Page 38 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
For a moment, he feared that she wouldn’t or couldn’t trust him, but he wanted that. He truly did.
“When Da found out I visited Ratcliff,” she finally said, “he was livid. He didn’t want us to have any connection to where we’d come from. It was fuel for the toffs’ fire to treat us as if we were lesser beings.”
“As if the source of the ton’s wealth was without stain.” Kieran snorted.
Her own expression was wry. “My father still aspires for us to join your ranks. And when I proposed that I wanted to start a foundation that worked directly with families in Ratcliff to improve their lives, Da flatly forbade it. He said I should stick to charity bazaars and other genteel ways of being charitable that don’t involvedirtying my handswith real work.
“But,” she went on, “if I could bring tutors and teachers to Ratcliff, hornbooks and slates so the children and adults could learn their letters, they’d be able to find better-paying employment. They’d secure good housing and not fear being taken advantage of by the unscrupulous. I saw it so many times when I was growing up there. Men and women getting swindled out of their wages because they’d signed something they couldn’t read. Children stuck in the same cycle of poverty as their parents. I myself didn’t learn to read until I waseleven. If it wasn’t for Da making a fortune leasing warehouses and then being able to get me a governess, I’d still be unable to read. I’d still be doing piecework and living from coin to coin.”
A shadow passed over her face, likely the ghost of what might have been, and Kieran ached for the hopeless young woman she could have become.
“I don’t want that happening to anyone,” she said tightly. “Most in Ratcliff aren’t as I’ve been. Yet my dream of helping them won’t ever come to pass.”
The miserable resignation in her voice and her face shot straight through him.
“Oh, love,” Kieran said, his throat burning. “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing foryouto apologize for,” she said with a forlorn little laugh. “I used to weep about it, yet that only makes my head ache without actually changing my circumstance.” She glanced at him wryly. “I don’t supposeyoucry about your family’s treatment.”
Now it was his turn to give a humorless chuckle. “Displays of any emotion—lachrymose or otherwise—are treated like mud on the Axminster carpet. First blame is assigned, and then they’re scrubbed away as quickly as possible.”
Her hand lifted, as if she, too, struggled with the urge to touch and offer comfort. He held his breath in anticipation, but then she lowered her hand to her side, and they both looked at each other with hard-won understanding.
“I’ve just the antidote to all this confining propriety,” he said, waving toward the pavilion.
He was rewarded for his efforts by the light returning to her eyes. Excitedly, she asked, “What’s it to be? Vauxhall, finally?”
“Far better,” he vowed. “Far freer. But I want it to be a surprise. Do you trust me? No, don’t answer that. The gentleman part of me will be disappointed if you answer in the negative, and the rake part of me will be disappointed if you answer in the affirmative.”
“Then I do trust you—up to a point.” Her smile was full and genuine, unlike the ones she’d proffered to the attendees of the horticultural exhibition.
“An excellent compromise.” Her joy affected him just as potently as any liquor—even more so, because he could ingest gallons of her smiles and still crave more.
What if she were mine? What if I could make her smile like this every day and every night?
The thought whispered through him, and he jolted.
No, no, no.He pushed the dangerous idea away. Because even if he could somehow truly make her care for him, she was essentially promised to another. He could never make her his. The best he could do was give her what joy he could, for as long as he was able.
Chapter 9
The following day, Celeste was finally able to help sort clothing for the charity bazaar, though it was a Sunday rather than her usual Tuesday. She joined a dozen other ladies in Lord and Lady Blakemere’s ballroom, where numerous long tables held heaps of laundered but slightly worn garments. It was slow-going, but Celeste didn’t mind her labors because it meant impoverished people could have warm, clean clothing.
“Reminds me of helping Ma do mending,” she murmured to her friend Rosalind Carew.
“Mind the volume of your voice,” Rosalind replied wryly, her Welsh accent making her words musical. “We can’t have the fine ladies know we come from people who actuallywork. Did you hear what happened to Lydia Hearne?”
“Do I want to?” Celeste remembered the mild-mannered girl from Miss Hadstock’s Finishing School for Refined Young Ladies. Like the other pupils, Lydia came from a family that had amassed a fortune through business and commerce, and likethe other students, she’d endeavored to gain entry into the world of England’s elite families.
“Her mother was at a dinner party a week ago and scandalized the other guests by accidentally revealing that she still does her own cooking.” Rosalind clicked her tongue as she held up a petticoat for inspection. “The invitations have slowed to a trickle since then.”
“Poor Lydia,” Celeste said sadly. She examined the seams on a child’s jacket and saw that they still held. Since the jacket could be donated, she put it in a large basket at her feet.
Rosalind shook her head. “These toffs are more treacherous than any copper mine. It’s a good thing Lord Montford fancies you—”
“Like a pretty vase to display on his mantel,” Celeste added grimly. “A thing that he can show off and display and put precisely where he wants it. I’m commanded to walk with him in the park after this.”
Celeste wasnotanticipating seeing the earl again and mouthing pleasantries, or feigning attention, when all she wanted to do was ponder just where Kieran intended to take her on their next excursion.
