“Be glad when this night is over, eh?” said Lord Baldwin with an elbow to Will’s side.

  “Papa!” Tia gasped in horror.

  Will frowned, trying to understand the viscount’s intent.

  “All this hullaballoo with the coronation. I’ll be happy when the city is back to normal.” He cleared his throat. “I’m off to find a drink.”

  “May I get something for either of you?” Will asked Tia and her mother.

  “Not yet,” said Lady Baldwin. “Do you mind if I speak with Lady Franksen? She just waved at me by the patio doors.”

  “Of course not,” said Will, watching the viscountess as she disappeared into the crush. “How could she possibly see anyone in this crowd?”

  “You saw me,” reminded Tia.

  “That’s different. You are a shining star in this sea of bodies.” With a grin, he held out his arm, and they ventured into said sea.

  Three hours later, Will decided it was time. Tia was returning from a quadrille with a marquess’s son, and he’d already procured a glass of punch. She accepted it gratefully, thanked the too-friendly lord for the dance, and turned pleading eyes on Will.

  “Would you like to walk in the garden?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  He found a ledge to set down the glass, and they took the steps down into the dim courtyard. Lanterns were placed strategically so guests could see the walking paths. Tia hummed softly as they made their way to the bubbling fountain at the center. A large stone fish with a gaping mouth spat out bubbling water into the basin below.

  “Some gentlemen were discussing the Irish emancipation bill that passed the House of Commons but failed in the Lords,” Tia began as they passed another couple moving down a side path.

  Why did she always do this? Bring up politics or the most depressing subjects—the rookeries, the lack of autonomy for the poor, the high taxes breaking the farmers. Could she not just enjoy their time without always casting a shadow?

  “Yes,” he said, trying to stay neutral so the conversation didn’t take a confrontational tone. “Rights for the Irish will happen, but it will take time.”

  “How long? These people are under British domain and pay taxes like other citizens. Why are they not allowed to vote and run for public positions?” Her voice took on the radical tone she always adopted when speaking of society’s wrongdoings.

  “I don’t know. I’m not a member of Parliament, so I cannot say. Though until public opinion turns, the Lords will continue to vote against it.”

  “Do you even care?” she asked as they stopped at the fountain, water gurgling behind them.

  He blinked and turned narrow eyes on her. “Tia, tonight is not the time⁠—”

  “It’s never the time,” she blurted. “I bring up a topic, ask your opinion on it, and you turn the subject to something mundane and safe. Do you think me too simple to understand such complex situations? Do you discuss them with your male friends?”

  Will pinched his nose with finger and thumb, trying to quell the irritation. “Yes, I do discuss these matters when I’m with other barristers. In my position, I need to stay current on political issues.”

  “It seems to me that you don’t have any passion for those who have less than us. Are you one of those younger sons of a nobleman who went into law for leisure? Safer than the military and not so dull as the Church?” She crossed her arms over her chest, her dark eyes sparking fury.

  “I resent that, Tia,” he said evenly. “I represent some of those unfortunates. You have no idea what I see⁠—”

  “Then tell me, so I won’t think the worst of you.”

  It was a slap in the face. “Think the worst of me?” The anger in his chest grew, and he lost his temper. “What about you? Acting like a spoiled viscount’s daughter, pretending she knows about the evils in the world. You have no idea what suffering is, but woe to the man who tries to shield you from it.”

  He let out a breath and scrubbed his face with a hand. Where had this gone so wrong? There would be no proposal tonight, and the heaviness returned, slamming onto his shoulders with more weight than before.

  “I’ve suffered, William. I lost my⁠—”

  “Yes, yes, you lost your fiancé. It was traumatic. But everyone loses at least one loved one during their lifetime. Add poverty and hunger to that.” The pain in her eyes halted his next words. He’d gone too far.

