Grabbing her hat with one hand, Amanda leaned over the side of Joseph’s phaeton, closing her eyes against the thrill of speed. A completely brazen act, the breeze teasing out bits of her hair, but so irresistible. How could one pass up facing a glorious Sunday afternoon when winter would soon squeeze the life out of everything?
She glanced back, expecting a raised-eyebrow reprimand from Maggie. But her friend was a small dot, blocks behind, riding in Mr. Rafferty’s lumbering coach.
“Chicken and an apple pie?” A low whistle traveled on the wind.
She snapped her attention back to Joseph and caught him in the act of lifting the lid on the picnic basket at their feet. She batted his arm with a fake scowl. “No peeking, sir.”
A mischievous grin stretched across his face, highlighting a single dimple on his cheek. “Be thankful that’s all I’ve peeked at.” He aimed a finger at the hem of her gown.
Her gaze followed to where he pointed and—great heavens! She bent and snatched the fabric from where it had snagged up near the railing, exposing the lace of her petticoat and far too much of her stockinged leg.
Tucking the fabric between her calves and carriage, she straightened out her gown and her dignity—then promptly changed the subject. “I met with the Ladies’ Aide Society on Monday.”
“Oh? And how does it involve me?” He winked—and a thrill charged through her.
Even so, she pursed her lips into a sulk. “You make me sound like a criminal.”
His eyes twinkled, the lift of his brow altogether too handsome. “And you are skirting the question.”
“I was merely conversing. Any fiancé would take interest in the matters of his betrothed.”
“Ahh, but you forget I am used to divining truth from felons. So judging by the contents of that basket”—he leaned close and nuzzled her neck—“the smell of wild rose perfume, your gown of blue, all of which are my favorites, you are about to ask me for a favor. You needn’t go to so much trouble, though, love. I would grant you anything.” He swept out his free hand as they rumbled down the hill, into the innermost part of the city. “Even up to half my kingdom.”
“Well …” She nibbled her lower lip. Maybe now was as good a time as any. “It’s not exactly a kingdom that I want.”
“But you do want something, hmm?”
“Yes.” She flashed him a grin. “And you’re the man to help me get it.”
She darted a glance from road to sidewalk, building to building, and when satisfied no pedestrians looked their way, she stretched up on her seat and kissed his cheek.
“Well now.” His gaze smoldered down at her. “How can I refuse that? What is it you want?”
“The title to the Grigg house.”
The gleam in his eyes faded, and he faced the road. “Why would you want that?”
She frowned. Would he need as much convincing as Lillian? “I’ve had the most wonderful idea. What if the decrepit Grigg house was made into a school for the poor? With uniforms and hot lunches and the chance to leave poverty behind? Think of the possibility.”
Perhaps he was thinking of it, for a muscle tightened and loosened on his jaw. But he said nothing, just kept a firm hold on the reins as they wove their way through the innards of St. Paul.
She touched his sleeve. “You will help me, won’t you?”
“Whoa, now.” He spoke to the horse—or did he?
“Joseph?” She stared at him. For the first time in their relationship, an alarm bell rang.
“Look at that.” He pulled the horse to a stop and angled his head.
Leaning forward, she followed his gaze. They’d stopped at a crossroads. On the corner nearest them, a young boy, more dirt than skin, held out a torn newspaper, equally as filthy. His cries to sell it competed with a much larger and louder boy on the opposite corner. At the younger lad’s feet, a babe in a basket whimpered, lusty enough to be heard in the phaeton. Want and need haunted the caverns of their hollowed cheeks. Their clothes, rags really, hung off their bones like garments pegged to a clothesline.
Amanda’s heart broke. These were exactly the kind of children she wanted to help. She turned to Joseph. “Is there not a law you can enforce to keep little ones at home with their mother?”
He shook his head. “It’s very likely their mother is off working, as is their father.” His tone lowered to a growl. “If there even be a father in the home.”
“Surely something can be done.”
“I cannot right all the wrongs of the world.” He gazed down at her and tapped her on the nose. “But I can right this one.”
