The Homeless Heiress. Anne Herries
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on to his plate and breaking a bit of the bread.
Georgie watched and then did the same. He began to eat small pieces of pie with a little relish, buttering his bread. He had small, smooth hands, Richard noticed. Now that he was eating properly he appeared to have table manners too. He sipped his lime cordial and appeared to have no fault to find with the taste.
Richard smiled inwardly. The lad had come from a good home. What had caused him to flee that home for a life on the streets he could not tell, but thought it would be worth discovering. When Georgie put down his knife and sat back, clearly having eaten his fill, Richard drank a little of his wine and observed in silence for a moment.
‘Better?’ he asked at last. His brows arched as the boy nodded. ‘Want to tell me about it?’
‘Whatcha mean?’ A look of uncertainty came into the lad’s eyes.
‘Your accent is false,’ Richard said. ‘You don’t always use slang and it slips from time to time. I don’t think you were reared in the slums, George. So where have you come from and why?’
‘You really want to know?’ The boy looked at him oddly. ‘Why?’
‘Because I should like to help you if I can. A life of thieving is not for a lad like you. I think you have run away from your home or your school—why?’
‘I ran away from—’ Georgie said and caught his breath. ‘I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t believe me.’ He got to his feet abruptly. ‘Thanks for the food…’
Richard stuck out his leg, preventing the lad from passing. ‘Sit down and tell me the truth.’
‘No! You can’t make me…’ Georgie tried to push past. Richard leapt to his feet and grabbed him. As he did so, Georgie’s disreputable cap came off and long dark locks came tumbling down, framing a face that now looked decidedly feminine. Richard gave a grim nod of satisfaction. He had thought something was wrong! This was no fragile lad but a girl! ‘Oh…’ Georgie put up her hand, trying frantically to hide her hair, giving a very unladylike oath. ‘Damn it! I thought you promised to let me go…’
‘And I may—if you give me a satisfactory answer. Who are you and what were you doing in that slum?’
She hesitated for a moment and then gave a reluctant sigh. ‘My name is Georgie Brown and I worked as a lady’s maid,’ she said, sitting down again. ‘I ran away from my place because my lady’s son would not stop pestering me. He kept trying to kiss me and…well, I couldn’t stay there any longer so I took some old clothes and ran off.’
‘Surely you had family who would have taken you in?’ Georgie shook her head. He arched his brow. ‘Friends? Another employer?’
‘I couldn’t ask for a reference, because she would have blamed me…she wouldn’t have given me one…’ Georgie’s eyes dropped, her hand clenching nervously in her lap. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be at the mercy of—’ She broke off on a choked sob.
Richard’s gaze narrowed. ‘Why live on the streets and try to steal from people? Surely you cannot want to live this way?’
Georgie sniffed, a suspicion of tears in her eyes, but she was obviously trying not to cry. ‘I had some money, but it was stolen from me the first day I got to London. I thought I could find myself a job and I had enough money to live decently for a while, but…’ The tears were trickling down her cheek despite her efforts to stop them. She rubbed the sleeve of her disreputable jacket over her face, streaking the dirt. ‘After my purse was stolen, I did not know what to do and no one would give me money or food.’
‘So you thought you would turn to pickpocketing for a living?’ Richard smiled oddly. ‘Unfortunately, you chose me for your first victim—or was I the first?’
‘I stole some fruit from a stall and…and a kerchief from an elderly gentleman, which I sold…’ Her cheeks were uncomfortably red now. ‘Don’t look at me like that! I was hungry!’
‘Yes, you were,’ Richard agreed, watching her face thoughtfully. He wasn’t certain that she was telling him the whole truth even now, but he was prepared to go along with it for the moment. ‘Are you sure you have no family? If they live in the country, I could help you get there.’
Georgie hesitated for a moment and then shook her head. She had bundled her long hair back under her cap and her tears had dried. ‘Let me go now. You gave me supper, but you promised to let me go.’
‘I have no hold on you,’ Richard said. ‘But I know someone who might take you in. She is elderly and needs someone to look after her—and she might take you for my sake.’
‘I’ll be all right.’ Georgie eyed him suspiciously, clearly not quite trusting him. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, I am leaving,’ he replied. Getting up from the table, he threw some coins down for the serving wench. ‘You can come with me or find your own way…it’s your choice.’
Georgie didn’t answer, though he noticed that she followed him from the room, waiting a few feet away as he paid the host for their supper. Richard refrained from looking at her as he went out of the inn, standing for a moment under the street lantern, its smoky light spilling a yellow pool on the pavement. Some gentlemen were approaching the inn as he turned away, feeling the press of Georgie’s body suddenly, as she appeared to take shelter from something or someone. He said nothing until they had left the inn behind them, but he noticed that she looked back over her shoulder several times, seeming nervous.
‘What is it?’ he asked a short time later. ‘What frightened you after we left the inn?’
Georgie hesitated. ‘Did you mean it when you said you would help me get to the country?’
‘I never say what I don’t mean.’
‘Then will you—please? I have to leave London. I can’t stay now…’ She took a deep breath, her eyes filled with a silent appeal. ‘Please help me. I’m frightened…’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ Richard replied and frowned. She hadn’t been frightened earlier, but she was now. ‘Do you want to tell me why?’
Georgie shook her head, saying nothing. Richard sensed that he was being drawn into something that would cause him a great deal of trouble he could do without and yet there was an unconscious appeal in those eyes that tugged at his heartstrings, reminding him of something…someone else. He had failed that person through no real fault of his own, but he would not let that happen again.
‘Very well, I’ll take you with me,’ he said, reaching a decision. ‘I’ll give you a place to sleep and some decent clothes and then we’ll see. If I’m going to help you, you have to trust me. I promise you I shan’t harm you, but I can’t help you either—unless you tell me the truth.’ He sighed as he saw her face close down. She wasn’t ready to trust him yet. ‘Well, keep your secrets for the moment, child. You will at least sleep in a decent bed this night, and perhaps tomorrow you may feel like telling me the real story.’
Georgie glanced at the stern profile of the man walking beside her. He was tall and strong, his face attractive rather than handsome and just at the moment he looked annoyed. She supposed he was within his rights to be angry with her, because she had kicked him in the shins and she had stolen that packet from him. Most men would have cuffed her round the ear or sent for the watchman, but he had taken her to a decent inn and fed her. On the face of it he seemed trustworthy, but Georgie had learned in a hard school and she knew that people were often not what they seemed. She wanted to trust him, needed to be able to trust someone, because the last two weeks of living rough had shown her that she wasn’t very good at looking after herself.
She hadn’t thought much about what she was doing when she ran away. In her innocence she had thought it would be easy to fend for herself for a while—just until she thought about what she ought to do next—but losing her purse the very first day had changed everything. She had been so