The Winter Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) by Anne Gracíe

but it’s quite all right. This gentleman was just leaving.”
    Amos? Henry? She
knew
these ruffians?
    The knife disappeared, but the heavy hand remained on Freddy’s shoulder. “We’ll see the fancy gent off, miss, don’t you worry.” There was a wealth of meaning in his voice. And a wealth of onions on his breath. Freddy turned his head away.
    Damaris laughed softly. “No, really, he’s harmless. He was just satisfying himself that I really do work here.”
    Harmless? Freddy stiffened.
Harmless?
    “Let him go, please,” she said in that governessy tone, and to Freddy’s amazement—and annoyance—they did.
    “Come, let us go to work,” she said, and like little lambs the two thugs shambled in her wake down the laneway, casting threatening looks back at him from time to time. They reached the plump little woman, who put an arm around Damaris’s waist and cast an indignant glance at Freddy, then all four of them disappeared into the yard.
    Tall iron gates closed behind them.
    Freddy followed and looked through the high gates just in time to see Damaris ushered through a doorway by the little woman, who appeared clean, dowdy and respectable. Not at all like a procurer of hapless females.
    A large brick kiln dominated the yard. Nearby stood an open shed that held racks and racks of china of various shapes and sizes and in various states of glazing. Amos and Henry started moving trolleys containing unglazed pots.
    It was indeed a pottery. How very curious.
    He watched as a young lad stacked unglazed pots.
    “Oi, you!” It was a harsh, female voice. The woman he’d seen earlier was marching across the yard toward him; a small, aggressive barrel of a female, intent, apparently, on conversing with him.
    “Madam?” He raised his hat politely.
    “Don’t you ‘madam’ me, you randy rake!” snapped the barrel.
    Freddy blinked.
    “And don’t you come sniffin’ around Damaris no more, if you know what’s good for you.”
    “I am not sniffing—” he began indignantly, but the woman stormed on.
    “She’s a respectable girl, is Damaris—a good girl, and she don’t want nuffin’ to do wiv fancy gents who ain’t got a moral to their name!”
    “My good woman—” Freddy began.
    “And I ain’t your good woman, neither!” she retorted, planting her hands on her considerable hips in a belligerent stance that made Freddy quite glad the gates between them were firmly shut. He didn’t mind brawling with men, but women were another matter altogether. And this one barely reached his waist.
    “I assure you, mad—er, missus—that—”
    She swept on. “I dunno what the world’s coming to, rakes an’ reprobates sniffin’ around the skirts of hardworkin’ respectable girls in broad daylight!—oh, yes, you can poker up all you like and look down your nose at me like I’m dirt under your boots, but I know all about rakes and what you do to innocent girls!—and our Damaris is not for the likes of you—understand?”
    “I am standing in place of her guardian,” Freddy said coldly. He’d never corrupted an innocent girl in his life! “And I did
not
look at you as if you were dir—”
    The woman made a rude noise. “
Guardian? Pfft!
Is that what they’re callin’ it these days?” She snorted. “I saw the way you looked at her. I know a lust-sodden lecher when I see one! Now go on, get out o’ here, and if I see you hanging around her again, my lads’ll give you the thrashing you deserve, gentleman or not!”
    There was clearly no reasoning with the woman. Freddy shrugged. “You are mistaken as to my motives, but clearly you have no interest in the truth, so I will bid good day to you, madam.” He turned to leave the scene with dignity, ignoring the extremely vulgar noise the woman made to his back.
    Then a thought occurred to him. Damaris should not be walking these streets unescorted at any time of the day. He turned back. “What time does Damaris finish work?”
    The woman swelled with