Chapter Four

George

V ery soon, the men were defeated and had no option but to flee the scene.

"Selina! My darling Selina! Are you all right? Did they harm you?" George knelt down in the gutter and tenderly stroked Selina's face.

"Why are you here?" Selina said. "How did you know I was at the gaol?"

"Time enough to explain all that. First, let me see how you are. Can you stand?"

George helped Selina to her feet, and she dusted herself down. What a relief! It seemed that the most injured part of her was her pride.

"How dare those men fight you," Selina said. "Three against one! 'Tis not sportsmanlike. And you would not believe how rude the gaoler in the prison was."

"What! You have been inside the gaol?"

Does she have no idea what these places are like?

"No, not exactly inside," Selina admitted, "for the gaoler would not allow me to enter. I explained my purpose clearly—that I wanted to reform the prison conditions here—but I'm sad to say I achieved precisely nothing." She scowled. "This always makes me angry—when I am not taken seriously."

George picked up Selina's bag and handed it to her.

"Ah, good," she said, looking inside. "The cake is not too squashed, although some of the biscuits are broken."

"You brought cake and biscuits?"

"I did, for we have so much at home, and I fully intended to pass the food on to the prisoners to enhance their meager diet. However, the man at the prison door was so disagreeable that I did not get a chance to hand anything over."

George glanced around and saw that a small crowd had gathered on the other side of the road and were observing them.

"Let's go somewhere quieter and more civilized," he said. "I should take you home."

"Must we go straightaway?" Selina said. "Could we not walk, maybe in Sydney Gardens? 'Tis not far."

"I think I should take you home. But are you sure you are up to the walk? I could find a sedan chair."

"Of course I am fine walking," Selina said. "And I have a bag full of cake and biscuits to give us energy. Can I tempt you with something to eat?"

You could tempt me with many things.

"Maybe later," George said. "For the biscuits and cake, I mean."

Within a few minutes, the pair were walking back over Pulteney Bridge, bound for Selina's home.

"Thank you for rescuing me," Selina said, "although I still don't understand why you were there."

"I went to Number 1 to pay you a visit," George said.

Selina stared at him.

"You look surprised," George said. "Did I misunderstand you when you said that I might call on you?"

"No, but you used the word ‘sometime' when you asked. Therefore I did not think it would be today."

She is being tactful—she must have thought I asked if I could call merely to seem polite—with no intention of actually turning up. And perhaps she only said yes out of good manners—whereas in fact she did not want me to call. How confusing society is. Why do people not say what they mean?

"As I was still in Bath," George said, "I thought it would be a good opportunity to walk up to the Crescent and see you."

Because I longed to gaze into your beautiful eyes once more...

"What happened when you went to Number 1?" Selina suddenly stopped walking. "Oh dear! I do believe I might be in trouble with my mama, for I expect the servants found I was no longer in the house."

"Well, at first they said you were not able to receive visitors because you were not feeling quite yourself. And then the maid said she would step upstairs to check, in case you were feeling better. She came running down a few minutes later in a panic to say she had searched every room and you were nowhere to be found in the whole house. Once I had established both your parents and Edmund were also out but that you were not with them, I began to be worried too."

Worried is an understatement. I thought my heart would explode!

"And then you wondered if I had gone to visit the gaol?"

"Yes," George said. "After what you had told me this morning about Elizabeth Fry, and knowing how determined you were to help, I thought it was exactly where you might have gone."

"Lord! I shall be in hot water with Mama when I get back. I cannot remember how many times she has drummed into me that I may not leave the house on my own."

Especially to visit a gaol, Selina! A building that houses dangerous criminals. Do you truthfully have no idea how unwise this whole enterprise was?

"Your mama is right," George said, "for women need to be escorted when they are out."

"And whose fault is that?" Selina said. "Why cannot men behave properly, so that women may have the freedom to walk on the streets without fear of having their bonnet stolen or being tormented by a group of ruffians?"

"'Tis a fair point. I apologize on behalf of all men. And your bonnet is very fine. You must have been furious when it was stolen. But I see they returned it."

