“Do you not recall how he asked me to dance after that baronet snubbed me so rudely at your ball?”
“Yes, that was very noble of him.” Leorah’s stomach fluttered in the same way it had when the incident had occurred. “He is a good man, and I would not object to his marrying my sister.”
“You don’t have a sister.”
“But if I did, I would like to have him for my brother.” Was it only pride that kept her from admitting to her friend that she liked him as more than a brother? Or was she afraid of getting her heart broken if Lord Withinghall did not love her after all? Besides that, there was still fear inside her, fear that if she married him, he would treat her coldly, and she could not bear that. No. If he asked her to marry him again in the same unimpassioned way he had asked her the first time, she would tell him no.
“Leorah, you are incorrigible.”
“I have been told so before.”
Felicity sighed and shook her head. “If he returns and pays another call on you within a week, I will think of an excuse to leave you alone with him so he can ask you.”
“You are a true romantic, Felicity. But I do not think he will ask me a second time. Besides, what makes you think I would say yes if he did?”
Felicity bowed her head and pressed her hands to her ears.
Leorah took hold of Felicity’s elbow. “Come. I can’t stand sitting around here talking like schoolgirls. Let’s go for a walk in the park.”
Three days later, Leorah, Felicity, and Elizabeth were sitting companionably in the drawing room, talking of their morning walk and who they had seen, when the servant came in with the morning post.
“Two letters for Miss Langdon.”
“Thank you, Stephens.”
Leorah’s heart leapt at seeing Rachel’s handwriting on the two envelopes. They had been sent to her at Glyncove Abbey, and then someone had taken their time forwarding them. The letter was postmarked ten days earlier.
She ripped them open. Now she’d discover what had become of her friend and her sweet baby.
Dear Leorah,
I am writing to ask your assistance. Please forgive me for even asking, but I am desperate and would risk losing any shred of dignity on my poor baby’s behalf.
Olivia’s father ordered me to give my baby up, but I refused, so he has punished me by sending me and Olivia to a workhouse in Kent. Forgive me for even exposing you to my low and shameful problems, but I fear the conditions where we are. I fear my baby will die. It is cold. They provide us very little food and nothing healthful. Olivia has been sick, but they refuse to allow me a doctor, and the medicine they have given me for her is worse than nothing at all. If I lose her, then my life is not worth living. I cannot bear the thought of it.
Miss Langdon, if there is any kind of work I might do for you or your family, nothing is too low for me. Please help me, for my innocent child’s sake.
It was signed, Your humble servant, Rachel Becker.
Leorah quickly ripped open the second letter while allowing Felicity to read the first.
Dear Leorah,
In the fear—or hope—that my last letter went astray, or was intercepted by someone, I am writing again to beg you to send enough money for me to pay for a mail coach ride to anywhere I might find work, but the man is having the matron over at the workhouse steal my mail. I am sending this letter secretly. Olivia still is not well. Please, please help me. I am in the St. Vincent Workhouse in Kent.
Yours, Rachel Becker
It was dated a week before.
“Oh dear Lord in heaven.” Leorah clutched the letter to her chest.
“What is it? What has happened?” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Felicity handed her sister the first letter and then took the second one from Leorah.
While reading the first letter, Elizabeth gasped and cried, “Oh no!”
Felicity looked up from the second letter. “This is terrible! Poor Rachel!”
Elizabeth burst into tears.
Leorah clenched her hand into a fist. “I must do something to help her.”
But what could she do? If she were in her own home, she would send a manservant right away to take Rachel and Olivia out of that place. But she couldn’t possibly send one of the Maysons’ servants. The Maysons would not be likely to want to spare one of their own servants to help a woman of Rachel’s status.
Leorah wrung her hands at Rachel’s dire need. “I want to just get on a horse and ride to Kent, take Rachel and Olivia out of that terrible place, and dare anyone to try to stop me.” Tears of anger stung Leorah’s eyes.
“Oh no, you cannot, you must not do that.” Felicity looked frightened.
Just then, they heard someone calling downstairs. Visitors now? Not one of the three of them was in any state to receive callers.
Stephens announced, “Lord Withinghall.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Edward made his way to the Maysons’ town house to call on Miss Langdon. Inside, he was led into the drawing room where sat the two youngest Miss Maysons and Miss Langdon. They spoke of the usual polite subjects—weather, roads, and the mildest gossip concerning the royal family that had made its way into the papers. But he couldn’t help noticing that they all seemed a bit distracted, especially Miss Langdon. She held something in her lap, her hand mostly covering it. When she suddenly rearranged her skirts, the papers fluttered to the floor.
She let out a small “Oh” and picked them up. Letters.
“Have you received some bad news from home, Miss Langdon?” he asked.
“No, no.”
“Your parents are well, I hope.”
“Yes, they are very well.”
“And your brothers and their families?”
“They are all very well, I thank you. It is only some news from a friend. Some distressing news, I am afraid.” Her manner was subdued, but he fancied he could see the pain in her eyes, and her restlessness and distraction made him think that she was wishing she could take action on behalf of this friend.
“Is there anything I might do to help?” His chest ached. He would not rest until she agreed to let him help.
How could Leorah tell Lord Withinghall about Rachel when his life had been destroyed by his father becoming involved with a woman like her? She kept the letters hidden under her hand. And yet . . . what could she say? There was so much sincerity in the way he looked at her with his brows drawn together.
“I . . . I could not possibly ask for your help. It is a rather delicate matter.”
“It is only that one of our friends needs help getting away from a certain place,” Felicity said, her cheeks turning pink.
“The truth is,” Leorah said, resigning herself to his disapproval, “a young woman who once helped at the Children’s Aid Mission and whom we had befriended was taken away from her home by . . . the man who was . . . keeping her. He took her and put her and her child in a workhouse.”
“This man’s child?”