  Her hand came up to slap him, and he blocked it out of reflex. The action caught her off-balance, and she went tumbling toward the water basin beneath the fountain. Will tried to catch her and pulled her back, but not before her backside made contact. He set her upright on her feet as she gasped and flapped her hands at him.

  “You’re intolerable. You pushed me!” she cried, trying to turn and see the damage to her gown.

  “I didn’t push you,” he said, seeing the wet stain spread across her bum. He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back the laugh, but failed.

  “Do. Not. Laugh. At. Me.” Her voice rose, shrill and panicked. Two other couples peeked around the bushes from side paths, eyes wide. “My gown is ruined. I cannot go back inside. What will I do?”

  Will ran a hand over his face again, still chuckling. Florentia was gorgeous when she was angry, and he wanted to ravish her right there. Kiss away her ire and make her understand how much…

  She was stomping away.

  “I love you, Florentia Baldwin,” he said, hurrying after her. He caught up with her before she reached the stairs leading to the ballroom.

  She put a foot on the first step and hesitated. “I cannot go in there looking like this.”

  “No, you can’t,” he agreed, grinning. “But I can. Shall I fetch your mother?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he turned and yelled down at her, “I said I love you, Florentia Baldwin.”

  Tia rolled her eyes. “Then find my mother,” she huffed.

  Eight

  Regret, according to the Oxford English Dictionary:

  Sorrow, remorse, or repentance due to reflection on something one has done or omitted to do.

  Sorrow or distress at a loss or deprivation; sadness or longing for (or †of) a person or thing lost or absent.

  Protest; complaint.

  * * *

  “I’m so sorry you both had to leave early,” Tia said quietly once she and her parents were in the carriage and on their way home.

  “The older I get, the earlier I prefer to be home,” soothed Lady Baldwin. “And your father would prefer to go to his club anyway.”

  “Right you are,” piped up Lord Baldwin.

  “What happened?” asked her mother. “He didn’t propose?”

  Tia shook her head, holding back tears as she gave them a quick summary. “Then he laughed at me. As if I was the joke.” When her father guffawed, the tears came in earnest, and she broke into sobs.

  “There, there,” whispered her mother, enveloping her in a comforting hug. Tia saw the glare Mama shot at her father. “It is just a misunderstanding.”

  “Blast it, Daughter. I agreed to the betrothal because of the man’s reputation. He’s known in the Lords for taking cases no one else will. Men—or women—who can’t afford a barrister and would end up in prison or worse without representation.” Lord Baldwin looked up, as if beseeching the heavens. “Now you’ve mucked it up.”

  As her father listed several cases from the present year, Tia’s tears stopped. Her mouth fell open. The guilt grew. “H-he did all that?”

  “He’s also joined a group trying to pass a law against the abuse of animals. The cattle being brought for auction or slaughter are treated abominably, as well as the carriage horses. I saw one lying dead in the street only yesterday, poor creature.” Her father shook a finger at her. “You’re lucky he was laughing. It means you have a chance to fix this.”

  Tia fell against the squabs of the coach, shocked and embarrassed. How was she supposed to know?

  “Tia, sweetheart, men are different from us,” her mother began.

  Her father snorted, and Lady Baldwin glared at him.

  “It sounds as if Mr. Page sees enough of the ugliness in the world. When he is with you, perhaps he needs to focus on the brightness you provide, the distraction, so he can continue his good deeds.” Mama cast a pleading look at her husband and tilted her head toward Tia.

  “Yes, your mother is right. A wife can be a refuge, so to speak, give a man shelter from the storm of the world.” He studied Tia, eyes narrowed in thought. “If you still want to marry him, think about that. He needs a wife to comfort him and keep his faith in mankind, not someone else to debate politics.”

  What have I done? Tia hadn’t thought to ask others about William. She was always so sure of her own opinion. And what did she know about the suffering of the poor? Had she ever been to any of the rookeries? Ever volunteered for some organization that assisted the less fortunate? No. She sat on her high perch and looked down at others as if she knew best.

