As soon as he returned to Cranfield House, Michael formulated a plan. It was a fairly simple plan: prostrate himself before Anne and beg for her forgiveness. Clearly Scudamore and Gladstone had been bamming him with all that rot about knitting scarves for the poor; they probably never imagined it would work so well, that he would turn around and make such a complete cake of himself. But what was just as bad, when he thought back to the specific words he had used… his behavior had been deplorable, and it was no wonder Anne was furious with him. He’d just been so undone by the thought of her not marrying him that he hadn’t been thinking clearly.
He’d made a mess of the whole thing. He’d been in such a hurry to propose before someone else snatched her up, he hadn’t given much thought to what he was going to say. Hell, he hadn’t even told her that he’d been in love with her for the past nine years, nor had he mentioned his thwarted proposal, the fact that he hadn’t read any of her letters, or—his personal favorite—that her former husband was a worthless, lying skunk.
He really had intended to tell her all of that, even if he’d been dreading the last point.
But then Anne had suggested they make love.
He also needed to explain what important work he’d been doing in Canada. Once Anne understood everything he’d been doing, and that he was going to be the next Governor General, she would understand why their future needed to be in Canada.
Because their returning to Canada was not negotiable.
And so he’d hurried home and changed, sent a footman out to procure the biggest bunch of flowers that could be found, borrowed a horse from the nearby mews and arrived at Anne’s town house just in time to see her carriage pulling away.
He hadn’t minded cooling his heels while she had her appointment. He needed to think through what he was going to say. But he didn’t mean to let her escape.
After she departed, he mounted his horse and followed at a discrete distance.
They were heading east. Michael peered at the surrounding buildings. He didn’t know London well, but the neighborhood was growing progressively worse. As he rode past a church, Michael called out to a pair of girls rolling a hoop along the pavement. “Say—what’s the name of that church?”
They looked up, startled, the forgotten hoop clattering on its side. “’Tis St Giles in the Fields, m’lord,” one of them called.
St Giles? St Giles was one of the most dangerous rookeries in London. What in God’s name was Anne doing in St Giles?
The neighborhood continued to deteriorate. Michael tried to stop his racing thoughts, but everywhere he looked, he spotted a new source of peril. The trio of dogs sniping over a bone in the alleyway were likely rabid. That butcher looked a little too efficient with his cleaver. And there was no shortage of miscreants and ruffians, from the irate drunkard being tossed from a basement gin house to the seedy fellow leaning against a building’s corner who was actually twirling a knife as he surveyed the crowd, no doubt in search of his next mark.
Michael could not lose her again. He pictured the past four years of his life, how the excruciatingly acute pain of those first few months after she married Wynters had slowly distilled into a dull ache right in the place where his heart used to be, one that never really went away. He thought of that horrible moment when he woke each morning, when he found himself lying in bed, struggling to find a reason to get up, to keep going without her. He knew what it was to live without Anne, and he was not doing that again. He couldn’t. It didn’t matter what he had to do, he was going to keep her safe, and he was going to start by getting her the hell out of this sad excuse for a neighborhood.
Anne’s carriage halted in front of a large brick building and one of her footmen opened the door. Michael hurtled off his horse, thrust the reins into the footman’s hands, and shoved the man out of the way, blocking her exit.
“What the devil are you doing here, Anne?” he demanded.
Her eyebrow gave a violent twitch. “I am running my society. If you would be so kind as to step aside.”
Not a chance. “You’re not disembarking. Not here. You obviously haven’t noticed, but this is no neighborhood for a lady.”
She rolled her eyes and proceeded to squeeze past him. “Whatever gave you that idea? Was it the flash-house across the street? Or the three drunkards passed out in the alleyway?”
He grabbed her by the arm. “You may think it a joke, but this place is dangerous.”
A crowd had begun to form, drawn, no doubt, by their raised voices, and when Michael seized her arm, a heavyset, black-bearded man whose form of employment was probably pirate stepped forward. Michael immediately moved in front of Anne, but the man surprised him by saying, “You’ll unhand Lady Wynters!”
Michael glared him. “This is none of your concern—”
“’Tis all of our concern,” a reed-thin man with a face full of freckles said, stepping forward to join the first.
“I’m not some vagrant who is going to harm her,” Michael continued, eyeing the ragged trousers of the second man, which had been patched in a dozen different places. “I’m the Earl of—"
“Do you think I give a toss?” Black Beard interrupted.
Michael gritted his teeth. “I am merely trying to assist her. She seems to have gotten turned around and doesn’t understand where she is.”
The small crowd burst into laughter.
“Poor wee lamb,” a white-haired woman chortled. “All turned around and no idea where she be.”
“Definitely wasn’t ’ere yesterday,” added a woman whose basket marked her as a flower seller. “Nor the day afore that, nor the day afore that.”
Michael peered up at the building. What on earth could bring Anne here, of all places? Although, for all that the neighborhood was run down, this was a fairly imposing edifice: six bays wide, in a plain but serviceable red brick. He frowned. “Anne, do you… do you rent space in this building?”
