Page 62 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
“Jolly good!”
They spread out blankets. He helped Aslyn lower herself to one of them, then joined her there. Fancy opened a basket that Jones had been carrying and brought out an abundance of food their mum had packed for them. Several meat pastries, blocks of cheese, even a bottle of wine, which he poured for the adults and passed around.
“This is quite impressive,” Aslyn said.
“Mum worries about people being hungry,” Fancy said, leaning over to wipe a little girl’s dirty chin. “It’s a wonder we’re not all fat. She’s always feeding us too much.”
“Because there was a time when she didn’t have anything at all to feed us,” Mick said.
Fancy stilled. “Of course. I don’t remember it. It was before I came along, I think.”
“By the time you joined our merry band, we were old enough to start working. That helped.”
“It must have been difficult, though,” Aslyn said. Sitting on a blanket on the sand, she was still regal in her bearing. No one could mistake her for being anything other than an aristocrat. She was so beautiful, so prim, so bloody clean. He couldn’t help but think she would have the power to wash the dirt off him, to make him all shiny, perhaps more so than Hedley’s acknowledgment would. “What was it like?”
How to explain it to someone who’d never gone hungry? He didn’t resent that she hadn’t. He was glad of it, wished no one ever experienced a gnawing in the gut, but how to describe it so he didn’t come across as a victim? He’d never considered himself one. He shrugged. “Some nights you had a full belly, some you went to bed with a hollow belly. You didn’t cry about it. It’s just the way it was.” And the reason those who took in bastards didn’t spend much effort keeping them alive. It was costly to feed them.
“It’s so unfair.”
“Life isn’t fair. You can either rail against it or do what you must to make it fairer.”
Aslyn smiled, the teasing of it wreathing her face. “I think I’d have done both.”
He held her gaze, which reflected the sky above her, and admitted, “Sometimes I did.”
She glanced over at the children. “I don’t suppose those little ones go hungry.”
“Never.”
“If Mick discovers one of the staff punishes a child by denying him his supper, he lets that person go,” Fancy said. “The children must be well cared for above all else.”
“Where do you find the time?” Aslyn asked.
“You find time for what’s important to you. The home is important to my mum, so it’s important to me.”
Aslyn couldn’t help but think that being important to Mick Trewlove would be one of the finest experiences of someone’s life. He was so passionate about anyone or anything he cared for: his mother, his buildings, his family, the plight of the unloved children.
Staring out to sea, with her legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them, her chin on her knees, she sat alone on the blanket with her various musings. Mick and Jones had gone to secure ices for everyone. Fancy, Nan and Mary had taken the children to play at the edge of the water. They’d discussed the possibility of using a bathing coach, but as none of them had brought bathing attire, the water’s edge seemed adequate. She’d considered removing her shoes and joining them, letting her toes sink into the sand as the water swirled around her ankles, but without a button hook, it would be a challenge to get them off. Bad planning that. Next time—
Would there even be a next time? She wanted there to be. Another ride on the train, another day at the seaside, more time with Mick. Even knowing she shouldn’t want the latter, she couldn’t seem not to yearn for it. From the moment the train had begun rolling along the tracks, she’d given no thought to Kip, all her attention focused on Mick. She knew in the future, if she were with Kip, she’d be thinking of Mick. Yet even as she considered him, she knew her guardians would never approve of her taking up with a commoner, no matter how successful he might be. It was one thing for a lord to marry an American heiress—that was accepted. But for a British heiress to become involved with a commoner . . . it was inconceivable. Especially when that commoner couldn’t even claim legitimacy as part of his heritage. It wasn’t fair, but there it was. While with hard work he’d managed to improve his circumstances, there was little he could do, save an act of Parliament, to make himself legitimate.
With a start, she noticed the dark head bobbing, the arms flailing in the water and realized her thoughts had drifted off to such an extent her gaze had lost its focus, but now it came in sharp and frightening. It was one of the children, one of the little boys. How had he gotten so far out?
Shoving herself to her feet, she began running toward the shoreline, casting a quick glance over her surroundings, searching for help. Nan and Fancy had wandered down a bit, were distracted with the other children. Mary stood at the water’s edge, just watching, a satisfied smirk on her face. Aslyn would think on that later. For now, she started screaming for help, while she began wading into the sea, the sand sucking at her feet, the waves pushing against her.
The water was nearly to her hips when she reached the lad, grabbed his arm, even as another pair of hands—large and scarred—snatched the child up. His dark eyes were round and huge as he began retching.
“It’s all right,” Mick said. “It’s all right.”
She didn’t know if he was talking to her or the boy, but it didn’t matter. The words were soothing, filling her with relief, as he cradled the boy in one arm and wrapped the other protectively around her shoulders, drawing her in against his side. “I thought he was going to drown.” She heard the tears in her voice, only then realizing they were also streaming down her cheeks.
“He would have,” Mick said, as they began trudging back to shore, “if you hadn’t yelled and gotten to him.”
The weight of her drenched skirts threatened to drag her down, might have if Mick hadn’t held her so securely. He wasn’t going to let the sea have her, she knew that, drew comfort from it. Waiting at the shore, Jones draped a blanket around the weeping child, took him from Mick, while Fancy offered her a blanket, but she ignored it, instead working her way free of Mick’s hold and marching ungainly toward Mary.
“Why didn’t you scream? Why didn’t you yell for help?” she asked the servant.
“He’s a bastard. They’re all bastards. What does it matter if he drowns? It’s one less ill-conceived—”
