Chapter Nine

Bridget’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise, and Constance gasped as Lord Campbell came stomping thorough the door to Lady Dunmore’s sitting room the morning after the Vauxhall Gardens debacle.

Without checking the pink-and-white china clock sitting on the fireplace mantel, Bridget knew it was precisely ten o’clock.

“Cam, for heaven’s sake, you scared me to death. Whatever is going on?” Constance took a deep breath and laid aside the letter she was writing.

Bridget closed the book sitting on her lap and prepared herself for the anger radiating from her guardian.

“My apologies, ladies. I did not mean to frighten you.” He bowed in Bridget’s direction. “I would have some time alone with you, Lady Bridget.”

“Is that wise, Cam? I feel I should call one of my burlier footmen to stand guard.” Constance smirked. Despite her words of concern, she knew her brother would never harm Bridget.

Bridget, on the other hand, was not so certain. Not that he would physically hurt her, but her ears would certainly be blistering after his lecture.

“No cause for worries, Sister. I am merely going to remind my ward of the rules of safety and propriety.”

“Oh, Cam, leave off. Bridget is certainly aware of those rules, and from what she told me last evening, her chaperone did not do her duty, and Bridget was manipulated by one of the best. And—she took care of it herself.” Constance rose from her place at the escritoire and joined Bridget on the settee. A show of strength, no doubt.

Cam ran his fingers through his hair and rested his hands on his hips. “If last night’s adventure becomes known, she is ruined.”

“No one will find out—”

Bridget held up her hand. “Please stop speaking of me as if I am not present.” She stood and shook out her skirts and regarded Constance. “While I appreciate your support, I have no problem speaking with his lordship.” She turned to Cam. “I am happy to join you in the drawing room.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Her brows rose. Had that been the only lecture he intended to give her? Speaking with his sister in front of her?

“We are headed to central London. I suggest you fetch your bonnet and pelisse. It is chilly out today.” When she continued to stare at him, his posture eased. “My man of business, Mr. Dunston, has found two buildings he feels might be suitable for your project. We will see one of them today.”

Bridget broke into a smile and clapped her hands, like a small child being offered a treat. “I didn’t know he was searching.”

He placed his knuckle under her chin and tilted her head up. “I promised you I would help if you attempted to find a man who appeals. I don’t renege on my word.”

Something inside her shifted, and her heart did a tap dance. His closeness disturbed her. The oh-so-familiar scent of him drifted between them. Why does this man affect me so?

She licked her dry lips, and his eyes flew to her mouth.

Constance cleared her throat, and as if a bucket of cold water had been dropped on them both, they quickly stepped back.

“I will gather my things and meet you at the front door.” Bridget fled the room, not sure if her excitement was due to whatever had just passed between her and Cam or the idea of actually seeing one of the buildings that might make her dream come true.

Less than ten minutes later, Bridget, Cam, and Mrs. Dressel climbed into the carriage and headed away from Mayfair.

“Where are these buildings?” Bridget was only too happy that Mrs. Dressel had been forced to accompany them, since the lecture she knew was coming from Cam could be postponed. Maybe even forgotten.

Not likely.

“One is close to, but outside of, St. Giles, and the other is nearer to Burrough’s Market. Not the best neighborhoods to be sure, but not the worst, either. The one we are seeing this morning is just outside St. Giles. You mentioned your women would be employed to maintain themselves, so I thought closer to the business areas would be a good choice.”

“Yes, indeed. I recently had a note from a woman who had learned of my idea for a safe house. She was the sister of a woman who works in a millinery and was most grateful for someone who took an interest in unfortunate women’s plights. The poor woman’s sister was so very worried about her. I believe she will be one of our first residents after the house is up and running.”

A thought occurred to her that she should have considered long before now. “A question, my lord. What’s to happen if we find a building? My money is still tied up until I turn three and twenty.”

“Or marry,” Cam added.

“Yes. Well, how will I buy a building?”

“I am interested in this project myself. I will loan you the money to purchase the building and get it set up.”

Bridget gasped. “Oh, my. That’s wonderful.”

His eyes softened. “As I said, I am interested in this project myself. While I have been focusing on veterans’ concerns, I am grateful that you brought this problem to my attention.” He shook his head. “I had no idea women were at such a risk from those who had sworn to protect them.”

