His eyes widened with respect. “Darling, that’s brilliant. Such a reply should cement you in her mind all the more as a woman wise beyond compare.”

“Those were almost precisely her words.” Charlotte’s cheeks heated. She had never been called darling before. And had rarely been complimented.

“Then she was an excellent judge of character.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Every day, I discover yet another reason to be amazed that you are mine.”

She leaned into his caress. From this moment on, she intended to only give him positive surprises.

She was well aware of the irony in helping others improve their lives whilst she hadn’t the slightest inkling what to do with her own. But that was no longer true. She now had a purpose. Slowly, she was starting to have worth.

Rain streaked against the dusty glass as the carriage rattled ever closer to London. With Anthony at her side, the fear that had knotted her stomach began to ease.

Anthony didn’t see her as nothing more than a mirror of her mother. As far as he was concerned, she was the product of her own actions, not those of her parents. Her value came from within.

Now that she was Mrs. Fairfax, women unaware of her past spoke to her like an equal. An entire magical week had passed without being insulted, rebuffed, or propositioned even once.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed in sleepy contentment. It was definitely a life she would love to get used to. Her eyes drifted shut to dream.

“Charlotte?” Anthony pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “This is the final posting-house. We’re in London. Once we eat, we’ll head to my parents’ townhouse.”

London. She lifted her head and winced at a crick in her stiff neck.

Dusk was falling. The rain had eased. They had stopped in front of a posting-house. “You don’t want to go straight to your family?”

“I want food,” he replied, his expression shuttered. “My parents’ pantry has something of a capricious nature. Come. Let’s have a hot supper.”

She took his hand and let him hand her out of the carriage. A cold wind swept through the street, taking rubbish—and Charlotte’s loosened bonnet—with it.

Some yards up the street, an inebriated gentleman with a glass of some murky drink in his hand managed to swipe the bonnet up as it tumbled past. He swaggered unsteadily in her direction. “This yours, lassie?”

She snatched the now grimy bonnet from his hands. “Thank you.”

He frowned and leaned forward to squint at her. “Don’t I know you?”

Suddenly aware of the curl of her freshly washed hair and the setting sun illuminating her telltale face with rosy light, she hurriedly shoved the dirty bonnet back onto her head.

It was too late.

“You’re the dead spit of Judith Devon.” His cracked lips curved into a lascivious grin. “Had her a time or two before she got too old. You must be her daughter. Bet you like to shag just as much as your mama, eh?”

Before Charlotte could do more than stare at him, frozen in panic at having to face one of her mother’s many clients this far from London, a fist shot out and slammed into the man’s cheek, knocking him to the ground.

Anthony’s voice was icy with fury. “No one speaks to my wife with disrespect.”

“N-no, sir,” the gentleman stammered, wiping blood from his split lip. “I didn’t know she was yours.”

“Now you do.” Anthony wrapped his arm about Charlotte’s trembling shoulders and led her toward the posting-house. “Let’s leave the rubbish in the street.”

A thousand emotions assailed her whirling mind at once. Shame at even a drunkard being able to identify her for what she was. Humiliation that Anthony should witness it happening. Shock that, for the first time in her life, someone had come to her defense. Amazement and wonder at the realization that Anthony was her protector—in the true sense of the word.

He didn’t pay her for the use of her body. He respected her and required others to do the same.

Warmth began to ease back into her limbs. She took a shaky breath and leaned closer to Anthony to catch her breath. This wouldn’t be the last time she was accosted on the street.

But this time, she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Chapter 17

By the time their hack rolled to a stop in front of his parents’ townhouse, Anthony was a jumble of nervous anticipation.

From the moment he’d first snuck into a gaming den at the age of fourteen, he had done his best to only darken his parents’ door when his pockets were heavy with gold to share.

His parents’ world revolved around money. When they had extra, they were buoyant and gay. But when they were in arrears… Anthony swallowed. He did his best to keep his family afloat. Despite his spendthrift proclivities, he was the closest to reliable breadwinner they’d ever had. His parents were too focused on blending with the ton.

This time, he had brought an even bigger surprise. Today he would present them with a daughter-in-law. His chest lightened. Charlotte was worth more than gold.

