Chapter 2 - GEORGINA WILCOX—RUN AWAY, RUN AWAY

Chapter 2

GEORGINA WILCOX—RUN AWAY, RUN AWAY

Ihated feeling helpless and voiceless.

My older sister wouldn’t listen. She thought I couldn’t handle death and sent me with the younger Wilcoxes to the kitchen to make sugared biscuits. I might be a good baker, but when did biscuits change anything?

My brother-in-law, Tavis, was still dying. He’d gambled badly and was now paying with his life. I folded my arms about me and thought about turning back. Instead, I spun around, a complete circle, and kept walking.

A man from the other side of the river barreled across Blackfriars Bridge like he chased cannonballs. I swirled to the left, moving closer to the side of the road that hugged the Thames.

The fellow on a beautiful silver horse didn’t pass by. He stopped in front of me.

“Miss. Excuse me.” His glare demanded my attention. I hated men expecting to have my time because my family chose to live on this side of the Thames, close to industry.

The road might as well be Wilcox Way, not Ground Street. Our house, offices, and warehouses were located down the lane.

“Miss, you must help me.”

I gawked at him and his expensive charcoal-colored coat and hat.

Whenever I made coal deliveries with Mr. Thom, men like this, wealthy and important-looking souls, insisted upon speaking. In the next breath, they solicited for companionship.

Not today of all days. I couldn’t be bothered and sidestepped.

The fellow maneuvered closer. “Did you hear me, miss? Is all well?”

“Yes. And I’m not a prostitute. Go away.”

His jaw dropped.

He put a gloved hand to his thin mustache. “I suppose I’m glad you’re not.”

“Good.” I spun and walked the other direction away from the man, away from death.

“Miss, you’re a Wilcox? That sassy tongue can only be inherited through the blood.”

“I’m a proud Wilcox woman.” I stared but couldn’t recall his face. “Who are you?”

“Jahleel Charles, the Duke of Torrance. Your sister sent for me. Lady Hampton said it was a matter of life and death.”

Oh.

The letters Katherine and the doctors begrudgingly wrote succeeded. Tavis begged her to find the duke, his childhood best friend. “Go down the lane, Your Grace. The last house, that’s our house for now . . .”

Sobs filled my throat. Why were the tears coming now? Hadn’t I resolved that we’d lose everything? Oh, I hated that Katherine might be right about me not being able to control my emotions.

Remembering Mama’s dignity, I raised my head and projected my voice. “The end of Ground Street. Please visit number twenty-two. Go now.”

“Your voice is melodic.” He put a finger to lips that were neither thick nor too thin. “Do you sing?”

“My family thinks I can carry a tune, but they are the only ones to ever hear me.” I pointed again. “Katherine is waiting.”

“I know she hates waiting, but I can’t leave you. You’re too upset.”

“Sir, I walk . . . or run or spin when I’m upset.”

“As in a reel?” The duke jumped down and held out his arm. “Then shall we have this walk?”

He bowed to me. “If your sister knew I’d left you in a state, she’d be vexed. We don’t want Lady Hampton vexed. I remember it being a difficult thing to endure.”

Shaking my head, I lowered his arm. “I don’t need protecting, sir . . . Your Grace.”

The man dug into his brass-buttoned greatcoat and offered me his handkerchief. “Perhaps I’m in need. Vexing can be hard to take. Come now. I also hate being late. Dance with me to the house.”

His humor and compassionate tone made me relent. Feeling defeated, I wiped my eyes on his cloth, then started walking beside him.

Halfway to the house, he asked, “Which Wilcox sister are you? I’d heard there were three.”

“Georgina Wilcox. There are four Wilcox women including Lady Hampton. She’s the best of us.”

He looked away, maybe toward the rippling Thames.

“You look flushed, Your Grace. Is walking too much?”

“Nyet. Memories, Miss Wilcox. Nothing dampens them. They are soaring like meteors, even when I crash to earth.”

A poetic soul, and a bit dramatic. I supposed those words were for my benefit. “Sir. Maybe it’s best we wait outside. It might be easier to listen for a servant to signal my brother-in-law has passed.”

“That seems a shame to have come this far to be late.” His tone was kind. “It is up to you. I will not leave you outside alone.”

The man had traveled far to come at Tavis and Katherine’s summons. Yet I wanted to admit to a stranger that all our family’s problem stemmed from Tavis’s dealings and Katherine allowing him to run everything amok.

The duke with large hazel eyes stared at me. Then he nodded. “Tavis Palmers, the viscount, and I were once close friends. Today we are not. I understand what you’ve said and haven’t.”

Before I could feign ignorance, or acknowledge a kinship with a stranger who too probably suffered at Tavis’s negligent hands, a man on horseback appeared.

“Torrance,” he called out, “I can join after all.”

Before he could jump down, our man of all work, Mr. Thom, came from the stables wielding a pitchfork. “Be gone you, you creditor! Let the scarecrow come get ’em before you pounce.”

Nothing was funny, but this made me laugh, maybe release a little of my frustration. “He has you like a rogue chicken, sir. So sorry.” I turned to Mr. Thom. “Be easy. He’s a friend of Lady Hampton’s guest.”

The duke waved this man closer. “He’s no threat, Mr. Thom. I can vouch for him. This is Lord Mark Sebastian. I believe him harmless.”

The fellow jostled his top hat, which exposed straight brownish-black hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“You’ve dispatched Livingston to a ditch?” the duke asked.

His lordship’s lips parted and again nothing came out.

Then he hiccupped.

I turned to the duke. “You brought a drunk friend with you. None of Tavis’s friends are any good.”

His Grace frowned and when he turned to his friend, the younger man whispered, “Gorgeous.”

The fellow must be quite in his cups. Most, who weren’t seeking courtesans, never talked about anything except my height, especially in comparison to my lovely sisters.

Me. I was tall at five foot nine inches. Yes, a tall Meg. At twenty-four, I’d describe myself as a tall wallflower. With my last birthday passing a month ago, I was beyond being a wallflower. I was a full-on matron. With no desire to be unhappily wed just to gain a new name, a Mrs. Somebody, or to give another fortune hunter access to the little Wilcox Coal money we had left, I refused all offers.

Charging myself with protecting us now, I folded my arms. “Your Grace, for my sister’s sake, don’t make a mockery of Lord Hampton’s final moments. Perhaps you both should go.”

“I’ve been summoned. But, Sebastian,” the duke said, “while I appreciate the company, go back across the river. Find a close tavern—”

“There’s one on this side. It’s closer. You can wait for the duke there.” I pointed, hoping to be rid of a fool that called me gorgeous.

The duke tossed him a coin. “Go sit at the tavern. Wait for me.”

Mr. Thom, our man-of-all-work, waved a finger at the duke. “I like this one. He’s free with his money.”

“But . . .” The fellow hit at his chest. “Turban. Gorgeous.”

His Grace came closer. “That painting at Kenwood. It wasn’t Lady Elizabeth that captured your attention—was it, Sebastian?”

The fellow’s cheeks brightened to a burning red color.

I stepped to the right. “That way, close to the lumberyard. If you hit water, you rode too far.”

Tipping his hat, bowing his head, the young man trotted off.

Then I led the duke inside to await Tavis’s death.