Chapter Eight
The hackney stopped before a red brick building with black shutters. Chloe peered out the window. A black sign with white letters read: Whitleson’s Home For Orphaned Girls. The orphanage was located in a part of the city that had once been affluent but now was run-down. In the distance a church bell tolled. Ever-present smoke from the London factories marred the sky. Stepping from the hackney, she made her way up the front steps and entered the building.
A heavyset woman with brown curls fading to gray came forward to greet Chloe. Mrs. Porter was one of the teachers and caretakers of the younger girls at the orphanage. “It’s good to see you back, Miss Somerton. I’m sure Emily will be pleased.”
“Emily is a sweet child. I’ve grown attached to her in my last few visits. How is her health?” Chloe asked.
A shadow crossed Mrs. Porter’s face. “Not well, I’m afraid. She remains listless and has little appetite. No one can explain the lethargy or the weakness in her limbs.”
Chloe’s chest tightened. “What does the physician say?”
“Dr. Evans visits every Wednesday, miss. He believes Emily is of a weak disposition and he warned that she may never grow to be as strong or healthy as the other girls.”
Chloe couldn’t accept such a diagnosis. Emily was too young, too lovely a child. “Perhaps another physician, then—”
Mrs. Porter wrung her hands. “I must wait until Mr. Whitleson returns. Now that his wife has passed away, he makes all the decisions regarding the staff and the finances for the orphanage.”
Chloe had never met Mr. Whitleson. Since her return to town from Huntingdon’s country estate, he’d been away. His wife had founded the orphanage. He took over afterward, but relied on Mrs. Porter and the other staff to provide the day-to-day care of the children. Still, he controlled the finances of the orphanage, and as such, she needed to speak with him regarding the services of the orphanage doctor.
“When will Mr. Whitleson return?” Chloe asked.
“He is visiting a friend in Kent but is expected back in a week’s time. I shall speak with him regarding Emily as soon as he returns.”
“Thank you.” Chloe headed down the corridor. She passed workers and servants and young girls. The orphanage was home to girls, from infants up to seventeen years old. Chloe knew most were never adopted and grew up to work in the orphanage or to toil long hours in the factories.
A girl of about fifteen, who was carrying a bucket of water and a mop, smiled shyly at Chloe as she hurried past. No doubt she was on her way to her morning chores.
Chloe watched the girl disappear around the corner. She had been close to the child’s age when Jonathan Miller had abandoned his three daughters and fled London rather than face arrest for his crimes of forgery. If not for Eliza and Amelia, would Chloe have ended up in an orphanage just like this one?
Gooseflesh rose on her arms that had nothing to do with the cold, damp corridor. She kept on, her steps quicker, until she reached the wing for the younger girls and entered a room. Rows of simple wooden beds with straw mattresses lined both sides of the long room. Each bed was empty and tidily made with white linens and a coarse brown blanket.
Save one.
A small child lay sleeping in the last bed.
The other girls were occupied with their daily chores, then their exercises for the day. But nine-year-old Emily Higgins remained behind to linger abed. It was horribly unfair.
But then, life wasn’t fair, was it?
It was a bitter lesson Chloe had learned years ago.
Chloe approached Emily’s bedside and watched the sleeping girl. Dark curls contrasted with her pale skin. Her eyelids were as fragile as paper, and long eyelashes formed crescents against her skin. Her small chest rose and fell, her breathing labored. Even ill, she was a beautiful child, and Chloe felt a tug in the center of her chest.
Reaching out, she touched the girl’s small hand. “Hello, Emily.”
Eyelashes fluttered open to reveal jewel-green eyes. A second passed, then pink lips formed a perfect O. “Miss Chloe! I’m so happy you’re here.”
Emily struggled to sit up and raised her arms. Chloe’s heart tugged as she embraced the girl’s small frame. The strong scent of rhubarb ointment that the nurse had rubbed on Emily’s chest wafted to Chloe.
“How do you feel?” Chloe asked.
Emily coughed. “The nurse says I’m not well enough to join the other girls. I don’t like staying in bed.”
