Page 27 of An Unwilling Earl
She grinned, a cheeky, mischievous grin. He wondered if this was the true Charlotte Morris, buried beneath her secrets. There were so many different sides to her, and he wanted to know all of them.
“It wasn’t as hard as you’d think,” she said. “And how did you know I am the granddaughter of a marquess?”
He grinned back. “I have my secrets, too, Miss Morris.”
She rolled her eyes, apparently not at all worried about his secrets, touched the bill of her top hat in a half salute, and led him into the darkness of hell.
Charlotte ducked into a doorway, and Jacob nearly tripped over a toddler to follow her. She jogged up a set of rickety steps that didn’t appear to be constructed well enough to support his weight, but he braved his way upward, trusting her to know that the stairs would not collapse on him. How did these landlords live with themselves, getting rich while taking these people’s money and forcing them to live in such squalid, unsafe conditions?
Nimbly she climbed to the third floor while he labored behind her. Maybe he should take up Armbruster’s suggestion of more physical activity, like fencing. Charlotte opened a door and disappeared from his sight.
He found her in a small, cramped room with a tiny window that looked out over London’s belching factories. Two pallets were pushed against a wall, and a small table with two unstable chairs took up the rest of the floor space.
“Welcome to my home,” Charlotte said with a negligent wave of her hand.
“It’s very…quaint.” His dressing room was larger than this.
“You’re very kind to say so. Let me show you around.” Charlotte spread her arms wide. “This is it.”
“Cozy.”
“Quite. I’d offer you refreshments, but we don’t have any.”
“That’s all right. Where is your flatmate?”
“Suzette must have stepped out. She’s usually here at this time of the day. She works as an actress at one of the theaters. I’m not sure which one. She leaves in the evening and returns very early in the morning. Sometimes I think that she has a side job as well, if you know what I mean.”
“Ah.” Suzette was an actress and probably a prostitute, and he’d invited her into his home. Lovely. Mrs. Smith was going to have a fit, but if that was the price he must pay to get Charlotte to safety then he would pay it.
The door opened, and a slight woman entered, carrying a heavy bucket of water. “I swear to God those women at the water pump are the nastiest creatures. Gossiping about others as if their lives were so pristine and la-ti-da.” She put the bucket on the table with a thud. Water sloshed over the sides, and she looked up to see Jacob and froze.
“Oh.” She flickered a questioning gaze to Charlotte.
“Suzette, this is Mr. Jacob Baker.” She shot him a warning look that he took to mean that she was not going to use his new title and he was not to mention it. “He’s a friend of a friend. He has offered to let us rent a room from him in Berkeley Square.”
Suzette’s gazed bounced from Charlotte to Jacob and back. Life in the rookery had taken its toll on Suzette. There were dark circles under her eyes and lines around her mouth. Her skin was robbed of the dew of youth, dull and sallow as if she saw little of the sunlight. Her hair was a dirty brown, frizzy from lack of washing. She was so thin that her gown—once red, now faded to dark orange—hung on her like a sack.
“You jest,” Suzette said.
“I do not. It would be a chance for us to get out of here and maybe try for a better life.”
Suzette’s mouth opened, then closed, like a gasping fish. “Charlotte.” She stopped, squared her shoulders, and looked again at Jacob. “This man is not offering us a room out of the goodness of his heart. He’s… Well, I’m not sure how to put this delicately, but that room will come with certain benefits—”
Jacob stepped forward. “I can assure you, Miss…Suzette, that my inclinations do not lean in that direction.” Good God but this woman was going to ruin all of the work Jacob had put in to convince Charlotte to leave the rookery.
Suzette scoffed. “Please. A gent like you wants to help us out of the goodness of his heart?” She shook her head and chuckled. “I’m surprised you fell for this, Charlotte. He only wants one thing from you.”
“I don’t think so,” Charlotte said tentatively. Jacob could hear the doubt in her voice and wanted to shut Suzette up, but all he could do was stand there and hope things would go his way. “He truly wants to help, and we have a plan—”
“Listen, pet, if that’s what you want then you should go. A gent like this has money. He can buy you things. New gowns, new shoes, food. He may even give you money of your own. You can be like the women I see at the theater every night. Being a kept woman is not a bad thing.”
Jacob wanted to close his eyes in mortification. Suzette was taking everything and twisting it around, making it seem foul and perverted.
“Is Suzette right, Mr. Baker? Is that your plan?” Charlotte was looking at him with those big eyes full of doubt and confusion, and he wanted so badly to sweep her out of here. To give her the life that Suzette painted but without the insinuation that Charlotte would become his mistress.
“Of course not. I just want to help.”
“Look, Mr. Baker,” Suzette said in her no-nonsense way. She was a woman of the world. Jacob could see that she had lived much in her short life and she didn’t believe in fairytales or men who swept women off the streets for a better life. He didn’t blame her. Circumstances had not been good for Suzette. And it was obvious that she was looking out for Charlotte. But keeping Charlotte in the rookery was not the best thing for her.