“No, Michael, I do not rent space in this building.” She wrenched her arm free from his grasp. “I own this building.” She turned on her heel and strode up the steps.
Michael made to follow her, but found his way blocked. “And where do you think you’re going, m’lord earl?” Black Beard asked.
“I need to speak with Anne. Let me pass.”
“Oh,” Freckles exclaimed, “Anne, is it? A bit overfamiliar with her ladyship now, aren’t you?”
Michael was startled to realize that these… these vagrants didn’t seem bent on harming Anne. Much to the contrary, they seemed to be trying to protect her. “Not at all, considering she is my betrothed.”
This brought the two up short. Black Beard looked him up and down. “Her ladyship’s betrothed, you say?”
“Yes,” he replied curtly.
“Just a bit of a lovers’ quarrel, then?” Freckles asked.
“Indeed,” Michael muttered, gesturing to the flowers.
The two men exchanged a look. “I suppose that’s alright, then,” Black Beard said, stepping back so Michael could pass.
He started toward the building, then turned. “May I ask why you stopped me? What concern is it of yours?”
Black Beard shifted from foot to foot. “Me old gaffer was always a working man. Spent his days unloading ships from dawn ’til dusk. But last year, a cask of wine fell right on his wrist. The break didn’t set right, and now he can’t lift his own glass, not with his right hand, leastways. We try to do what we can for him, my brothers and me, but it ain’t much. Somehow ’er ladyship got word of him, and now he gets meat and potatoes twice a week, he does. And he wouldn’t get by without it.”
Freckles nodded beside him. “Her ladyship took me sister in, along with her four children, after her husband died.” He nodded toward the building. “They’re in there right now. Me sister takes in some sewing. Her ladyship just got the oldest boy apprenticed to a shipwright. And the three little ones are in school, learning their letters and such. I don’t like to think where they would’ve ended up had her ladyship not stepped in."
“I see,” Michael said.
At least, he was starting to.
He entered the building. Anne was still in the entryway, kneeling amongst a flock of children who were clamoring for her attention. He saw her adjust the bow in one little girl’s hair. Another pressed her rag doll forward for a kiss; dolly received one, as did dolly’s owner. A little boy presented Anne with a bouquet. Truth be told, it was just a bundle of weeds, but you never would have known the way Anne sniffed it appreciatively.
“Thank you, Charles,” she said. “I will tuck these in my pocket, so I can enjoy them for the rest of the…” She spied Michael, and her smile vanished. “Oh. Are you still here?”
“Yes. I’m here to apologize.”
“You are doing a magnificent job of it,” she hissed, rising to her feet.
“I would like to do better,” he said, offering her the irises. She made no move to accept them. “Is there somewhere we could go to talk?”
“Lady Wynters!” A woman in a plain grey dress entered the foyer and curtseyed deeply.
“Mrs. Godfrey,” Anne said, curtseying in return. “How are you this morning?”
The woman wrung her hands. “Oh, my lady, I’m so glad you’re here. Mr. Branton just arrived, and—oh!” she said, noticing Michael for the first time. “I apologize, I didn’t realize we had a visitor. A new patron, my lady?”
“No,” Anne replied, “he’s not a patron. He was just leav—”
“Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Godfrey,” Michael interrupted smoothly. “I am Lord Morsley. I have the honor of being Lady Anne’s betrothed.”
Mrs. Godfrey gasped. “Betrothed! Why, I had no idea, Lady Wynters.”
Anne was glaring at him. “I don’t know that betrothed is the word I would use.”
“That is the word one generally uses, darling, after one has promised to marry a man,” he replied cheerfully, taking Anne’s hand and tucking it into his arm. “As you did last night.”
“That was before I knew you were planning to drag me off to Canada,” Anne said through clenched teeth.
The room fell silent. “Canada?” Mrs. Godfrey said softly. “But—do you truly mean to move to Canada, my lady?”
Before Anne could answer, a little girl gave a great wail and threw herself at Anne’s legs. “No, Lady Wynters! Ya can’t, ya can’t!”
“Now, Eliza,” Mrs. Godfrey said, attempting to pry the girl off Anne, “this won’t do. It is for Lady Wynters to make her own decision, and...”
“But without lady Wynters,” the girl bawled, “Ma and me’ll have to go back to Pye Street, where we was ten to a room and the roof leaked and there was never anything to eat. I’ll not go back there. I won’t. I won’t!”
Michael saw dozens of pairs of wide, watery eyes staring at Anne beseechingly. Anne knelt down and wrapped little Eliza in her arms. “There, there, Eliza. Don’t cry. Lord Morsley was just having a joke.” She glared up at him over Eliza’s shoulder.
After a few minutes, the little girl calmed down and Anne stood. “Now, what were you trying to tell me, Mrs. Godfrey?”
She bit her lip. “I’d best let Mr. Branton explain it. He’s waiting in your office.”