A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal by Meredith Duran

snobbery and those bleeding blankets. God help her if she ever laid eyes on another one—all the same, dull gray wool stamped with Lady So-and-So’s Relief Fund, because heaven forbid a girl should try to pawn it, and buy herself something a little more sightly than an ugly rag that screamed her poverty to anyone with eyes. “Look elsewhere if you want to save somebody,” she said. “I’m not interested in do-gooders’ charity.”
    His expression did not change. “While I sincerely doubt that I fit the description, you’ll have to elaborate for me: what on earth is a do-gooder?”
    She eyed him skeptically. “I’m sure you know some.”
    “Tell me and I’ll think on it.”
    “Oh, they’re a strange breed.” She spoke slowly but her thoughts were scrambling. Why so much talk? If he didn’t mean to call the police, why had he kept her here? “One sort is looking to bring you to the Lord. The other is more
your
lot, people with lives so comfortable that they get bored. Come into the Green to find out how we live. Tell us what’s wrong with us, then go back to their fancy houses and do nothing at all.”
    He lifted a brow. “Charity workers, you mean.”
    Ha. “I’ve never seen them working, but I expect they lie and say they do. Aye.”
    His laughter sounded startled. She allowed herself a small, sly smile in reply.
    His own smile faded. He frowned at her, giving her a look more searching and genuine than any he’d worn to date. She gathered that it had just dawned on himshe was as human as he, with wits in her head and a mind to direct them. “My dear Lady Cornelia,” he said, “you—”
    “Nell is just fine.” What was he on about with this fancy talk? “And as I said—it’s Penelope.”
    “Hmm.” He considered her in silence. At length, he said, “You seem to have inherited your father’s … unusual … brand of charm. Ornery,” he added with a smile.
    Hearing something good about her father—even indirectly, even as a jibe in disguise—seemed wrong, like nature reversing itself, the sky landing and the earth going up. On the other hand, her father was dead, so it wasn’t like she could resent St. Maur for praising him. People were beholden to praise the dead, even the bad ones. It was the living who were the pains in the arse.
    “Thanks,” she said. “Glad to hear it. Maybe I’ll just try to charm my way out of here, then, because I wasn’t joking. Some of us have to earn our bread.”
    He gave a visible start. “Bread! Good God, you must be starving.” He leaned over to yank on a rope hanging out of the wall. Bellpull, probably. They’d installed some at the factory in case of emergencies. They were useless, though; the time she’d pulled one, the hydraulic pump hadn’t stopped for five long minutes. In the interim, it had pressed more than tobacco. A woman had died.
    The memory made her stomach judder.
    “Do you take coffee, or tea, or both?” he asked.
    “I’ll take an omnibus.” She put the full force of her will into the glare she gave him. “Or I’ll take a quid, if you want to pay me the week’s wages I’m sure to lose when I don’t make an appearance at my job.”
    “Done,” he said, so immediately that she felt a small shock. So casually he offered up that much money?
    But of course he did. To him, twenty shillings was dust on the floor.
    She felt sick. She could have asked for more. Twenty-five. Thirty, even.
    But it still wouldn’t be enough without the loot under the mattress. She’d need a proper fortune to spring Hannah.
    A mobcapped maid ducked her head inside the door. It wasn’t the sour-faced, scrawny one from last night, but a pale, plump thing that darted Nell a scared look. Nell bit her tongue against the urge to shout
boo
.
    “A tray for the lady,” St. Maur told the goose. “Coffee and tea, if you will. And perhaps …” Nell caught his amused glance. “Chocolate, too,” he said. “Along with the usual breakfast assortment.”
    The