"They said it was too old to sell. And there is no need to describe the bonnet as fine—for you know it is nothing of the sort. It is the oldest and most ramshackle bonnet from our dressing up box, and I wore it on purpose to be anonymous in the street. The same with the cloak."

I do not care what you wear—you always look beautiful to me.

"Would you like a biscuit now?" Selina said. "It is quite tiring, walking up this hill."

"I would, as a matter of fact, because I have not had much to eat today, however..."

"Before you say it, I already know young women are not meant to eat in the street. Something else Mama constantly reminds me of."

"'Tis a foolish rule," George said.

"How glad I am that you agree with me. And rules are meant..."

". . . to be broken?" George finished.

"Yes, like a biscuit as you bite into it. And if anyone reprimands me or reports me to my parents, I will say I felt faint after my adventure and had to eat something immediately—before I passed out."

Selina handed George a sugar biscuit.

"Delightful!" he said, little bits of sugar dropping off onto the high points of his collar.

Selina stood on tiptoe to brush them off.

"You do not look quite as smart as you did this morning," she said, "and I fear your new clothes are quite spoiled after fighting in the street."

"No matter." George looked down at his pantaloons which, embarrassingly, seemed to have a large rip in the side. "I fully intend never to wear these clothes again. They are far too uncomfortable."

"Where are your other clothes? You had them wrapped in a package when I saw you this morning in the Pump Room. And where have you been since then?"

"I went for a wander around the city after you left the Pump Room, for I had one or two things on my mind. Then later, I went to Number 1 to visit you and took the liberty of leaving my old clothes with your servants. I thought I would be able to reach you faster if unencumbered."

"Good thinking," Selina said. "Make sure you collect the parcel when we reach my home—otherwise I will sweep the clothes into our dressing up box."

"I will remember, and I might ask your parents' permission to quickly change into my old clothes before I go back to Devonshire Buildings. I feel such a ninny dressed like this."

Especially with the embarrassing rip in my pantaloons.

"At least your hairstyle is intact," Selina said.

"Yes. A massive advantage of the windswept look the tailor recommended is that after fighting in the street, my hair is just as artfully disarranged as it was before."

Selina is smiling—she did say before that she liked my new hairstyle.

"Another biscuit?" Selina said. "Or a slice of cake?"

"Don't mind if I do." George accepted a large, very squashed slice of fruit cake. "I am feeling hungry, all of a sudden."

"You are impressively skilled at fighting. I hadn't expected that."

"I used to box at school."

"Boxing? Oh yes, Henry used to box at school too. But the kicking—where did that come from?"

"I am ashamed to say that we used to do free fighting at school," George said. "No rules—no holds barred."

"Why would you do that? Surely not for entertainment?"

"'Twas not for fun—but out of necessity," George said. "Some of the older boys at my school used to pick on the younger ones for no reason, and I thought it my duty to teach them a lesson."

How glad I am that I built up my fighting skills.

"I see," Selina said. "I do wish that they taught girls how to fight at school."

"Girls do not wish to fight," George said. "'Tis not natural for them."

"Girls fight all the time—but our weapons are usually words, often behind people's backs. I think that if girls were allowed to indulge in a bit of fisticuffs, there would not be so much unpleasantness. All would be sorted and forgotten. Whereas insults and rumors have a nasty habit of lingering."

"What an interesting point of view! I am sure there is much truth in what you say."

"Ah, we are nearly home," Selina said as they walked along Brock Street.

George had no doubt that both Selina's parents would be mightily relieved to see their daughter safe and well, but he also knew that the relief would be tinged with other emotions. Lord and Lady Templeton would not be pleased that Selina had chosen to leave her home unchaperoned, especially to visit a gaol—an outing that was bound to end badly.

The door was flung open long before Selina and George had even put a foot on the flight of steps.

"Selina, thank heavens," Lady Templeton cried. "And what are you wearing? I have been nearly out of my mind with worry."

"Inside, inside," Lord Templeton said. "People are watching."

In the entrance hall, it was as George had predicted. There were tears of joy that Selina had been found, profuse thanks offered to George—and then the recriminations started.