  “I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?” The tears came again, harder.

  To her surprise, it was Papa who answered, “No, no, you’re young and haven’t experienced much outside the world we have provided for you.” He leaned forward and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “I suppose it’s our fault too, never exposing you to anything undesirable.”

  “Never fear,” said her mother, “we shall come up with a plan.”

  Three days later

  Boodles, London

  Will tossed back the brandy as he paced the billiard room. “Another game?”

  Charles shook his head, holding out the decanter of brandy. “You hit that poor ball like it was Napoleon at Waterloo. Care to discuss it?”

  Taking the second glass to a corner chair, he plopped himself down and threw one leg over the arm of the chair. “Have you ever been kissed, then realized you’d never truly been kissed before? Consider yourself the luckiest man in the world one minute, and the next, the most frustrated?”

  “I see this is about the other night at the ball and the, er, garden bath session. Did she turn you down or didn’t you get that far?”

  Will groaned. “Bath session? Is that what they are calling it? And no, I never got to the proposal.”

  “You didn’t really think that scene would escape the on-dits, did you?” Charles grinned. “You’re in White’s betting book—odds on whether the betrothal happens. I’m optimistic and placed a five-pound note on you winning the lady.”

  “One of my best friends wagered on my misery?” What was next? Would his father laugh or be appalled at his son being immortalized in White’s Book?

  “And yes, the first time I kissed Phoebe was bliss. Of course, I’d been quite smitten the first time I saw her. However, she was betrothed to that slithering, womanizing lickpenny.” Charles’s tawny eyes darkened at the memory. “The frustration is part of the experience. Don’t expect that to go away. It charges in periodically.”

  “It’s just that, one moment, I’m enjoying her company, thinking what a fortunate cove I am, and the next, she brings up some subject and puts a damper on the entire mood.” Will ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about politics or what’s happening on the Continent. I just⁠—”

  “Have enough gravity as a barrister, eh?”

  “Exactly, and I’d prefer to keep the grimness of the Old Bailey separate from my personal life. Someone like Tia should never have to witness the atrocities I’ve seen.” He stood and began pacing again. “I’ve shrugged off the dark mood that followed me for months, and she insists on dwelling on such negative subjects. I don’t understand.”

  “This is the same man who swore he’d never be caught in the parson’s trap with an addle-pated debutante. So here’s a prime article with intelligence, and you’re complaining?”

  Will let out a long sigh. “I know, but I’ve found the balance that allows me to fight against the injustices of this world and maintain a path to happiness when I leave the courtroom. My old self has returned, and I’m happy to see him.”

  “As are your friends,” agreed Charles. “You’re attracted to her, but perhaps she’s not the right match for you. Then again, love is always contrary.”

  “I thought it brought joy not vexation,” groaned Will.

  Charles guffawed. “Oh, you poor naïve man. Yes, love brings joy, and frustration, and wonder, and exasperation. When you find the woman who is your other half, who makes you whole, she’ll give you all those things. And you’ll be grateful.”

  Will barked a laugh. “Sounds chaotic.”

  “Now you’re beginning to understand. Love is the most precious and addictive chaos you’ll ever know.” Charles retrieved his coat and put it on. “I’m homeward bound. I have a warm and beautiful wife waiting for me.”

  Will poured another brandy and sat, staring at the billiard table, lost in thought.

  Chaos. That could describe his childhood. Chaotic and wonderful. Was that what Charles was trying to tell him? To take love with all it entails, good and bad?

  The next day, he left Mayfair and gave his driver the direction to the Baldwin townhouse near St. James’s Park. The traffic was still extremely congested with the crowds that attended the coronation the previous day. The carriage stopped in front of the white, three-story townhouse. It was part of a row of identical homes, only the landscaping, gates, and friezes creating any individuality.

  He stood on the portico and knocked. A staid, rotund butler answered the door, and Will gave the man his calling card, requesting to see Miss Baldwin.