Her smile grew brighter. “I am glad to hear that. Unfortunately, too many men who are in a position to actually help merely turn a blind eye.”

“However,” he added, with a smirk. “I intend to hold you to your part of the bargain.”

“Considering suitors?”

“Precisely.”

At least he didn’t demand she settle on someone. He was a generous man, and despite his arrogance and overbearing attitude, he did have a soft heart.

Cam settled back in his seat, stretching out his legs, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Tell me a bit more about these women. I assume from what you’ve said so far that they are not of the ladybird ilk.”

Bridget was surprised Cam was willing to discuss this part of it with her and did not wish to be involved in only the finance end of it. And mentioning ladybirds was inappropriate, but she was thankful that he understood she could not help these poor women if she were squeamish. She’d never been the type of young girl who reached for her vinaigrette every time someone mentioned a word that supposedly offended gently bred ladies’ sensibilities.

In fact, she’d never even owned a vinaigrette. Nor did she possess said gently bred ladies’ sensibilities.

Her mama had died giving birth to a boy, who also had not survived, when Bridget had been quite young. Being raised on an estate without female supervision before she’d been sent away to school, she’d seen much more than most young ladies of her class. One only had to observe male and female animals together to have a general idea of what procreation was all about.

“No. While I know prostitutes’ plights are quite sorrowful, I am more interested in the working-class woman who returns home each night after a hard day’s work and is greeted with a drunk and irate husband anxious to put his hands on her money to buy liquor. She is someone with no one to turn to for help, most likely with children that need food, clothing, and shelter that she cannot provide on her own.”

“Personally, my lady, I think someone of your class should not be involving herself in this sort of thing,” Mrs. Dressel huffed. Her companion had made her opinion known before now, but Bridget waved her off.

“No one is helping them, Mrs. Dressel. If I don’t become involved, who will?”

“That is something the government should be taking up.”

Bridget turned to Cam. “Tell me, my lord, is the plight of women something Parliament is currently studying?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. While I am actively attempting to obtain more benefits for our veterans and their families, I must admit I was unaware of the problem you have presented.”

“Veterans are a very noble cause, as well. There are numerous families who suffer from abuse because there is no money.” Bridget turned to her companion. “You see, Mrs. Dressel, there is no government help for these women.”

Mrs. Dressel harrumphed. “Most likely they are in these positions because of the life they led. And perhaps some women deserve a trouncing.”

Bridget and Cam sat in stunned silence. Bridget was appalled that someone she thought she knew so well could hold such hateful and false ideas. Unfortunately, there were many others who felt the same way, which was why most people turned their eyes from those who were suffering.

Well, not her. She might have been blind herself until Minerva’s death. No more. There were far too many women who could not protect themselves from the very husbands who had vowed to do just that.

…

Cam turned his thoughts inward after the conversation with Bridget. He remembered too well what it felt like to have the person God had intended to protect him be the very one who’d beaten him numerous times. Some that had left scars on his back.

A toss down the stairs one time had not resulted in death like Bridget’s friend, Lady Davenport, but he had ended up with a broken arm. Despite the years that separated him from his father and his tyrannical treatment, Cam still suffered knots in his stomach, thinking about the beatings and rants he’d been subjected to. A summons from the former marquess had been sufficient for his childhood self to break into a sweat and enter the man’s presence trembling, trying to hide it, so as not to enrage his father more.

Parenthood was certainly not for the likes of him.

The one thing he’d always been grateful for was his father’s tendency to inflict only verbal abuse on his sisters. As many times as Cam had witnessed his sisters flee the room in tears, it was far better than watching them take the thrashings he received. He wondered if his mother had been the one to shield Constance but had simply been unable to protect her son.

He shook himself out of his reverie as they drew up to the address on Charing Cross Road. He would have preferred to attend to this part of the business himself, but he knew it would cause him only more grief, since his stubborn ward had made it clear she had every intention of being a part of the entire project.

After he’d heard about her plan to help abused women, he had to admit it was indeed a splendid idea, and one he knew Parliament was not prepared to take up. He was having enough trouble trying to rally support for his veteran bill.

After helping her from the carriage, Bridget examined the building from the outside. It was hard to tell what her initial thoughts were from her blank expression. He checked the surrounding area, which was an older and crumbling working-class section of London.

