Page 33 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
"Gives me the shivers, so it does," Lady Emily's maid said as she blessed herself.
Raff wondered at the relationship between maid and mistress; most maids were discreet, silent, and most definitely not Irish. Mary appeared the opposite to silent, and her familiar ease with Lady Emily was most unusual. In fact, when he had stumbled across them on the side of the road, he had been certain that the Irish woman had been about argue with her mistress. And on Argyle Road too, he reminded himself, the pair had been acting rather strangely—more like equals than anything else.
"How did Mary come to work for you?" Raff queried of Emily.
His question, though simple, seemed to startle the woman beside him. Lady Emily gave Mary a rather nervous look, as though pleading with the Irish woman to answer.
"When the late Lady Fairfax passed away," Mary replied, evidently nervous at addressing a duke directly, "Her sister, Lady Lucan, sent me over to London to keep an eye on Lady Emily. She and her husband could not leave Ireland, so Lady Lucan decided I was the next best thing to an aunt's care."
"Indeed."
Raff kept his eyes forward, inwardly wondering at Lady Emily's silence. It was most unusual for a Lady to allow a maid to speak on her behalf. Though, Raff reasoned, his relationship with Thomas, who had remained on as his valet, was also far from conventional.
"Oh, look," Mary cried, "There's some of the girls."
Raff looked toward the Asylum's door, and saw a stream of young girls, dressed in drab, grey dresses, file out into the courtyard. Their faces were gaunt, their expressions morose, and their shoulders hunched.
"Lud, they look half starved," he commented to Emily, who gave a shrug.
"Half-starved and overworked," she replied, a definite hint of bitterness in her voice, "Though I'm sure that when writing to thank their patrons for their yearly donations, that the Asylum fails to mention this. Nor will they tell the good lords and ladies of London about the pretty penny each girl fetches for them, when they sign her away into indentured servitude at the age of twelve."
"Better they leave with a job, than end up on the streets," Mary said pragmatically to her mistress. Raff was inclined to agree, though the idea of anyone making a profit from what was essentially the sale of a child rankled at his conscience.
"It depends," Lady Emily replied lightly to Mary, "On what employer they are sold to. I don't need to tell you that some of the girls end up in bawdy-houses off Covent—"
Lady Emily's voice broke off as her maid gave her a sharp elbow in the ribs. Raff bit back a smile, for the maid had not prevented her mistress from revealing that she was wiser to the world than a lady should be.
"Still," Lady Emily cleared her throat, "They do better than the poor climbing boys."
"The climbing boys?" Raff echoed stupidly.
"The poor young boys who climb up your chimney to sweep it," Lady Emily replied, with what was definite note of derision, "They are taken from orphanages at a young age and indentured to master chimney sweepers. The smaller a boy is, the better he is able to climb, so their masters are rather inclined toward starving them to prevent them growing big."
"Lud, that's awful," Raff replied aghast; did such things really happen in this day and age?
"What's awful," Emily turned to look at him, her green eyes ablaze with passion, "Is that I am sitting next to one of the few men in England who has the power to change their lives, yet does not even know of their existence."
"Now, hang on," Raff retorted, wanting to tell her that he was still grappling with having inherited a dukedom he had not wished for, and so had not had the time to read up on the plight of every poverty stricken child in the land, but she was too quick.
"It amazes me that a man can own half of England, and yet not know anything about the lives of his tenants," Emily continued piously.
"I doubt any of these climbing boys are my tenants," Raff grumbled, "I own thousands of acres of agricultural land, and let me tell you, I am very well versed in how well my tenants fare. I've a dozen ruddy letters a day from my stewards, detailing what needs fixing and what I need to do to ensure that the people who live on my land are well looked after. My duty is all that I think of Lady Emily, have no fear on that score."
As he spoke, the familiar feeling of breathlessness stole over him, and it was only when Raff finished his sentence that he realised that his voice had been raised considerably higher than what most ladies would deem polite. He braced himself for tears and accusations, but his outburst was merely met with curious green eyes.
The feeling that had been rising in his chest, the unbearable tightness and pounding of his heart, eased a little as he saw sympathy shining out from Lady Emily's eyes.
"Forgive me," Emily said, as she fiddled with a string of pearls around her neck, "I had no right to accuse you of being uncaring. I cannot even begin to fathom what it must be like, to have so many people depend upon you like that. Why, in Lord Fairfax's home alone I count twenty servants! Footmen, underfootmen, scullery maids, pot boys—the list is endless. It cannot be easy, to have so many people rely upon you for their living, Your Grace."
Her understanding words tugged at his heartstrings; no one had ever suggested to him that with his title came burdensome responsibilities. He supposed that because other titled men treated their estates with such contempt—gambling them away, or letting them fall to rack and ruin to fund a lavish lifestyle—that Lady Emily had assumed he was the same. He was not; the welfare of his family and his tenants, and his duty to the line, consumed his every thought—well it had, until he had met Emily.
"I have been a duke for just a year," he said, "And I am sorry to say that it has taken me this long to fully become comfortable with my duties. However, I intend to take up my seat in parliament soon, and when I do, I can assure you that I will make the welfare of the climbing boys my priority."
"You will?"
"Of course I will," Raff replied with a smile, "You are to be my wife. As such, what concerns you, concerns me. And you are right; what point is there in holding a powerful position, if one does not use it to help those less fortunate?"
Feeling rather more cheerful, Raff guided the Phaeton into the Asylum's glum courtyard. A stable boy materialised, as if from thin air, to take charge of the horses, and as the lad held the reins, Raff assisted Emily and Mary from the precariously high vehicle.