  “I am afraid the Baldwins are not at home, sir,” replied the butler, keeping the card to give to his employers.

  Climbing back into his carriage, Will tapped his beaver hat against his knee. Was this a ploy to get an apology out of him? He’d gladly do so for laughing when Tia had soaked her bum. That had not been chivalrous, but the rest... A smile quirked his lips at the memory of the silk molding to her backside. The sight now haunted him at night, desire taunting him in his dreams.

  As the carriage weaved through the traffic on Cheapside, a commotion near the intersection caught his attention. A small cart held an older couple, led by a… large black and gray spotted animal. It looked as though black paint had splattered on the gray coat of a dog. A man stood next to the gigantic dog, beating him with a large black whip used for horses.

  Will rapped on the roof of the carriage, calling for the driver to stop. He leapt from the coach and ran toward the Great Dane just as the canine was dropping to the ground.

  “What the bloody—” the man yelled when Will grabbed the whip.

  “How long have you been using this dog for such a purpose?” Will asked, barely controlling the fury pounding against his chest. “Beating him to death won’t help your business.”

  “What’s it to ye?” the man asked, pulling at the frayed sleeves of his coat and raising his chin, indignant at the interruption. “Me horse went down, and I’ve go’ a business to run. I found this dog outside the city and took ‘im in.”

  “To abuse him? So the dog isn’t your property?” That was a relief.

  “I fed the beast, so he’s mine now.” The man yanked his whip from Will’s hand. “If’n ye’ll pardon me, this fine couple ‘ave somewhere to be off to.”

  Crouching next to the dog, Will reached out and stroked its head. There were several sores along his sides, the long nails on his paws had drawn blood from the constant contact with the cobblestone, rock, and dirt. Ribs poked out of the black and gray hide. But at Will’s soft words, his head came up, locking soulful eyes on the human before him.

  “I can see why you’ve lost a horse. The dog is starving and cannot be expected to do the work of a carriage horse.” He wanted to plant a facer on this eejit. He turned to the couple. “How much did you pay for this service?”

  “A shilling to take us to St. James’s Park,” said the gentleman.

  Will reached into a small pocket and pulled out several coins. “Here is your shilling. Please find another mode of transportation.”

  “I told you this was a ridiculous idea,” the woman mumbled as her husband helped her from the cart.

  “Well, the beast is as big as a pony,” argued the husband as they moved down the street to hail a hackney. “Just trying to save a penny.”

  Closing his eyes, Will prayed for patience. There was no law against what this horrible man was doing to the dog. Animals were property, and owners could do what they wanted. “I’ll buy the dog from you.”

  “What?” Greed gleamed in the man’s faded brown eyes. “‘ow much?”

  “Half a crown.”

  The man rubbed the scruff on his jaw, eyes narrowed.

  “Half a crown, or I’ll follow you about all day, and you won’t make another shilling.” He’d prefer to hook the despicable human being to the blasted cart and have him pull the tourists around the park.

  The man grinned and held out his hand. “Bargain, my lord.”

  Will handed him a shilling, then attended to the dog. The pony harness had worn the fur off the animal in spots, and he whimpered when Will lifted him from the ground. A crowd had gathered, and their reactions were mixed. Some—men, mostly—glared at him or watched curiously, but the women approved.

  They sympathize with the abused beast, thought Will. Women were considered property too.

  With the dog safely on the carriage floor, Will stroked the dog’s head and talked to him softly. His tail thumped, and he raised his paw to Will’s arm. “You’ll be fine, boy. We’ll get you fixed up.”

  Tia and her mother watched the carriage pull away and enter the traffic. A tear crept down Tia’s cheek. William Page was a good man, and she’d shrieked at him, accused him of studying law as an easy way to make a living.

  “What are you thinking now?” asked Lady Baldwin. “Still a man who doesn’t care about the inequities of the world?”

  “Mama, I must see him.”