you know what happens there?’

A further distressed howl followed these words and, looking at Jasper, Lottie saw his puzzlement. With little option but to explain she did.

‘It is an area quite close that is renowned for its prostitution. It is not a good place for a young woman to be at all, for there are people there who would take advantage of innocence.’

Probably the females of his acquaintance didn’t know of such debauchery, let alone mention it. But Lottie had been brought up alongside the women and children the Foundation helped and things such as these were a known entity in everybody’s life. Good and evil co-existed simultaneously and it was only a short step from respectability and righteousness into disaster and ruin should circumstances conspire against one.

A man like Mr Jasper King might have little grasp of the precariousness of living at the bottom with his grander upbringing and his wider social circles. Rosa’s face, for example, was marked with scars from a relationship that had soured in her early twenties. She looked nothing like the woman Lottie had noticed holding on to Jasper’s arm at the charity event they had just been to. In truth, when Lottie had first set eyes upon Rosa’s visage even she had been shocked.

And yet Mr King did not move away. Rather he questioned Rosa more closely.