In high spirits, he swung her out of the hack and on to the short pathway leading up to the front door. After flipping the jarvey an extra farthing to follow with the trunks, he took Charlotte’s hand and marched up to bang the brass knocker. His entire body was giddy with energy.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

He straightened his waistcoat and adjusted his cravat. Charlotte’s blue eyes were fixed on the door, her cheeks pale with trepidation. He frowned and banged the knocker anew. Even if his parents were not at home, certainly a servant would answer the door.

Unless, of course, his parents had once again run out of coin to pay the staff.

His elation dimmed. The difference between his parents with money and his parents without money… He rubbed his temples. Perhaps he and Charlotte should reserve an inn for the night and come to call another day.

The door cracked open. Moonlight lit a sliver of his mother’s nervous countenance. She flung the door open wide.

He sketched a bow. “Good evening, Mother. Miss me?”

“Anthony,” she squealed. She grabbed his lapels and kissed both his cheeks. “You are just in time.”

“Supper?” he asked in surprise. “At this hour?”

“What? No. There was barely enough roast duck for your father and I to share. Not to mention that it was half burned.” She fanned her throat. “You’re just in time to pay the maid-of-all-work. Scruggs is the only one we have left. She cooks a terrible duck, but you know how doing work of any kind ruins my fingernails. She’s in the kitchen now. I told her she wasn’t to come out until she’d scrubbed every speck of black off those pots, and only then would we discuss her salary. Thank goodness you have arrived, so as not to make a liar of me!”

Anthony’s shoulders tensed under the weight of his responsibilities. His parents needed his cash. They always did. But how could he rescue them when he couldn’t even save himself?

“Can we discuss overdue wages once we’ve come inside, Mother?” He slid his arm around Charlotte’s waist and pulled her closer. “I’ve someone I would like you to meet.”

 “Oh!” his mother gasped. “I am mortified. Discussing finances is terribly vulgar. Come in, child. Enter.” She turned her head toward the kitchen. “Scroggs! We have guests!” She turned back to Anthony with hopeful eyes. “That maid has been dreadfully overworked. Might we employ a butler?”

Embarrassed, he pulled Charlotte and their traveling trunks into the townhouse and shut the door firmly behind them. “Charlotte, this is my mother, Mrs. Margaret Fairfax. Mother, I’d like you to meet my wife, Mrs. Charlotte Fairfax.”

“Your what?” his mother screeched. “Anthony, how could you? You know how much I love a wedding. Your sister was such a disappointment in that regard, what with having a private ceremony in the Duke of Ravenwood’s London estate and not even inviting us—I shall never forgive her—and you’ve gone and done the same. Can’t you try to be thoughtful?”

“See?” he asked Charlotte with a straight face. “To my mother, a private wedding being held at a ducal estate is far more scandalous than the reason for the secrecy. My sister was eight months pregnant.”

“Closer to nine, I should think,” his mother mused as she led them toward the sitting room. “The twins came right after.” She sent a horrified glance toward Charlotte’s midsection. “She’s not—You didn’t—”

“No, no,” he assured her. His sins were many, but they were always crimes against himself. His mother need not have worried. “Any grandchildren will arrive after the nine-month mark. Where’s Father? I would like to present Charlotte to him, too.”

“At his club, I’m afraid.” His mother gave a long-suffering sigh. “I wish he wouldn’t drink so. Anthony, if you could dash over tomorrow perhaps, and settle your father’s account at White’s, he would be ever so grateful.”

“Mother…” He eased onto the sofa and pulled Charlotte down beside him. “Listen to me. I’m afraid I’m well into dun territory and have little coin to spare.”

His mother perched on the edge of a wingback chair opposite them and waved his words away. “Who isn’t stretched thin these days? You should see the lengthy accounts just for keeping properly attired for the Season. To order new gowns, I had to switch modistes just so I could start a new account! You cannot imagine the humiliation.”

Guilt squeezed Anthony’s chest. He leaned forward, his voice urgent. He had to make her understand. “Mother, please hear me. I’m all to pieces. Up the River Tick. Knocked into horse-nails. I haven’t got a spare ha’penny. If I don’t pay my creditors within a week, I’ll spend the rest of my life in Marshalsea. Do you understand me?”