"You know I have told you never to go out alone," Lady Templeton said to Selina.

"How could you do this to your mother?" Lord Templeton said. "She has been crying and wailing this past half hour, ever since we came home to discover you were absent."

"I am so sorry! I see now I have done wrong." Selina hung her head—very dramatically. "But I was frantically keen to do some good in this world. I find I have so little freedom to do anything at all, save embroidery and singing."

This comment stopped her parents in their tracks—and no doubt gave them food for thought.

"Pardon me, Lord Templeton," George said. "Might I be permitted to retrieve my package of clothing? I am desirous of changing my apparel before I walk home."

"Of course, my dear young man," Lord Templeton said. "You're welcome to change upstairs in my dressing room. My valet will assist you. And may I say again how very grateful we are to you for bringing Selina home safely. We were so pleased when the servants were able to report that you were determined to find her—and thought you knew where to look."

"I echo my husband's thanks," Lady Templeton said, "and am horrified to see the state of your clothes after fighting off those ruffians. I do hope you will allow us..."

"No need," George said. "I had already planned to put these clothes into the rag bag by the end of the day."

One of the servants showed George up to Lord Templeton's dressing room, and he started changing. After a few minutes, the valet appeared at the door.

"Thank you, but I can manage," George said.

I have no wish to compound my embarrassment my allowing Lord Templeton's valet a close look at my torn pantaloons and ruined jacket.

"As you wish, sir."

When George went downstairs, Selina was alone in the entrance hall.

"Mama and Papa are in the parlor," she said. "I wanted to catch you before you left and thank you one more time for saving me. I am more grateful than I can express."

And I will never be able to express how fearful I was when I saw you lying on the ground encircled by those vultures. If I have done one good thing in my life, it was today, when I was able to rescue you.

"'Twas nothing," George said. "I am glad to have been of assistance."

"You are too modest," Selina said. "And oh, George, I realize now I will have to give up my plans to reform the gaol. The task is beyond me."

"For your safety, I am pleased to hear it," George said. "I'm sure your tremendous drive and talents could be put to use in other ways. And I am not talking about embroidery."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Selina said. "As it happens, I am very interested in the question of slavery—as I believe we all should be."

"Slavery?" George said. "'Tis shameful, doubtless, but I am not sure how, in your position, you will be able to do very much."

"I am resolved to try," Selina said. "As a start, I will to write to Henry this evening to see if he can send me another pamphlet, this time about the evils of slavery."

Ye gods! Am I going to have to rescue Selina again on some future occasion? At least there is no sugar plantation worked by slaves in the city of Bath, or indeed in England, so she cannot get herself into such a pickle as she has done at the city gaol.

"There is to be a gathering in the Quaker meeting house soon—March the 7th—to discuss the full abolition of slavery. Would you like to come with me?"

"You should be escorted, most definitely," George said.

Selina took a step closer. "Thank you again for rescuing me."

She had never looked more beautiful. Sparkling eyes, a soft smile, hair disarranged from all that had happened...

"Selina!" George said hoarsely. "If anything had happened to you today, if you had been harmed... well, it does not bear thinking of. Promise me you will take proper care of yourself—always."

"I have just had the same lecture from my parents while you were upstairs changing. They said 'tis only because I mean the world to them."

How could George show Selina how much she meant to him? He had already rescued her from danger today, restored her to her family, and given her his best advice. George sighed. The danger was passed. And he felt so much more like himself, back in his comfortable old clothes again.

Selina gazed up at George, her mouth delicately curving into the sweetest smile imaginable, and her eyes glistening in the most distracting manner. He bent his head towards Selina's until his lips were hovering but a few inches above hers.

George would show Selina exactly how much she meant to him—he would show her what was in his heart. Lowering his lips to hers, he...

*

Selina

The door to the parlor opened and Selina took a swift step backwards, away from George—and temptation.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," Lord Templeton said, "how glad I am to see you are still here, for I wanted to thank you once more for the responsible and protective way in which you acted this afternoon; we will be forever in your debt."

