Christmas Charity (Fair Cyprians of London 5)

Then she sighed. “But you’re not fiery and proud. You want to stay here, in the only home you’ve known since you’ve been in London. I’ve always prided myself on putting business considerations above all else but I will allow you some latitude, my dear. I, too, like to believe Hugo will return to claim you and his inheritance. I, too, like to believe that his next payment for your upkeep is only days away. If it’s not, I’ll grant you a week’s extension. But that is all. For you have great potential.” She smiled at Charity as if she truly were fond of her. “If Hugo comes back, he will want you, regardless of what you have had to do. For though he is a dreamer now, he must understand the practicalities of life. He will understand that a girl has to live.”

* * *

Charity lay curled up on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Come in,” she said dully, in response to the knock on the door. She needed whatever crumbs of friendship Emily or Rosetta could offer her right now.

But instead, Cyril stood upon the threshold.

“What a cosy little nest you’ve made yourself here,” he remarked after a cursory nod in greeting. “My cousin does love his domestic comforts, it appears. The crossing was not kind to him, my father tells me. But then, no one fared well. It was a very rough crossing. May I?” He indicated the chair against the far wall upon which he lowered himself without waiting for a response from Charity.

She, in the meantime, had swung her legs over the side of the bed and was staring at him in outrage.

“Madame said I’d find you here,” he said. “Now! Down to business. Hugo tried to send you money but my father suspected as much and is diverting his wages and paying only his necessary in day to day expenses. Sorry.” He smiled, clearly not sorry in the least.

“Which means you will need to find a means of survival, won’t you?”

Charity’s throat went dry. She’d truly not expected this. Not something so utterly dire. She felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes and tried to speak.

Cyril held up his hand. “I can see that you are overset so just let me speak. I’ve been thinking of you a great deal, Charity my dear, and I would like to help you.”

“Profit by my misery, you mean. Trade on my vulnerability.”

He nodded, quite equably, as he pulled a large envelope from his satchel. “Dry your tears, Charity. They won’t do you any good, but these should make you happy. At least it proves your Hugo was thinking of you, even if he wasn’t able to provide for you.”

The joy at seeing nearly two dozen drawings and paintings spill onto the bed made her cry out. And there were letters, too! She picked one up and began to read but Cyril snatched it away. “There’ll be time enough for that later. In the meantime, I want to talk to you. Who is your father?”

Charity put her head on one side. “Why is it of any concern to you?”

“If you’re so reluctant to petition h

im, then I will do it.” A crafty grin split his face. “I rather thought that I could fashion a very appealing little spiel whereby his honour or his pride might be jeopardised if he wasn’t forthcoming with a little succour for his needy daughter.” Looking very satisfied, he added, “And I might claim a portion of that.”

“Of course there had to be something in it for you.” Charity paused in the midst of a wonderful poem Hugo had composed during a couple of days spent ashore.

“I’m a businessman. Unlike your dreamy Hugo, I’m finding a practical means of solving your immediate problems. Now, what’s his name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“It’s not Edwin Riverdale, by any chance?”

“How did you —?”

Cyril burst out laughing at her tone of shocked horror. “Because I see you have addressed an envelope to a gentleman of that name and, since you’re desperate, this would be a likely bet.”

“I wasn’t going to send it.”

“I think you might have to, if push came to shove. Ah, my poor girl. He will be a tough nut to crack and I suspect you’d have gone about the matter with a touch too much desperation. But I do like a challenge and am a better negotiator than you.” He rose and turned for the door, reaching over to pat Charity’s shoulder as he passed. “Leave matters with me. You shall hear something in the next couple of days, I promise. I feel sure there’s a way we can all benefit from this mutually interesting connection. And, by the way, who was the stunner in Madame’s study as I passed? I nearly fell over when I thought Lady Margaret Ponsonby was being interviewed by our most esteemed brothel-keeper. But I heard Madame call her Arabella as she slammed the door. Dead ringer for the earl’s daughter, I thought I must be losing my mind.”

Charity blinked in surprise and nearly spoke unwisely before she shook her head. “I don’t know.

“Well, it was dark and perhaps Lady Margaret just happened to be on my mind, being such a bosom buddy of my own sweet Miss Mabel, whom you will soon help me to woo. Because you will have to compromise your stubbornly held principles, my dear Charity, and start dealing with me a little more kindly if you’re to save yourself from having to deal with the world’s sordid problems on your back.”

Chapter 11

“Spring is here!” Rosetta looked blooming as she blew into the breakfast room and took a seat in front of a pile of steaming crumpets. “Madame must be in a good mood!”

“Her daughter is home and Madame has high hopes for her,” Emily said, spearing one of the rare delicacies that were usually Madame’s preserve but which cook had said were for everyone, today.