A knot formed in Chloe’s throat. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Everyone at the orphanage believed that Emily was born sickly. Chloe refused to believe it. There had to be a medical explanation for the child’s lethargy and weak lungs. Every time Emily attempted to join the other girls outside, she would start wheezing and gasping for breath. Then the coughing fits would start and she would lack the energy to do anything more than walk.
Chloe pulled up a wooden chair and sat at Emily’s bedside. “I made some pictures for you.” Chloe pulled out small lithographs of a young girl Emily’s age playing with a hoop. The skill with a burin was a talent she had learned from her father. She wasn’t a gifted artist like her sister, Amelia, but she enjoyed creating artwork as a pastime.
“It’s beautiful. Is it really for me?”
“Yes. You can look at it anytime. I hope it lifts your spirits.”
“What else do you have?”
“I brought a book of fairy tales. Would you like me to read to you?”
“Oh yes. My mother used to read to me before she got sick and went to Heaven. Do you remember your mother?”
Chloe rested the book on her lap. “I have vague memories. She was kind and loving and gave lots of hugs. But she passed when I was young.”
“What about your father?” Emily asked.
Chloe’s fingers tightened around the book’s spine. “My father was an artist. I remember when he taught me how to draw and use a burin to engrave a picture. He knew I preferred engraving to charcoal sketching, but the truth was I did it to please him. It was never my strongest interest. I would much rather have climbed a tree in our garden or fed the horses carrots in the mews.”
Emily smiled. “That sounds like fun. How old were you when he died?”
“He never died. At least not that I’ve heard. He left us.”
“Oh,” Emily said. “I never knew my father, either.”
“Then we have that in common as well.”
“What else do we have in common, Miss Chloe?
Chloe hesitated, debating how much to tell. “I was sickly as a child.”
“You were?”
If her story could give Emily hope, then she should share it with her. “It started as a simple cold, but I soon developed a cough. Then the cough lingered and lingered and wouldn’t go away. A doctor said I had weak lungs. But now I’m healthy.”
Emily’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be healthy, Miss Chloe.”
“Never say that.” Chloe’s voice was firm. She refused to believe the child would suffer forever, or worse, die. As she gazed down at Emily, her throat ached. She clutched Emily’s hand. “Please promise that you will never give up hope.”
“I promise.” Emily’s little fingers entwined with hers, and the motion felt like a squeeze to Chloe’s heart.
“Shall I read?” Chloe asked.
Emily nodded and leaned against her pillow.
Chloe picked up the book and opened it to the first chapter. She swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled. “Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a beautiful princess…”
…
Later that afternoon, Chloe returned to her sister’s home in Mayfair. The butler came forward to take her cloak. Sunlight glinted off the magnificent crystal chandelier and cast a kaleidoscope of color on the marble floor. The contrast between the scratched wood floorboards of the orphanage and the black-and-white marble of Huntingdon’s vestibule never ceased to amaze her. Her memories of her lodgings in the rookeries of St. Giles lingered in the back of her mind like specters in a closet that could never entirely be forgotten.
“There’s a package for you, Miss Chloe,” the butler said. “I put it in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Mr. Burke.”
Another package? Her curiosity rose as she entered the drawing room to find a box wrapped in lovely flowered paper. The simple card was embossed vellum, and she broke the seal.
My dearest Chloe,
Indulge your fancy for sweets.
Yours fondly,
Henry
He’d used her Christian name and signed it with his own. Surely it was a good sign. She picked up the package and tore the paper to discover a box of chocolates from a popular confectioner. She reached for a piece of dark chocolate, her favorite.
“Your admirer is quite romantic.”
Chloe turned to see Eliza in the doorway. “It’s from Lord Sefton.”
Eliza smiled. “First flowers, now chocolates. If we are fortunate, badly written poetry will come next.”
Chloe looked at the treat in her hand nestled in delicate paper. She loved chocolate as much as the next woman, but for some reason she had no desire to taste the sweet.
“What’s wrong?” Eliza asked.
Chloe returned the chocolate to the box. “I visited the orphanage today.”
“Is it the young girl? Emily is her name?”
Chloe sighed. “Yes. She’s still ill, and they are not certain if she will ever be as healthy as the other girls.”
Eliza came close and touched her sleeve. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I know how much the child means to you.”