"Yes," Lady Templeton said, joining her husband. "I echo that sentiment."

Were her mama and papa conscious of what had been about to happen? How mortifying that would have been. Selina held her hands to her flaming cheeks.

"My dear Selina," Lady Templeton said, "I fear this whole regrettable episode is catching up with you. We must get you upstairs—something to eat, maybe?"

"I am fine, Mama—thanks to Mr. Fitzgerald."

"You have proved yourself a fine young man today," Lord Templeton said to George. "Responsible, capable—and strong."

Selina had always believed in striking while the iron was hot, and today was no exception.

"As it happens," she said, "I'm looking for someone to escort me to a meeting on March 7th at the Quaker Meeting House in the city. Someone responsible, capable—and strong."

And divinely handsome . . .

"The Quaker Meeting House?" Lady Templeton said. "What is all this about?"

"Not more prison reform, I hope?" Lord Templeton said. "'Tis not because it isn't a good cause, mind you, but thinking purely of your safety."

"I have realized the error of my ways now," Selina said, "and know I have to be more careful. In fact, I have just been conversing with George, I mean Mr. Fitzgerald, about that very topic."

"I am glad to hear it," Lord Templeton said.

"From henceforth, I will be leaving prison reform to Elizabeth Fry and her group of reformers," Selina said, "although I will be cheering them on from the sidelines. And to be honest, I believe it is in the big cities like London where the most reform is needed. The gaol in Bath is quite a fine building."

"The street is a little rough," George said, "and despite the gaol looking like a fine building, I do not doubt that the conditions inside are not what we should expect from the modern age."

"Yes," Lord Templeton said, "much change is needed. There is often a long wait behind bars before trial, which is undeserved by the innocent. Then, when the accused come to trial, sentences can be very harsh. The law needs to be reformed—'tis a frequent topic of conversation after dinner."

"I have never heard this discussed," Selina said. "It sounds most interesting."

"We wait until the fairer sex have withdrawn after the meal," Lord Templeton explained. "'Tis not quite suitable."

How unjust! Why must we women always be left out when anything interesting is being discussed?

"I would love to hear all about trials and sentencing," Selina said. "I can only imagine how much reform is needed in the law, for poor people can be executed or transported for the most petty of crimes, but those who have access to a good barrister, well..."

"You are right, Selina," Lord Templeton said. "Those who are wealthy can usually get themselves out of trouble."

"We were discussing this earlier this morning," Lady Templeton said. "You remember, Selina—about Mrs. Leigh-Perrot?"

"Ah, yes," Selina said.

"I have heard of the case," George said. "Mrs. Leigh-Perrot was accused of taking some lace, was she not?"

"We do not believe she took it," Lady Templeton said.

"Yes," Selina said. "I am convinced she was accused unfairly by the shopkeeper. It could have been some sort of blackmail—perhaps they hoped she would pay them to drop the case?"

"Perchance," George said, "she did take the lace but was not quite responsible for her actions."

"She was not deranged," Selina said, "surely?"

"That is not quite what I meant," George said. "It is possible to fall victim to strange compulsions—in fact I have come across a case of this recently when working with my father. I cannot give details, but suffice to say there is a lady he treated who felt a need to take objects she did not need. She was in all other aspects a rational creature—and yet could not seem to help herself. This cannot be described as stealing."

"How strange," Lady Templeton said.

What is strange is that we are standing in the entrance hall discussing Mrs. Leigh-Perrot and stealing, when my mind is occupied with hoping against hope that neither Mama nor Papa saw that George had been about to kiss me but minutes ago...

"Selina, you're looking tired," Lady Templeton said. "I insist you come upstairs with me. You need to eat. I will send a message to the kitchen and have a tray sent up."

"Yes, Mama," Selina said, "but might I ask what you think of my request about going to a meeting in March? 'Tis not to do with prison reform or Elizabeth Fry."

"Ah yes," Lord Templeton said. "The Quaker Meeting House. What is due to be discussed at this meeting?"

"Slavery," Selina said.