Tying off the reins, he hopped down from the carriage.
What was he up to?
Joseph strode from the carriage, pleased for the diversion. If Amanda knew who really owned the Grigg title, his card-house of helping brothel girls would collapse. He squatted in front of the younger boy, who was four, possibly five years old. The purple beginnings of a shiner darkened one of the lad’s eyes. The other was swollen from tears, salty tracks yet visible on his dirty cheek.
“Buy a paper, mister?”
Pity welled in his throat, and he swallowed. “Tell me true, lad, did that boy”—he hitched his thumb over his shoulder, denoting the news seller on the opposite corner—“steal your papers?”
Without warning, the lad kicked him in the shin. Pain shot up to his knee. Little urchin! He stifled a grimace and avoided glancing back at Amanda, who surely hid a smile beneath her gloved fingers. Well, so much for donning his gallant-knight armor.
But the battle wasn’t over.
He straightened and wheeled about. Dodging a passing omnibus, he stalked over to the lad’s competition. A large, freckle-faced boy held out a handful of ripped and dirty newspapers. Calculating eyes weighed and measured him, glinting with far too much knowledge for one not yet a man. No wonder the other lad hadn’t ratted on this boy. Were he ten years older, Joseph would think twice about crossing the bully without Officer Keeley at his side.
“Buy a paper, mister?” His tone was gravel, hardened by life on the streets.
“No.” Joseph pulled out his wallet. “I’ll take them all.”
“Caw!” The bully’s freckles rode a wave of astonishment. “All right. That’ll be fifty cents.” He held out his hand, palm up, shirtsleeve riding high enough to reveal a small s tattooed on his inner wrist.
The mark confirmed Joseph’s suspicions. He pulled out a nickel and flipped it in the air. The coin landed in the dirt.
Though he towered at least two hand spans above the bully, the glower the boy aimed at him punched like a right hook. “I ain’t stupid. That ain’t a fifty-cent piece.” Even so, his foot stomped on the money, trapping it beneath his shoe.
“If I were you, I’d take what’s being offered, then run far and fast.”
A foul curse belched out of the bully’s mouth. “Shove off!”
He widened his stance and impaled the boy with a piercing stare, one he’d perfected when confronting a defendant. “I’m the city attorney. I could have you arrested.”
The bully turned aside and spit, then swiped his hand across his mouth. “I ain’t doin’ nothing wrong. You ain’t got nothing on me.”
Joseph chuckled. “I don’t need a valid reason. Any charge will detain you in jail for a few days.”
A smirk smeared across the bully’s face. Were he born on top of the hill instead of below, this kid would give Craven a run for his position. “No matter. I’ll come back out here, takin’ what I want, when I want.”
“I think not.” Joseph grabbed the boy’s wrist and turned it over. “By the look of this mark, you’re one of Stinger’s boys.”
The bully wrenched from his grasp. “So what if I am?”
“Haven’t you heard? Stinger is in jail. If he finds you’ve taken money without giving him a cut—and trust me lad, rumors abound in prison—well, I don’t think you’ll be back on this corner anymore.” He bent, leveling his own scowl at the boy. “Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
The bully’s face blanched, freckles standing out like warning beacons. Papers landed in heap on Joseph’s shoes. All that remained of the boy was the stink of both an unwashed body and fear as he tore down the street.
Scooping up the papers, Joseph strolled back to the other corner, two sets of eyeballs watching his every move—the lad and Amanda’s. He dropped the newspapers at the boy’s feet and took out a fifty-cent piece, pressing it into the boy’s grubby hand. “That ought to be enough for you to go on home now, eh?”
The boy stared up at him, mouth agape. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Gratitude poured off him in waves.
With a tussle of the boy’s hair, Joseph pivoted and rejoined Amanda in the carriage. The same hero-worshipping sparkle lit her gaze. Hopefully this meant she’d forgotten about the Grigg house, as well.
“That’s exactly what I love about you, Mr. Blake.”
He grinned. This little venture had been a victory in more ways than one. “What’s that?”
“You always do the right thing.”