Page 32 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
Chapter Seven
What had he been thinking, Raff thought, as the trio within the sleek, shiny phaeton crossed over Blackfriars Bridge to the south side of the river, by agreeing to take Lady Emily to such an uncivilised part of town?
Lambeth was comparatively less crowded than the city they had left behind, though its populous was far poorer than those they had passed by in Westminster. Raff spotted many a tired grey face and ragged child as he steered his two horses across the bridge.
"Straight down Hercules Road, Your Grace," Lady Emily instructed, as she sensed his hesitation, "That's the road that leads to Asylum Cross."
Raff, who was an excellent navigator, had known exactly what direction he needed to go in. However, it was only as they had crossed over the bridge, into the leafy streets of the parish of Lambeth, that he had realised that taking his betrothed alone to Asylum Cross would cause quite the scandal.
He had completely forgotten that on the street corners bordering the north side of the Cross, were three rather seedy pleasure gardens, which was where many men went to find ladies of ill repute. If anyone were to see him driving Lady Emily, unchaperoned bar her maid, in the direction of The Apollo Gardens, or The Temple of Flora, it would be front page news for weeks.
"I am not certain that I should have agreed to this," Raff replied, his gloved hands holding the reins loosely as he considered turning back toward Grosvenor Square. His new Phaeton, which was ostentatious in design, was already drawing the eyes of passers-by, who were curious to catch a glimpse of such a fantastic vehicle.
"Please."
Emily's hand, encased in a soft, pink satin glove, reached out to touch his sleeve, and at the feel of her touch he was rendered helpless against resistance. He turned to look down at her, and as her green eyes locked, pleadingly, with his own, a shiver went through him. Raff could tell this sensation was not desire, for he had felt that hundreds of times before, but something else entirely. It was as though, that just by gazing into her green eyes, he could read her soul. He sensed sadness and loss, feelings he grappled with nightly himself, and something else; understanding.
Did she see what he saw, reflected back at her? For a moment it seemed as though she did, but then Lady Emily turned her face away from him and the moment was lost.
"I merely wish to drop some clothes in, for the girls," she said quietly, "We need not linger long, Your Grace."
Gracious, her voice was almost cracking with emotion. Raff wondered if perhaps, that underneath her pampered, privileged exterior, Lady Emily was something of a bleeding heart.
Without saying a word, he urged his pair of bay-geldings onward. Best to get to the blasted place quickly and then be home, he thought, than to stay and argue and attract attention. As they moved farther into Lambeth, the lined, leafy streets of terraced houses gave way to open, marshy land. Off to the right, in the distance, lay Lambeth Palace, the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and straight ahead was The Asylum for Orphaned Girls.
"This is it," Raff said shortly, as they approached the wrought-iron gates which guarded the miserable looking building.
"I know," came the soft reply.
