Page 34 of Rescuing a Tantalising Heiress
“You shut yourself away in here for hours on end. What are you doing? My father spends most of his time playing cards and socializing. He calls it work, but I’d hardly speak of it in those terms,” Isabella said, and the viscount smiled.
“Ah, well, that’s simple enough—I’m hoping to build a hospital. A hospital for sick children in London. I spend most of my time writing letters begging for donations. But we’re getting there. I’ve raised three-quarters of the funds,” he said.
Isabella was astonished. She had known nothing of Edward’s philanthropy, and it amazed her to think he was doing something so obviously intent on benefitting so many.
“But that’s wonderful. It must be so difficult for those poor people—without money or the means of treatment. To see a child die unnecessarily, it seems utterly barbaric,” Isabella replied, and Edward nodded.
“I spend a lot of time in London, and I’ve seen it for myself—the terrible poverty existing in the slums. It’s a wonder anyone survives. I wanted to build a hospital in memory of my mother and to ensure no mother ever has to see their child uncared for or untreated when they’re ill,” he said, rising to his feet.
He went over to the desk, bringing back a large piece of paper on which was drawn a plan for the hospital. He knelt at Isabella’s side, pointing out the various parts of the hospital, animated in his explanations as she listened in fascination. It was quite extraordinary, and her admiration for Edward only increased.
“I think it’s wonderful,” she said when he had finished showing her the plans.
“We hope to begin building by the end of the summer. I’ve even written to the Regent himself in the hope of securing the funds—though he’ll probably want it named after himself if he gives as much as a shilling,” Edward said, laughing and shaking his head.
“I feel quite inadequate. I’ve done nothing for philanthropic causes—unless you count the occasional attendance at a well-meaning talk or charitable drive,” Isabella said.
The viscount had made no mention of the hospital before. He was modest, and Isabella marvelled at the quiet determination with which he pursued his task.
“It’s nothing, really. I’m fortunate to be in a position of influence, and I believe in doing something for the good of others. We live in an unequal society. The poor surround us, and yet we do little or nothing to help them.
A coin tossed into a beggar’s bowl won’t make any real difference. But adequate healthcare, good sanitation, and proper housing—these are things we can do to make a difference. I want the hospital to be the beginning of something more. A beacon of hope,” he said, sounding impassioned in his speech.
Isabella was astonished, and she intended to insist on her father giving a substantial donation to the project once she returned home.
“I wonder…is there a way I could help you? I feel…well, I think it’s remarkable, and I can only admire you for what you’ve done. I’d like to do something, anything, to be of assistance,” Isabella said.
She really did mean it. Edward’s words had touched her deeply, and the thought of all the people he would help brought tears to her eyes. Isabella wanted to help. Not only with her father’s money, but with her own practical skills, too. She was convinced she could be of service, and now the viscount nodded, smiling at her, as he pointed to the piles of correspondence on his desk.
“You could help me by replying to some of these. It’s all quite standard. I send a request for a donation, they reply—hopefully telling me how much they’ll donate—and I reply with the details or what to do next. Most people are generous, though some refuse, of course,” he said.
Isabella nodded. She had been idle since arriving at Howdwell Heights, but the viscount’s suggestion gave her purpose and direction. She would be only too happy to assist him, and Isabella felt grateful for the opportunity to do so.
“I can start tomorrow morning. After our walk, of course,” she said, rising to her feet.
The viscount laughed.
“Yes, after our walk. You don’t have to, you know. I can’t expect you to sit in here all day writing letters,” he said, but Isabella shook her head.
“You’ll be here, won’t you? We’ll answer them together,” she said, and at these words, Edward looked pleased.
“I’d be pleased to have your company, but I suppose we should go to bed now. It’s really very late,” he said, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece.
It was long after midnight, and Isabella nodded, taking a step towards the door and letting out a cry of pain as she did so. During the ordeal of her kidnapping, as she had been dragged through the shrubbery at Burlington Grange, Isabella had somehow cut her foot. Augusta had dressed the wound, but every now and then, it still smarted, and having walked on it far more that day than any other since the day of the kidnapping, Isabella found herself in considerable pain.
“Oh, how tiresome!” Isabella exclaimed, leaning on Edward’s desk, as the viscount came to help her.
“Here, sit down again. What’s the matter?” he asked, looking at her with a concerned expression on his face.
“Oh…it’s nothing. I cut my foot during the kidnapping, and it’s hurting me,” she replied, reaching down to pull off the slipper she was wearing, her feet covered by her stockings, as Edward turned away in embarrassment.
“Forgive me,” he said, but Isabella laughed.
“Haven’t we already broken enough of the rules?” she said, and the viscount nodded, turning back to her with a smile.
“You’re right. I’m just being foolish. I’ll fetch the ointment from your bedroom. You can’t go back upstairs without bathing it,” he said, and on that point, Isabella was not about to argue.
Her foot was hurting terribly, and now she watched as he hurried from the room, feeling foolish for causing such trouble, even as she knew Edward was only too glad to help her. Isabella could only imagine what thetonwould think of her and the viscount behaving on such intimate terms.