Lady Templeton nodded and smiled—an encouraging sign. She was herself passionate and vocal about the evils of slavery and slave ownership.

"Hmm," Lord Templeton said. "The decision as to whether I allow you to attend that meeting will be made on another day."

"But if I was allowed to attend," Selina said, "might I ask if you would be willing to allow Mr. Fitzgerald to escort me?"

"Selina!" Lady Templeton said. "Upstairs! I will leave your father to discuss that with Mr. Fitzgerald."

As Selina followed her mother up the staircase, she tried to imagine what would have happened if her parents had not chosen that particular moment to move from the parlor to the entrance hall. She would have been kissed by a young man—her first romantic kiss. What would it have been like? Would it have lived up to her dreams? Possibly not, for in her dreams her first kiss always took place in an enchanted forest, or on a moonlit lawn—or the high seas... definitely somewhere where she was surrounded by dramatic scenery, with nature all around.

I am not entirely happy that George felt moved to kiss me in a mundane entrance hall after he had rescued me. Apart from the lack of romance in the domestic surroundings, the kiss would almost have been like a payment for services rendered.

Selina stifled a giggle. Payment for services rendered was sounding perilously close to being a lady of the night.

Lady Templeton rang the bell as they reached the withdrawing room.

"Please sit down on the sofa, Selina," she said. "You seem a little agitated. Amused one minute, then as if you have the cares of the world on your shoulders the next. You must be very overtired. Is there anything in particular worrying you?"

"Everything!" Selina said. "There is so much that needs reforming in this world of ours. Sometimes it preys on my mind, and I find it troubling."

"You are a young woman," Lady Templeton said, "and you should be having fun and socializing. You have many freedoms now that you will not have when you are married with a family. Make the most of this time."

"But I feel I have no power to change anything."

Lady Templeton put her hand over Selina's. "I know how you feel."

"You do?"

"Of course!" Lady Templeton said. "When you are young, you want to make things better, change the world—you are quick to see the defects in how we live. However, you must learn to be realistic. Learn to see the value of all the good things that happen—the things that work. Be pragmatic."

"But then nothing will change," Selina said.

"Not true," her mother said, "for when you look at the world with clear eyes, you will see that every little thing you do makes a difference. The way you speak to people, the way you help people..."

A maid came into the room.

"Ah!" Lady Templeton said. "Please would you ask Cook to send up some tea and cake—and biscuits—for poor Miss Templeton has had quite a shock this afternoon."

"I will ask," the maid said, "although I do not believe there is any cake or biscuits left, for..."

"Oh, Mama," Selina said, "Cook sent up a generous plate of cake and biscuits this afternoon when you were out—and I'm afraid I took it all to the gaol. I was intending to feed the prisoners, but in the end it was not possible, and George, I mean Mr. Fitzgerald, and I ate it on the journey home. He seemed very hungry."

Lady Templeton smiled. "Maybe some bread and butter?" she said to the maid. "Does Cook have plenty of bread?"

"She does," the maid said. "I will bring a tray directly."

"Where were we?" Lady Templeton said once the maid had departed.

"You were saying that every little thing I do in my life has an impact."

"Yes, that's right," Lady Templeton said. "I like to think that every good deed we do starts a ripple in the ocean, and then together, we can build up mighty waves."

"I begin to see what you mean," Selina said, "and I do try to be polite to people but feel I need more opportunities to make the ripples count."

"I have been thinking about that," Lady Templeton said, "and I have a suggestion to make which I hope you will think is a good idea."

Oh, please let the suggestion not involve either needlework or singing. I want to do something real—something outside Number 1 Royal Crescent.

"You may be aware that I know the lady who runs the Sunday school at church," Lady Templeton said. "Mrs. Godwin is a good soul who has helped many children. She also says there is much work still to be done; if she had extra help, she would be able to bring more light into the children's lives, not just on Sundays. Ideally, she is looking for someone to help her take the children out for walks and maybe help them with their reading and suchlike. She has oft asked me if I have time, but my busy schedule simply won't allow it. Would you be interested in helping her?"

"I think I would," Selina said.

