Dauntless (Gentlemen of the Order 1)

Without another word, Mr Ashwood dashed across the road and came to the aid of a heavily pregnant woman struggling to carry her valise. He took hold of her bag and let the woman grip his arm as he helped her hobble towards the entrance.

A matron appeared, and a lengthy discussion ensued. Mr Ashwood motioned to Eva, no doubt explaining that he was not the father of the unborn babe but a mere bystander offering assistance.

“The men call him Dauntless,” Mrs Gunning said, admiration for her employer evident. “Dauntless because of his strength and courage they say. It doesn’t do him justice in my humble opinion.”

“No,” Eva mused as she watched the gentleman approach. She imagined any woman witnessing the act of kindness might fall a little in love with Mr Ashwood. “I suspect there isn’t a word to sum up the complex nature of his character.”

“Forgive me,” the gentleman said, joining Eva on the pavement. “What husband lets his wife make the journey to hospital alone?”

“A negligent one.” Eva glanced at the hospital, the place paid for by wealthy subscribers to care for impoverished pregnant women of reasonable social standing. “Although some ladies who arrive are unmarried and have forged the paperwork.”

She had heard many sad stories, seen many desperate women attempt to gain entrance without having first submitted an affidavit of marriage and the necessary letter of recommendation.

Guilt flared as her thoughts turned to Miss

Swales.

Eva knew she shouldn’t blame herself for what happened. Had she known of the secret assignations, of the lies and deceit, she would have intervened. Yet every time she stepped out onto the street to see another woman heavy with child, she was reminded of her brother’s wickedness.

Perhaps Howard had journeyed to Northumberland to reunite with the woman he had used so callously. The need to know the truth was yet another reason she had sought professional help. And yet she hadn’t found the strength to speak to Mr Ashwood of her family’s shame.

“Marital status shouldn’t matter when a woman is in dire straits,” he said, sounding cross. “Not when some men are slow to keep their promises.”

Something in his tone suggested he spoke from experience. It was the sort of bitter comment made by an illegitimate son. Yet while waiting in the hall at Hart Street, Mr D’Angelo mentioned that Mr Ashwood was Lord Hawkridge’s nephew.

“Some men have no concept of responsibility,” she said. Indeed, Mr Ashwood’s disdain for rogues was the reason she decided to hold on to her secret a little longer. “My father being a prime example.”

“A fate we share, Miss Dunn. Now, let us continue with our business. You said you live opposite the hospital.”

“Yes, here.” She motioned to the black door behind her.

“You live at Number 11?”

“Indeed. Why? Is something wrong?”

“I live at Number 11 Wigmore Street, off Cavendish Square.”

“How remarkable,” she said, slightly surprised by the growing number of coincidences. “I don’t know why, but I presumed you had rooms in Hart Street.” The house belonging to the Gentlemen of the Order seemed more like a family home than a business premises.

“I have a room there should I wish to stay, but every agent has his own house in town.” He spent a few seconds surveying the road. “Am I right in saying there is no way to access your garden from the street?”

“No obvious way, no. But if you enter the alley leading to Castle Street, you might scale the wall into the garden of Number 12.”

If a man could clear the first wall, there was no reason why he couldn’t climb into her garden. Although she doubted a thief would think it worth the effort. Not when it increased the likelihood of getting caught.

Mr Ashwood nodded. “I would like to examine the garden and then speak to your staff, if I may. Before I leave, I shall inspect your bedchamber.”

Though his tone was as measured as a sergeant from Bow Street, a coil of heat swirled in her stomach at the thought of him invading her privacy.

“Then you must come inside,” she said, feeling suddenly nervous about welcoming him into her home.

Eva escorted Mr Ashwood and Mrs Gunning into the house. She employed four servants, all of whom had worked for her godfather Mr Becker. Bardsley, the middle-aged butler, relieved them of their outdoor apparel.

“Bardsley, show Mrs—”

“Mrs Sawyer,” Mr Ashwood interjected.

Eva forced a smile. “Show Mrs Sawyer into the drawing room while I take Mr Ashwood out into the garden.”