transgressions. No, it was Gilly’s wisely placed faith in the vicar’s high principles that allowed her niece to keep a rendezvous with nothing more than a romantic maid in attendance.
Gillian must also have known, Felicity added ruefully, climbing into the hansom cab that Marjorie had deftly procured, just how romantic those little tête-à-têtes could be. They consisted of Felicity, her elegant gown covered by a capacious green stuff apron, dishing out loathsome bowls of steaming soup to the oddest assortment of people. Hollow-eyed mothers with ominously rosy cheeks that Liam told her bitterly signified consumption, cheery gentlemen well gone into the effects of what was popularly referred to as Blue Ruin, children young in years but ancient in the cruel way of the world. It was the children that distressed her tender heart the most. From the burned and starving chimney sweeps who’d grown too large for the chimneys and had been abandoned, the saucy pickpockets who treated her with a touching gallantry, to the angelic faces of those who sold their frail young bodies for the price of a meal. If she could, she would have bundled them all back to Berkeley Square with her. Gillian would have welcomed them with open arms. But she knew full well that was out of the question. Nevertheless, it wasn’t only for the sake of Liam Blackstone’s beautiful dark eyes that she ventured down into the most depraved section of the teeming city of London.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to wait on those creatures,” Marjorie sniffed as the carriage rattled over the uneven pavement. “And I wish there was some way I could talk you out of it. You could get fleas from the likes of them.”
Felicity turned her attention from the slums outside the window and eyed her maid disapprovingly. “You will help me in whatever capacity Mr. Blackstone requires,” she said in a cold tone of voice seldom used on her servant and confidant, “and you will do so with good grace. Jesus washed the feet of the sinner, you know.”
Another disapproving sniff. “Why couldn’t you fancy someone like young Mr. Blenkinthorp, who fair dotes on you? Or Sir Sidney Penstaff? Either one of those gentlemen would come up to scratch if you gave them the slightest bit of encouragement. But instead you moon around after a man who isn’t even pleased to see you when you go to all the trouble to drag me down to this terrible place. I think you must have windmills in your head, Miss Felicity,” she said with her usual frankness that refused to recognize a set-down.
Felicity didn’t even bother to administer one this time. Her pulses were racing, her heart was pounding as the carriage drew up outside the shabby little mission that presently served as Liam Blackstone’s parish house. “You sound like my father, Marjorie,” she said shortly. “And if you don’t mind your tongue and make an attempt to be more amenable, I’ll take Gillian’s Flossie with me next time. She’d be ripe for an adventure.”
“You call this an adventure?” Marjorie demanded. “Slaving away for the worst kind of people? I doubt Flossie would find it so. And you know she can’t keep a still tongue in her head.”
“Neither can you. I know full well I have you to thank for my aunt’s knowing where I go on the few afternoons we steal away. You are extremely lucky your interference didn’t throw a rub in the way of my plans. Fortunately Aunt Gilly is the best of all my family, and enters into my feelings.”
“I hadn’t noticed that,” Marjorie snapped. “I doubt she would have let you go if she hadn’t known I’d be along to protect you.”
“Fine protection you are. I expect Aunt Gillian knew perfectly well that a man of Liam’s scruples wouldn’t allow me to be compromised.” If there was an aggrieved note in her voice as she contemplated how uncompromised she actually was, Marjorie had heard it all before.
“Are you going to sit here arguing all day, Miss