This is like a door opening in front of me—and I am determined to seize the opportunity.

"I know it is not as big a project as you had hoped to be involved in," Lady Templeton said. "You will not be reforming the prisons or abolishing slavery worldwide. However, everything comes from small beginnings, and if you can help educate a child, why, you can change the future."

Change the future—I like the sound of this.

The deep thud of the front door closing floated upstairs, and Selina ran over to the window to watch George leaving.

She turned her head to say to her mama, "Do you think Papa has agreed to let me go to the Quaker Meeting House in March?"

"We will have to wait and see," Lady Templeton said from the sofa. "I hope so—for it sounds very interesting. I might even consider coming with you myself. And Henry and Kitty should be back from London by then—perchance they will want to attend."

Selina smiled and looked out of the window again. George was now on the far side of the road, his parcel of clothes under his arm, facing the Crescent Lawn. He turned and looked up at the window, catching Selina's eye. She waved her farewell—and in response, he blew her a kiss.

*

George

How wonderful it would have been if that kiss had been a real one on Selina's beautiful lips.

George waited until Selina had disappeared from the window, then turned to take the path that led to Queen Square at the side of the Crescent Lawn. Time to get home. It would be a long walk, but one George would enjoy.

For I have much to think about.

Maybe one day all the tiresome difficulties between him and Selina would be swept away? If only George could find the courage to speak out more in Selina's presence and behave more naturally—and Selina, if only she could...

George struggled to think of anything about Selina that was not already perfect. He did not blame her for not being in love with him—for that was not a fault, more a completely understandable situation. The lively and beautiful Miss Templeton of Number 1 Royal Crescent could choose anyone she wanted. George was a shy nobody, dull of wit and of indifferent appearance. He was but the son of a doctor, living south of the city.

George looked at the ground, willing himself to be positive. Had he forgotten about his plan to win the hand and heart of Miss Selina Templeton? He had tried his best with the first phase of the plan, but sadly, his aim to change his appearance by purchasing a new outfit from a highly fashionable tailor in Milsom Street had not been entirely successful.

In truth, it had not been an unmitigated disaster either, for Selina had liked his new hairstyle in the Pump Room, and although his pantaloons had made her blush, she had admitted they had a very good line—whatever that meant. George shook his head. There was no way he would ever be able to wear pantaloons that tight for the rest of his life, even if it meant Selina could admire their line. It simply wasn't his style. His future wife—pray God that would be Selina—would have to accept him as he was. Slightly dishevelled, comfortably dressed, caring not one jot about fashion—Mr. George Fitzgerald of Devonshire Buildings was an outdoors sort of person. But what if he were to make more of an effort to change? What if...

Suddenly, a small person appeared as if from nowhere and cannoned into George. He felt his knees give way, then tumbled to the ground, his package slipping from his fingers.

"What the devil?" George leapt to his feet and saw a young girl standing in front of him.

"Begging your pardon, sir," she said. "I am that sorry I didn't see you."

George smiled. "I apologize for my language. There is no harm done."

"But your parcel!"

The brown paper had torn open, and George's outfit was languishing in a pile of mud.

"Please don't worry," George said.

The young girl bent down and retrieved the clothes, rolling them into a makeshift bundle, which she handed over.

"Thank you," George said. "But are you all right? That was quite a collision—and entirely my fault. My mind was miles away. A thousand apologies."

"I was running really fast," the girl said. "I've been on an errand for Cook and have to get back to the kitchen quickly."

George scrutinized the girl carefully. "I have seen you before, earlier today. You work at Number 1, do you not?"

"I do," the girl said. "I am Martha."

She seemed pleased that George had recognized her—understandably, for many did not notice the faces of those from below stairs.

"Ah! So you are the famous Martha?"

"Yes, sir. Lady Templeton was kind enough to bring me to work for her after all the trouble before Christmas."

"I remember everything now," George said. "I saw you outside the Cottage Crescent before Christmas when you were a servant of Lord Steyne's. Everyone will be eternally grateful to you for the part you played in saving Miss Kitty Honeyfield from his clutches."