Chloe experienced a nauseating sinking of despair, and she closed the box. “I think I’ll save these for her. Maybe they will increase her appetite.”
“That’s very thoughtful. If there is anything Emily needs, please ask. Clothing, shoes, funds for the doctor.”
“Thank you. But she rarely leaves her bed, and one pair of shoes is sufficient. She has enough clothing as well, and the orphanage doctor visits weekly.”
“Do not lose hope. You were ill as a child, remember?”
How could she forget? It had been devastating, not just the illness but the consequences for her sisters. Eliza and Amelia had never complained, but they’d gone to bed cold and hungry too often because they’d sacrificed for her.
Chloe swallowed. “Yes, I won’t give up hope.” She turned to Eliza. “Now what is it you came to tell me? Or were you simply curious about the package?”
“I have good news that I hope will cheer you. We are visiting Vauxhall Gardens tonight to see the sensational Madame Saqui.”
“The French tightrope dancer?” Chloe’s interest was immediately piqued. She’d heard stories about the famous acrobat who achieved enormous acclaim at Covent Garden Theatre when she’d walked from the stage to the top gallery on a tightrope. It would be Chloe’s first visit to Vauxhall Gardens, and the knowledge that she would see Madame Saqui perform lifted her spirits.
Eliza clasped her hands. “There’s more. Huntingdon invited Lord Sefton to join us.”
Henry would be there. Chloe could thank him for the chocolates. Perhaps dance with him in front of the pavilion. But just as quickly as the thought entered her mind, another followed. If Henry came along, then there was a good chance that—
“The duke will be accompanying him as well,” Eliza said.
Unbidden images of Chloe’s erotic dream rushed back. Michael’s calloused fingers as he grasped her shoulders. The raw hunger in his dark eyes as he looked at her. His mouth claiming hers as she moaned her pleasure and need.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Eliza said.
Chloe’s eyes snapped to her sister and she felt her face flush. “You do?”
“Yes. You’re concerned that if the Duke of Cameron attends, then you won’t have a moment alone with young Henry. I didn’t miss what happened at Lady Webster’s party.”
“You didn’t?” Heavens, did her sister witness Chloe’s kiss in the gardens with the duke?
“You didn’t have a moment alone in the horticultural conservatory. The imposing duke shadowed you and Henry for the entire tour.”
Relief coursed through Chloe. Thank goodness that’s all she saw.
As for tonight, Chloe should have been concerned that Michael would prevent her from sneaking off into Vauxhall Gardens alone with Henry, but that wasn’t what she was thinking at all. She was too occupied with thoughts of Michael’s kiss…how their tongues rolled together, soft and slow…
The trouble was Henry was far from her thoughts. But Michael—she was beginning to think of him more and more by that name—had offered her a position as his mistress.
His mistress!
The offer was as humiliating as it was offending. Never had she both despised and desired someone as she did him.
It was maddening.
She’d never be duchess material to him. Any wife he took would have bloodlines traced back to King Henry VIII.
“You needn’t worry,” Eliza said, once again interrupting her thoughts. “I’ve invited a young widow, Lady Willowby, to join us. I have it on good account that she has set her sights on the duke, and I’m confident she’ll occupy him so that you will be free to spend time with Lord Sefton.”
Chloe masked her inner turmoil with a deceptive calm. She should be grateful for her sister’s aid. Then why did she feel as if all the eager anticipation of her first visit to Vauxhall Gardens had vanished?
Eliza smiled. “So you see? It will be a perfect evening.”
Chloe swallowed. “Yes, of course.” Reaching down, she gathered her resolve. Eliza was right. This was what she wanted—an evening to further cultivate Henry’s interest. She would get to walk alone with him in the sculpted gardens by moonlight and lamplight and get to know him better. She realized she knew very little about Henry. She didn’t know his ambitions or plans for the future. Here was her chance to spend time together. Perhaps even share a stolen kiss and erase the touch of another.
Michael was confusing her, making her desire what she shouldn’t. It was all a lie. A cruel, vicious lie to get her to avoid Henry and abandon her hopes and dreams. The duke cared nothing for her, other than to satisfy his base needs. He wanted her to fail and was doing his best to seduce her to ruin.
She’d best not forget it.