Page 25 of The Lady Confesses
“That you know of. But we do not know one another, Joss. Not in the way we should if we are to build a life together.”
“What would you know of me? I’ll tell you anything you wish to know.”
Her eyebrows arched upward. “Anything?”
“Yes,” he agreed, “Anything.”
“How is it you came to be in the employ of the Hound of Whitehall?”
Joss ducked his head. He’d expected that question. “When I was naught but a lad, and he wasn’t much more than one himself, I tried to pick his pocket. Well, not tried. I did, in fact, pick his pocket. I just didn’t escape successfully. He caught me a few streets over, and that was the end of it.”
“Why would you try to pick his pocket?”
Joss shrugged. This was the ugly part of his life, the part he preferred to tell no one of. But she was entitled to hear it if anyone was. “The workhouse is no place for a child, even a sizable one as I was. I was eleven or twelve—I’m not really sure. Regardless, in a place such as that you either need to be able to fight for your share or pay for it. I wasn’t much of a fighter back then. I stole his purse to pay for food.”
As he finished the explanation, he noted her expression. It was sad, certainly, but it wasn’t the piteous one he had anticipated, and for that he was grateful.
“I’m sorry. I know they are horrid places. And reform is hard won for such institutions.”
“Indeed. Some would say having them razed might be the better solution.”
“Do you?” she asked.
He considered his answer carefully. They were a necessary evil because, at present, they were the only option for many—terrible as it was. But recalling his own experiences, the ones that haunted him, he said, “Only one of them... the St. James. That’s where I spent most of my time.”
She winced. “It is a brutal place. I am so sorry. What happened to your parents?”
“My mother died,” he answered. And he said no more on that matter. It was a nagging wound and one, much like his shoulder, that he would never fully recover from. He’d simply learned toget on with life in spite of it. “I never knew my father. It’s an old story... anyway, that’s when the Hound took me under his wing... for a price. I worked for him. Running errands. As a courier. And he and Stavers taught me to fight. Then I worked for him as muscle. And the whole while, I was being tutored. Taught to read and write. Because he had a plan for me. The best way to avoid trouble from the Runners was to have allies amongst their ranks.”
“That couldn’t be easy. Serving two masters.” She phrased it as a statement, but there was invitation in her tone. Invitation to expand, to explain, to encourage him to share more.
He’d already shared more than he would have with anyone else. He’d assumed that it was simply in his nature to be taciturn. Now he had to wonder if perhaps it wasn’t the absence of any desire to talk so much as it had been the absence of someone to talk with.
Deciding that was a topic to dwell on another day, he laughed. “No. No, it was not easy. I’m grateful to him. And I will never be free of him entirely for that reason. But I’ve made every effort to extricate myself from his enterprises—the illegal variety, at any rate—as much as possible. Which means, I am quite poor. At least for the time being.”
“I am quite rich. The money is all mine, you know? Arthur hadn’t a tuppence to his name. And my father, for all his many faults, was certain to ensure that my and Honoria’s financial futures were maintained. While we were married, Arthur controlled whatever funds the trustees released to us, which was very little, really. Had I left him, he’d have kept the bulk of it. But now that he’s gone, it will all revert to me.”
It made him twitchy, the idea that she’d have to support him. He wasn’t foolish enough to presume that her money would not make their lives easier, but he disliked the idea that others would view him as a fortune hunter.Or that she would.
Somewhat defensively, he responded, “I’m not without prospects. Vincent, who is an altogether different entity than the Hound of Whitehall, despite how it may appear, has offered me an opportunity to become more involved in the legitimate business enterprises that he is involved in. But that would mean the taint of trade and the loss of your social standing... I say that not to dissuade you, but to be entirely forthcoming. Lies have no place between us at this point.”
Hettie folded her hands neatly in her lap and stated very matter of factly, “Well, if Inspector Bates has his way, it will not matter. He will have me arrested for Arthur’s murder, and any plans for our future, jointly or separately, will be for naught.”
“Leave Bates to me. I’ll handle him. In the meantime, I don’t want you to go anywhere without at least a pair of armed footmen. If Simon is the culprit, which seems the likeliest of explanations, and he is in such dire straits, I fear what he may attempt to do next.”
“Will you stay?”
“Here?
“Yes,” she said. “Just for a little while... I am very tired of my own company of a sudden.”
It was an olive branch, and one he would gladly take. Crossing the room to where she sat, he joined her on the settee. Once there, he pulled her against him, nestled to his side. It wasn’t about heat or passion. It was about comfort. Comfort and connection. He supposed that was something neither of them had been blessed with very much in their lives. Both of them had been victims of circumstances—for him it had been poverty that had robbed him of any semblance of affection for most of his childhood, and for Hettie... well, she’d been seen as naught but a commodity to be traded by every man she’d ever known.
Filled with a mix of emotions, not the least of which was sheer terror, Joss remained quiet. The enormity of the decisionsmade weighed heavily on him for the simple fact that he was afraid to fail. What did he know about being a father? What the hell did he know about being a husband, for that matter? On that score, he supposed he couldn’t do worse than her last one, though the thought brought little comfort.
“You are very deep in thought,” she observed.
“I suppose I am. The stakes are very high, Hettie. For both of us.”