“My lady, if you don’t mind, I prefer to stay with the driver and carriage. I’m afraid my old bones are aching today, and being out in the dampness will not help them,” Mrs. Dressel called to Bridget from her comfortable seat in the vehicle, where she was wrapped snugly in a large woolen blanket.

“That is fine, Mrs. Dressel. I am sure his lordship and I can take the tour alone.” Bridget tossed the words over her shoulder, never glancing back, so interested in the building was she. Cam followed her up the stairs and produced the key Dunston had given him.

He turned the latch and pushed the door open. A strong odor of something nasty assailed them immediately. “Oh dear.” Bridget stepped back, withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket, and held it over her nose. “It smells as if something died in here.”

“Most likely a small animal.” Cam took her elbow and led her into the entrance hall. Despite the strong odor, the place appeared quite clean. From where they stood, the visible walls had been freshly painted. The floors were worn but well scrubbed. “Come.” He moved them forward.

Instead of a building, which was what he’d expected, the structure was a very old house. They climbed the stairs and surveyed the first floor of empty rooms that were apparently meant to be a drawing room, music room, and library. As in all older houses, the kitchen was most likely separate from the main structure and located outside at the back of the building. On the second floor they viewed four bedchambers, with two smaller rooms in the attic above it, most likely for servants when the area had been wealthier. Or for children and their nanny.

“We, of course, do not need a library or a music room, so if we decided on this building, we could use those as bedchambers, also.” Bridget walked the rooms, seeing the place entirely differently than he did.

“In fact, we could even turn one of the rooms—perhaps the library—into a schoolroom for the children who come with their mothers.”

“Had you thought far enough into the future to determine how long each woman would stay here? Is this to be a permanent residence or a temporary one?”

Bridget tapped her chin with her fingernail. “I don’t believe I have thought that far. I’ve been so anxious to help these women secure a safe place for them and their children. We would be able to help so many more women if this was a temporary place.” She turned to him. “What do you think?”

He took her elbow again and walked her down the steps to the entrance hall. “That would surely be something to consider. Have you also thought of the issue that a man—like it or not—has a legal right to his wife? That he can appear before a judge and demand she return to his house?”

“Yes. I have thought of that. However, this would be a secret place, so the husbands would not know where their wives were. Besides, the men we’re speaking of would never be sober enough to appear before a judge. Most of them are avoiding the law.”

“Then what about work? Did you not say these women have jobs? What’s to stop the husbands from going to their employment and even following them home from there?”

Bridget blew out a breath of air. “So many problems.” She turned to him, her brows furrowed. “All I want to do is help. I don’t want to break the law or cause more trouble.”

Cam reached out and touched her soft cheek. “I know. But these are all things that need to be considered before you begin such an undertaking. It’s not just the money needed to purchase and maintain a safe place for women, but what happens once they arrive?”

His stomach muscles tightened at her somber expression after the enthusiasm she’d shown throughout the tour. But she needed to understand the complexity of the problem she wanted to solve.

“Come, let us leave now and discuss this away from here. I’m afraid the smell is getting to me. I must mention this to Dunston when he returns the key to the owner of the building.”

Bridget took one more look around and turned to leave, when she gave a slight squeak. “I believe we have found the source of our odor, my lord.”

He followed her finger pointing at a dead rat lying in the corner between the entrance door and a wall. “Poor fellow.”

Bridget shuddered. “I hate rats.”

Mrs. Dressel was fast asleep when they climbed back into the carriage. Cam settled into his seat and began to mull over what he wanted to say to Bridget about her disaster at Covent Gardens the other night. He wanted to impress upon her the chance she had taken by not paying attention to where she was being led. He had no idea how much contact she’d had with men while living on her father’s estate in Scotland. Whatever it was, she would not know the intentions of some of the men in London. Gentlemen desperate for money were more than willing to trap a woman into marriage, as much as an ambitious young girl would work to appear “compromised” by a man with a title.

On the other hand, he didn’t want to treat her like a recalcitrant child. She was a grown woman, resilient and capable. He had to be careful how he handled this. He smiled at Bridget, adopting a softer mien than he would have, had this conversation taken place that night. “I think it is time for our talk, my dear.”