"That was a strange occasion, and no mistake," Martha said. "And now Miss Honeyfield is Mrs. Henry Templeton."

"Indeed!" George said. "And very happy they are, too. Well, Martha, I expect you find your work at Number 1 much more pleasant than working for Lord Steyne."

"That I do," Martha said. "Lady Templeton is the kindest employer in the world, and I'm lucky to be here. The food's much better at Number 1 than at the Cottage Crescent, too."

"And do you look after Miss Selina Templeton sometimes?" George asked.

"I mostly work in the kitchen, but I have seen Miss Templeton around the house, and she always says hello to me and asks if I am happy and if everyone is being kind to me downstairs."

How typical of Selina! She cares for everyone. Correction, almost everyone—for I am not yet convinced she cares for me.

George's pantaloons slipped free from the bundle he was holding and fell to the ground.

"Oh dear," Martha said, picking them up and inspecting them. "These seem to be torn. I am so sorry, sir. Please, let me take them. I will have them mended and returned to you. My mother is a needle woman and will be able to repair them invisibly—you will never see the damage. I would be so grateful if you would allow me to do this for you—I would not wish a report of my carelessness to reach Lord Templeton."

"The pantaloons were torn well before they fell to the ground," George said. "The honest truth is that this parcel of nonsense is destined for the rag bag. I bought the outfit only today, mistakenly thinking it would enhance my appearance; then sadly, found I was not suited to such a fashionable outfit."

"Not suited?" Martha said. "But you are a gentleman."

"I could scarcely walk in those pantaloons," George said. "I will spare you the details of the high collar. And the jacket hasn't looked the same after I fell into a fight in the street. I intend to dispose of the lot."

Martha looked at George with big eyes. What the devil was she trying to say?

Finally, George understood.

"You say your mother is a needle woman," he said gently. "Would she perchance be interested in having these clothes? She may do whatever she wants with them, for I never want to see them again."

Martha opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out, and she continued staring. George would have to be more direct.

"I do not want the clothes," George said. "I do not want any payment for them, but am very happy to give them to you and your mama. Would you like them?"

"We would, sir," Martha whispered. "Mr. Fitzgerald, you cannot know what this means to us. These are fine clothes, and my mother will be able to repair and launder them, and then..."

"Then you can do with them as you wish," George said, handing the bundle over. "If your mother wants to sell them, she's at complete liberty to do so. If you want your father to wear them, that is fine. Or do you perhaps have older brothers?"

"My mother is a widow," Martha said, "and, and the rest of my family would not..."

How foolish I am! No one in Martha's family would want to wear these clothes. Only a fashionable dandy in the ton would desire to be seen in such a bizarre outfit. And the clothes have a monetary value that will surely help the family.

"I understand," George said. "You should sell the clothes, and you're welcome to whatever you can get for them. Now, do not let me keep you, for you said you were in a rush to get back to Cook."

Martha thanked George profusely several more times before racing towards the back of Number 1 with her bundle.

George resumed his journey with a lighter heart, thankful to have gotten rid of the clothes in a way that benefitted those less fortunate than himself. It was wonderful to hear that Martha had settled in so well at Number 1. At George's home in Devonshire Buildings, his parents had always been very keen on the welfare of the servants, and George had been brought up to be polite and thoughtful on all occasions to those who worked in the house.

There were many other households where this was not the case, where servants were exploited and even on occasions abused. The move for young Martha from one of Lord Steyne's households to a vastly superior home with the Templetons was fortuitous. George shuddered. How would Martha have been treated by Lord Steyne as she had grown older and entered womanhood?

George strolled through the city streets, heading for home. What a joy it was to be able to stride out in comfortable breeches again instead of those outlandish pantaloons! He came across several dandies struggling to walk normally, such was the tightness of their garments.

And to think I was one of them earlier this morning. What a buffoon I must have looked! How embarrassing it is to realize Selina was probably trying her hardest to be kind to me about my ludicrous outfit. The only things she criticized were the high points of my collar.

