Page 87 of Never a Duke
Nobody would ever care.
“I cannot stop now, Ned. When that man took me captive, it occurred to me that I might end up in a brothel. Assuming I survived that experience, I’d be ruined beyond any prayer of redemption. Do you know, I think my father would berelievedto see me ruined? He would not have to part with my settlements, and he could disown me with a clear conscience. Aunt Ida would take me in, and that would be the end of me. Nobody would notice, save for Mrs. Barnstable, and she’s already planning for my next banishment.”
Ned’s gaze was tired and somber. “I would notice, but why would Woodruff disown you? If he wanted you off his hands, he’d have allowed me to court you, and if you’re ruined, he can’t use you to placate his creditors.”
“Because Woodruff is not my father.” A family secret, one Rosalind should have taken to her grave rather than disclose on a busy street in an ungenteel part of London. “My mother was indiscreet, though she’d already provided the requisite heir and spare. Papa informed me of my antecedents after her death, and I suspect that had something to do with my words becoming garbled. I know I ought not to burden you with this…this truth, but I have more in common with the maids and companions than you might think. I will not give up on them, Ned.”
Ned’s eyes went colder than a winter night in Derbyshire. “You must. Woodruff apparently would welcome anything that puts you into disgrace, and I am only giving him more opportunities to treat you poorly.” He put two fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly.
“What are you saying?”
“We need to end this,” Ned said. “The investigation, the courtship that never began, the everything. I will not be the cause of your death, ruin, or banishment.” He fished a book from his coat pocket. “The Wealth of Nations.Please recall when you read it that I wanted only the best for you.”
A hackney coach rattled up to the curb. “The best for me is to be abandoned, left friendless without an explanation? Ned Wentworth, what on earth are you about?”
“Artie, see the lady safely home and pay the jarvey.” Ned flipped a coin to Arthur, who had materialized from beneath the awning of the Dog and Dam.
“You think tobundle me into a coachand just stroll out of my life?”
Ned bowed with a courtesy that Rosalind found frankly bewildering. “I think tokeep you safefrom all perils, my lady. I have a record of failing badly when it comes to the safety of those I care about, but I’ve learned my lesson. I wish you good day.”
Artie opened the coach door, and Ned began to walk away.
“Fine, then. Run along, Ned Wentworth, and I will continue this investigation on my own. The worst peril, the very worst peril, is to believe nobody cares and to have evidence of that belief on every hand. Go back to your damned bank if you must, but I care about those women, and I will not be deterred by Reggie Sharp and his perishing collection of ears.”
To her utter horror, Rosalind’s eyes filled with tears, and thus she could not have seen to blunder her way into the coach even if she had been willing to heed Ned’s bedamned dismissal.
***
Go back to your damned bank.…Go back to your damned bank.…
Except it wasn’t Ned’s damned bank and never would be. He had never aspired to own a bank and could not foresee the day when he would.
A ladylike sniffle stopped him halfway to the Dog and Dam, where he would make a futile attempt to drown his sorrows.
The sniff was followed by a delicate gulp, and Ned was back at Rosalind’s side in an instant. “Don’t cry.” He pushed a handkerchief into her hand. “Rosalind, please, you must not cry.”
“You made her cry,” Artie muttered. “Turned your back on a lady in distress. I’m that ashamed of you.”
“Arthur,” Rosalind said, dabbing at her eyes, “there’s no need for dramatics. I’ve merely had a trying day, as has Mr. Wentworth.”
“Bawlin’ ’er eyes out,” Artie went on. “In front of half of London, and Reggie Sharp on the loose and lookin’ fer a fight. Mr. Wentworth ain’t the only gent to have a tryin’ day. I go to work for the great man himself, the famous Ned Wentworth, from Newgate to new money, that Ned Wentworth, and he turns out to be dicked in the nob.”
“I ain’t got all day,” the hackney driver called down. “Somebody climb in, or I’ll find another fare.”
“Artie,” Ned said, “take the coach to the bank. Tell Walden or Lord Stephen that I’ve come to no harm. Lady Rosalind is out shopping with me. She’s perfectly safe.”
Artie glowered with all the ire of a boy in the presence of adult foolishness. “She’s got her heart broke being perfectly safe around the likes of you.”
“Arthur, please do as Mr. Wentworth says.” Rosalind sounded composed, though her eyes held a world of hurt. “We are all not ourselves, but His Grace and Lord Stephen will worry about Mr. Wentworth.”
“They oughta lock Mr. Wentworth up, you ask me,” Arthur said, climbing into the coach. “He’s gone queer as Dick’s hatband, and that’s puttin’ it kindly.”
Ned slapped the side of the hackney, and Artie was still hurling imprecations as the coach pulled away.
“You have acquired a champion,” Ned said.
“I’ve acquired two,” Rosalind replied, turning a glittering gaze on Ned. “Only one of them is convinced he must protect me from ruin by banishing himself from my life. What on earth bedevils you, Ned, that you’d conclude the dubious tolerance I endure in Woodruff’s house is preferable to any status I could hold at your side?”
