Page 44 of Love Abandoned

Chapter Nineteen

On that best portion of a good man’s life,

His little, nameless, unremembered, acts

Of kindness and of love.

—Wordsworth, “Lines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798”

Richard had beenpleased to find Elizabeth gone when he’d returned to the town house. He’d stayed at Westminster for the review of happenings on the continent but had left immediately afterward. He was still disgruntled about their dismissal of his arguments the other day. Truthfully, he was irritable about pretty much everything at the moment, including his inability to get some sleep last night.

What happened to Patricia weighed heavily on him. It was no life. He’d begun to form a speech for the House of Lords, insisting upon laws and regulations for brothels. Although illegal, they were hidden in plain sight, so why not mandate acceptable treatment? A tax that could potentially be fed back into the system to provide a better environment for the workers?

He’d seen the folly in it immediately. Half the peers in attendance frequented such houses. Well, houses with higher standards, but nevertheless, they would not be eager for the government to interfere in their bed sport. And since the call for a permanent police force continued to fall on deaf ears, there would be no enforcement. Any law or regulation would be in word only. It would serve no purpose.

Besides, how could he argue for better protection for prostitutes and not draw attention to the very intrigue that had brought their plight to his attention? Or even worse, tie himself irredeemably to that world? He could not do that to his family. To Elizabeth. There must be some other solution.

Richard looked through his correspondence. A letter from the bank confirmed a draft to E. D. Narrows, the architect for Elizabeth’s orphanage. He stared at it for a long time. Elizabeth had intuitively figured out what he had not. If change could not happen from the top down, then it must occur from the bottom up. He thought of children begging on the street or slyly dipping into pockets, the ones flogging papers or gathering horse manure to sell to the gardeners. What if Patricia had been lifted at a young age? If given such a chance, would her life have taken a different course?

Elizabeth’s goal was likely to be far more effective than his wasting his time arguing in parliament. Besides, debate regarding the war monopolized the time on the floor, and he’d be hard-pressed to even be provided the opportunity. Rightfully so, he imagined. Their country was in jeopardy. Lives were at stake. As much as he was uncomfortable with his role for the Home Office, he was doing his part for those men on the continent. He could do no more for the cause on the peninsula, but he could do more here.

He stood, stretched, and walked to the bell cord, feeling a bit lighter. A coffee was in order, and something to eat. His correspondence awaited him. He’d take care of it first. Afterward he’d decide how best to proceed. The idea of working with Elizabeth on her project was not simply morally satisfying. With such a focus, he could be near her without any threat of intimacy. A frisson of anticipation rippled through him. Damn his body for recognizing him for the liar he was.

*

“He’s in hisstudy, my lady,” Hastings said as he took Elizabeth’s bonnet and pelisse and handed them to Clarkson.

“Thank you,” she said and marched down the hall to his study. She tapped on the door and waited for his voice before entering, then stepped into the room and caught her breath. Richard sat in dishabille, his jacket discarded, his top button undone, and his neck scarf tossed on the desk. He’d been running his hands through his hair, something he often did when he was lost in contemplation.

He glanced up at the sound of her and immediately got to his feet. Her body hummed in reaction to his dishevelment. She wanted to walk over and complete the task of undressing for him. All her anger dissipated, and heat pooled in regions she’d best not think on or she’d not be able to speak.

“Elizabeth,” he said, looking down at himself. “My apologies for my untidy state.” He walked toward her and held out his hand. “I did not know you were home.”

His hand seared hers, and a quiver ran through her. Her body was such a traitor.

“Do sit down.”

He waited for her to sit, then offered her a sherry, which she declined. She needed to regain focus.

“Then I shan’t either. I am rather full anyway.” He motioned toward the right corner of his desk, where an empty plate and cup sat. “I trust your expedition was fruitful?”

He didn’t look like someone hiding anything. She couldn’t detect deceit in his eyes nor a lie in his smile. Her shoulders relaxed a little. She’d never had a penchant for drama and would not create any now. But she would not avoid the truth either. She would know, for better or worse, what was going on. Best to get straight to the point.

“I have a proposal for you,” he said, his satisfied smile derailing her intention. “It involves William. You wish to celebrate his birthday?”

“I do,” she said, her heart accelerating at the growing twinkle in his eyes. “We didn’t honor his breeching. I would have him commemorate this next stage of his life. His birthday seemed a logical choice. It is, after all, a day I shall never forget.”

“Nor I,” Richard said softly. “One of my happiest in memory.”

Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat, unable to speak. She had almost ruined this moment of sharing by coming in primed for a confrontation.

“I suggest we hold a grand picnic in his honor.” He sat back, awaiting her response.

“But the weather this time of year, Richard, it is not predictable,” Elizabeth was surprised he was taking such a keen interest. He’d not concerned himself with details of such matters in years.

He grinned, seeming pleased with himself. “I agree. We shall use the ballroom and set it as though we are outside. Some canopies, some blankets for the children. All the food suited to a true picnic. What do you think?”

“It’s a marvelous idea,” Elizabeth said, instantly envisioning it. “We could add some foliage and an arbor or two.”

“Splendid. I knew your creative mind would not be left wanting. I leave everything to you. There is one other aspect I’d like you to consider, although I am confident you will be amenable.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk. “I’d like it to be a benefit. For your orphanage. As a matter of fact, when your orphanage is complete, I would like us to select another area of need and provide for it.”

“Oh, Richard,” she said, and this time, she did not fight her tears. They were tears of happiness, for the children who would be helped and for the man who was indicating he would be by her side to see it happen. He handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped at her eyes. They were also tears of relief. A man bent on betraying her could not make such a promise. Could he?

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