Ah! Selina. Time to continue formulating a plan to win her heart. George's spirits had picked up somewhat after colliding with Martha. He no longer felt sorry for himself but appreciated his very fortunate position in society. He would continue his campaign to win Selina's heart. What would the next step be? Did she not mention that she would like him to go to the Quaker meeting with her? And before he left Number 1, while Selina was upstairs with her mama, Lord Templeton had given his approval for the plan. The date was already seared into George's mind—March 7th. He might have to miss a few house visits to patients with his father that day, but George was certain he would be excused his normal duties to attend such a worthy event as a talk about slavery.

But how to get ready for this meeting? The obvious thing was to find out as much about slavery as possible. Perhaps George should write to Henry and ask him to send some pamphlets from London, as Selina was going to do? Or debate slavery with his father, which would be very useful preparation. George remembered the thrill of speaking out in the Octagon before Christmas when he had revealed to the assembled masses that Lord Steyne was a cheat and a liar.

For when I am fired up, I find I can be articulate; I am resolved to speak out in the Quaker Meeting House and make Selina proud of me. Show her who I really am.

George was racing up Holloway now, his long legs taking the steep hill with ease. He had a quick look behind the bushes near the water trough, remembering the man who had shouted at him after Henry's dinner party in January. No one there, thank the Lord. Although, even if there had been a man shouting insults at him again, George did not believe he would have been bothered by it today, for he was on a mission. He was going to research the topic of slavery more thoroughly than even William Wilberforce himself. He was going to deliver such an impassioned speech at the meeting that Selina would fall instantly in love with him and want to be his wife more than anything in the whole world.

On his arrival home, George went straight to his father's library. Doctor Fitzgerald was seated at his desk writing notes.

"George! Have you had a good day?"

"Outstanding, thank you, Papa."

"I am surprised you were so long in the city," his father said. "Weren't you going to collect some new outfit from your tailor?"

"Yes," George said. "Then one thing led to another. I visited the Pump Room, and went on a long walk all round the city while I mulled a few things over. Later, I called on the Templetons and had an adventure. All in all, 'twas quite an eventful day."

"Good, good, glad to hear it," Doctor Fitzgerald said. "You deserve a day off from your studies and from trailing round with me on my doctor's visits."

George started scanning the library shelves.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" his father said.

"Yes. I would like to know more about slavery."

"Ah!" Doctor Fitzgerald said, standing up. "Now, I happen to have a few interesting books about slavery. Bother! I can't quite reach. Would you try, George? You're so much taller than I am."

"Gladly." George tried to reach the highest shelf. "Actually, I believe I need to get the ladder."

Once at the top of the steps, George found a very dusty collection of books and pamphlets that appeared to have lain undisturbed for many a year.

"What is the reason for the sudden interest?" Doctor Fitzgerald asked.

"Someone mentioned there is to be a talk at the Quaker Meeting House next month. I thought I would find out more about the topic before I attended."

"Ah!" Doctor Fitzgerald said. "A lady is involved."

"I did not mention a lady."

"You did not need to. You are my son, and I know you better than you think. Besides, your hair looks different. This always means a lady is involved."

George came down the ladder with his pile of reading material. "Thank you, Papa. I will take this to my room."

"And whoever the lady is," Doctor Fitzgerald said, "she is a very lucky person to have your heart."

George blushed and fled up the stairs. Once in his chamber, he set the books down on a small table beside his bed, then sat at his writing desk and started devising the second phase of his plan. There were sixteen days between now and the seventh of March, so sixteen squares to be drawn on a sheet of paper. He wrote an aim for each day, factoring in his reading schedule, discussions with his father—and maybe a trip to the library in Milsom Street could be squeezed in too? Also, 'twas important to have a little flexibility built into the calendar towards the end, for one never knew what might turn up.

And there it was! George sat back and surveyed his perfect plan with great satisfaction. By the evening of the sixth of March, he would become an expert on the subject of slavery. And on the seventh of March, he would escort Selina to the Quaker Meeting House, listen carefully to all that was said, and then deliver such a withering condemnation of the evils of slavery that she would fall into his arms. It would be easy.

Wouldn't it?