Page 57 of The Good Fortune of Miss Robbins

It hurt so much that Lord Brookhaven only wished to warn me about other men, not court me or flirt with me himself. After the “triumph” of having so many dance partners, all I wanted to do was go home and have a good cry.

The ball was a disaster.

Even two days after the ball, William was berating his lack of wisdom, which had induced him to warn Miss Charlotte Robbins about scoundrels at the ball, while also wishing he’d asked her to dance sooner—and kept his mouth shut.

She’d looked so beautiful there in his house, dancing and smiling and charming everyone, including his aunt.

Lady Derringer. Perhaps she could help him. When his aunt returned, he would send her to speak to Charlotte, to find out if he’d lost all hope of winning her affections. But that was perhaps a bad idea and might make him look like a coward. Which he was.

When he watched so many men flattering her, flirting with her, and she flirting with them and welcoming their attention, he nearly lost his mind.

But then when he warned her about Mr. Welton, she said nothing at first, but he saw the tears in her eyes. And when she said he must think her odious, he realized how his words might have made her feel, that she was only worthy because of her fortune.

He should have told her that nothing could be further from thetruth. It was only that these addlepated nick-ninnies couldn’t see her worth. They only saw the fifty thousand pounds, and she was worth so much more than that. But she’d been undervalued her whole life. Of course she would misunderstand his intention. It was no wonder his words had come across the wrong way.

Then again, his intentions had been good, as he was afraid she hadn’t known that Anthony Welton was a scoundrel. How could she know? She would have assumed that he’d only invite good people of good character to his ball.

He was staring out the window when he caught sight of Miss Robbins walking down the street with Miss Skidmore and Mrs. Drake. He only hesitated a moment, then ran to the stairs and took them two and three at a time.

He kept his distance. The weather was relatively warm, with only a few clouds and no wind, and although he preferred country walks to walks in London, it was entirely plausible that he was also going for a walk.

Suddenly, a child ran out from a side street and grabbed Mrs. Drake’s arm. The child cried out, “Help! Please help me!”

William quickened his pace. This was a common way for thieves to distract their victims, while someone else jumped out at them and snatched a purse, or laid them out with a blow to the head so they could look through the man’s pockets.

Mrs. Drake said something that sounded like a harsh reprimand and shook off the child’s hold on her arm. While her companions stepped away from the child, Charlotte stepped closer.

As William drew near, he could see the child was dirty and its clothes were ragged. The child appeared to be crying—and she appeared to be a girl.

She was sobbing and clinging to Miss Robbins’s hand when he arrived.

“My brother is hurt. Come, please!” The child’s voice was high and pleading.

Mrs. Drake said, “Charlotte, no, you mustn’t. It could be a trap.”

Charlotte looked up at him. There was a flicker of surprise, then she said, “Lord Brookhaven. Will you come with me?”

“Yes.”

They started down the side street with the child pulling Miss Robbins’s hand, William following close behind.

They went round several corners as he made mental note of all the turns so he could find the way back. Then they came to an abandoned building. The child led Miss Robbins through a small opening. It was just big enough for him to bend down and squeeze through.

A little boy was lying on the dirty floor, his arm and face bloody and bruised. He looked to be about six years old.

“Please help him,” the little girl said.

He knelt beside the child and Miss Robbins did the same.

“What happened?” Miss Robbins asked.

“A carriage ran him over,” the little girl said.

“The wheel went clean over my arm,” the little boy said.

He reached toward the little boy’s arm.

“Don’t touch it,” he said, warding them off with his other hand.