How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

“Lady Evelyn?” Miss Rogers queried sharply, her nose twitching with distaste as she spied where they were.

“You may stay here. I will be back shortly.”

Her maid threw her a scandalized look. “Surely I will be fired if I allow you to leave the carriage unaccompanied!”

“Well, come on then.” The carriage stopped, and she hurried down from the equipage, disgust churning through her along with anger to see the man was still beating the child.

“You there,” she snapped at the man holding the small boy by the scruff of the neck. “Unhand him.”

The man swung around and she faltered. “Lord Prendergast!” He was a friend of her brother and had been over to their home several times for dinner parties and balls. He’d always seemed so kind, affable, and unctuous with his dark red hair, gray eyes, and elegant physique.

The child he held in his grip was bloodied and crying.

“I am appalled, my lord. What cause would you have to treat a child so cruelly?”

“This child,” he spat, “tried to pick my pocket. He is fortunate I did not hand him over to the magistrate.”

Evie lifted her chin. “Did he succeed?”

“No.”

“Then I implore you to unhand the boy, my lord. He is hurt and terribly frightened. I cannot credit a gentleman would thrash a helpless child until he is bleeding.”

Lord Prendergast had the grace to flush and tugged at his cravat. He released his hold, and the boy scurried away without looking back.

“Thank you.”

His eyes warmed. “I’m always happy to oblige you, my lady. Would you allow me to escort you to your destination?”

“I am quite able to return to my carriage without an escort. My lady’s maid is with me.”

His lips tightened, but he did not press the issue. With a tip of his hat, he walked away and disappeared around a corner. No doubt her brother would hear of her interference and scold her most severely.

“I cannot credit no one intervened,” Evie said, glaring at people as they strolled along the busy street. She allowed her gaze to roam the buildings of one of the more derelict parts of town she had ever seen. Everything seemed so filthy, covered in soot and grime: the buildings, the children, the newspaper hawker, and the little boy bravely standing in the cold selling oranges. The sun hung low in the sky, and the place held a dreary bleakness she could not understand. Several passersby glanced at the carriage and perused her intently before reluctantly moving on. She glanced at Miss Rogers. “Where are we?”

“Near the Smithfield meat market, my lady.”

Evie had never been to this side of town before, a notion that appalled her, for their carriage ride had not been overly long. “Is this a slum?”

Miss Rogers hesitated. “No, my lady.” Her lady’s maid glanced at the two footmen who hovered a few paces behind them.

“I think it best we return to the carriage and be on our way,” Evie murmured, still unable to credit the difference in the surroundings. The buildings were fashioned crudely, and without the refinement she was long accustomed to. Many soiled children tried to approach her, but the footmen shooed them away.

A little girl broke away and ran up to her with outstretched arms. “Please, ma’am, a coin fer food.”

Evie’s nose wrinkled at the strong scent wafting from the girl. She was thin, with straggly and matted dark hair and boots with holes in them. The girl’s eyes were wide and frightened, or perhaps it was hunger and desperation. Evie’s heart twisted. She retrieved her small purse bag with a few coins and lurched back as several children swarmed her, overriding the protest from her lady’s maid and footmen. A hand darted and grabbed the purse from her clutches and the children ran away, scuffling with each other for the contents.

“You thieves,” Miss Rogers shouted.

“Leave them be, Miss Rogers, they are but hungry.”

“They are thieves, my lady. Would you like to make a report?”

“Of course not. They are desperate children.” Very much like the boy Richard had told her of, who had been sentenced to seven years in jail for stealing food. She couldn’t help noticing how the people were dressed poorly, too badly for the cold that was even now nipping at Evie’s bones. She frowned as her gaze landed on a small form lying still in the gutter, her hands hanging limply by her side. Evie gasped as a man pushing a cart loaded with oranges simply skirted around her.

“Look away, my lady, more than likely she is dead.”

“Dead?” Evie pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, hating the sick feeling twisting inside her. There were people sitting on the ground near the seemingly lifeless child, eating a round thing that resembled bread, a few were lying still, mostly men with missing limbs. Shock rolled over her like a tidal wave. “I…” Her throat closed. Who are they?