‘Perhaps you changed your mind...’ she suggested hopefully.
‘No.’ He stood, crossing to her side and offering her his arm. ‘I’m ready.’
He felt her stiffen beside him and wished he could see the expression a little more clearly on her face, but a loose strand of dark blonde hair had escaped her bun and obscured some of her features from him.
‘You?’ she asked, the tremor obvious in her voice.
‘Yes, me.’
‘Surely a footman...’ she suggested.
‘No,’ he said without any further explanation. He wasn’t anywhere near the point where he could trust her not to trick or evade a footman and disappear off into the slums of London.
She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Oliver smiled in triumph and gently steered her towards the door. He felt the exact moment that she rallied and pre-empted her protest by striding on ahead, only pausing for her to catch up when he reached the carriage.
They spent the entire carriage ride in silence, Lucy’s face stony and her indignation at being outmanoeuvred by him rising from her like steam from a kettle. For his part, he was content to sit quietly, pretending to peruse the top sheet of papers he’d brought with him, while surreptitiously regarding his wife out of the corner of his eye.
Even in the offensive woollen dress there was something almost regal about her. She sat with a straight back and lifted chin, a posture that screamed defiance. He couldn’t imagine her fitting in the slums of St Giles. She might be able to walk and talk with the locals, but she’d never assimilate. He couldn’t quite believe she’d spent the last year living there. Most people didn’t choose to live somewhere as deprived as St Giles and not for the first time he wondered what motivated her to live in such squalid conditions when, unlike many of the other residents, she did have other options available.
As the carriage made its way through Charing Cross, slowing to avoid the numerous pedestrians, Oliver stifled a yawn. It had been a long night and he had not got much sleep, finding himself staring at the canopy above his bed much as he had on the days following Lucy’s initial disappearance. He was happy to have found her, happy to know she hadn’t died of a fever or been stabbed for her purse, but he wasn’t so naïve to think these next few months were going to be easy. She didn’t want to resume her role as his wife and he knew that meant they would clash in the coming weeks. For his part, he was torn between wanting to spend time with his wife, so they could more easily take up their positions as husband and wife again, and wanting to distance himself from her. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to forgive her for taking their son away. It wasn’t something that a simple apology could solve. He doubted the trust between them could ever be repaired, but he was willing to accept a less-than-perfect marriage.
The carriage rounded a corner, turning north towards St Giles, and Lucy’s body momentarily rocked into his. Even through the coarse wool of her dress he could feel the heat of her skin and he had to take a deep breath to compose himself. The last thing that should be in his mind was renewing the physical side of their relationship. First he needed to focus on ensuring she wasn’t going to run away at the next available opportunity.
Even so, the distant memory of the nights they had shared at the beginning of their marriage fought to the surface. Her body writhing beneath his, the soft moans of pleasure, the frantic way she’d clutched his back, urging him on. He hadn’t expected such a physical connection and had known at the time Lucy had felt embarrassed by her reaction to him. That all seemed a long time ago, a different life, and he doubted they would ever share such intimacy again.
‘We’re here,’ Lucy said, forcing Oliver back to the present.
Quickly he regained his composure, gathering the papers from his lap before vaulting from the carriage and turning to help his wife down. They’d stopped on the main thoroughfare, the carriage being too large and unwieldly to take into the rabbit-warren streets of the slum, but already Oliver could see his wife growing in confidence, as if she were more comfortable now she was back in the area she considered home.
He could feel eyes on them as they entered the narrow streets, curious but not overly malicious at present. Not for the first time he wondered how his refined wife had thrived in such an environment and once again he had to remind himself that he barely knew the woman beside him. There was clearly much more to her than he’d realised when his mother had proposed her as a marriage candidate.
It would be easy to lose your way in the maze of streets, but the years Oliver had spent in the army meant he had a sharp eye for observation and thought he probably could escape from the slums if he needed to.
‘We’re here,’ Lucy said flatly, her voice without enthusiasm.
They stopped in front of a nondescript door, situated in a brick building with crumbling windows and nestled between a lodging house on one side and a building that leaned dangerously out over the street on the other. To Oliver it looked as though it should be condemned, but as they watched, a young girl threw open a window and hurled a bucket of water into the street below. Definitely lived in, then.
He observed her as Lucy hesitated for just a second, then pushed open the door. They entered into a narrow alley, the bricks on either side dank and dirty, and walked the fifteen feet to a courtyard at the other end.
‘Caroline,’ a middle-aged woman shouted as they entered the courtyard. She abandoned the scruffy young woman she was talking to and came rushing over. ‘I’ve been so worried.’
Oliver watched with curiosity as the two women embraced, wondering if this was the woman who ran the Foundation. Mary, Lucy had said her name was.
‘I should introduce my husband,’ Lucy said, the reluctance evident in her voice.
Mary’s eyes widened and Oliver wondered exactly what Lucy had told the older woman when she’d first arrived, desperate and destitute.
‘Mary, this is Lord Sedgewick, my husband. Lord Sedgewick, this is Mary Humberton, proprietress of the St Giles’s Women’s and Children’s Foundation.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, my lord,’ Mary said, rallying splendidly.
Oliver inclined his head in greeting, catching the puzzled glance Mary threw at his wife.
‘You are reunited?’ Mary asked eventually.
He saw Lucy hesitate for just a moment, and then nod.
‘Lucy has been telling me of the work you do here,’ he said, filling the awkward silence that was stretching out before them.
‘Caro—’ Mary started and then corrected herself. ‘Lucy has been a godsend. I don’t know what we would have done without her this last year.’
‘Miss Caroline,’ an exuberant voice shouted from one of the windows that overlooked the courtyard. Oliver looked up in time to see the flash of blond hair before the boy disappeared, heavy footfalls announcing his imminent arrival down one of the many staircases.
A door flew open and a boy of seven or eight hurtled into the courtyard, throwing himself into Lucy’s arms.
‘Old Bert said you’d been kidnapped,’ he said, his eyes wide with excitement.
‘Not kidnapped, Billy. I just bumped into an old acquaintance.’
Oliver grimaced at the casual way she described him. A husband should be more than an old acquaintance.
‘Is this him?’ Billy asked, squinting up at Oliver. ‘Bert said he had a big knife, more like a sword, and he dragged you off by the hair screaming.’
‘Old Bert can exaggerate sometimes,’ Lucy said, suppressing the smile on her lips as she looked down at the boy with affection.
‘Exaggerate?’ Billy mumbled with a frown. Then his face suddenly lit up. ‘Stretch the truth to make it sound more exciting?’ he asked.
‘Well