Page 4 of The Honorable Rogue (The Notorious Nightingales #5)

CHAPTER FOUR

“ S urely it is not a day for frowning?”

He’d been heading home after the encounter with the excessively vexing Miss Althorp, once again thinking about the offer from Cambridge Sinclair, when he heard the words.

“Mr. Alvin, Mr. Peeky.” Charles bowed, and as they did the same, he braced himself to catch them should they topple over. Both residents of Crabbett Close, where he and his family lived, were elderly and appeared frail, yet he knew that was a facade.

“I’m not frowning for a reason,” Charles said. “Just frowning,” he added, sounding ridiculous. “Well, perhaps for a reason.”

“Frowning has its place, but not on a day such as this, surrounded by people,” Mr. Peeky said.

“What has you both here?” He schooled his features into a smile.

“We like to walk about each Tuesday and savor being part of humanity,” Mr. Alvin said.

Of course they would answer with something profound like that. The residents of Crabbett Close were unlike any people he knew. They quoted poetry, had street parties, and generally meddled in one another’s lives.

“Excellent” was all Charles could come up with.

“Habit rules the unreflecting herd, Mr. Thomas,” Mr. Alvin said.

“Wordsworth?” Charles asked, attempting to remember the verse from the books he’d pored over because his tutor had told him he must.

“Indeed,” Mr. Alvin said.

“Well then, enjoy your wandering through humanity,” Charles said.

“Do you like poetry, Mr. Thomas?” Mr. Peeky asked, looking at the books under his arm, no doubt attempting to read the titles. He wasn’t sure he could cope if both these men spoke Russian too.

“Some, yes,” he said.

“It was William Wordsworth who said, ‘Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart,’ I believe, Mr. Alvin,” Mr. Peeky added.

“Aya, it was,” the other man said, rocking back on his heels. He nearly toppled, but Charles grabbed him in time.

“Mighty grateful,” Mr. Alvin said. “Do you write poetry, Mr. Thomas?” The man’s eyes suddenly seemed a great deal clearer than they had just minutes ago as he impaled Charles with a look that had him nodding.

“Yes, I have dabbled.”

“Well then, I shall look forward to reading your dabblings one day. No point in keeping them hidden if others will benefit from them.”

If only you knew.

“Come along, Mr. Peeky. There is still wandering to do. We won’t keep you, as you have reading on your mind,” Mr. Alvin added, nodding to the books. “If you need help with the Russian, I believe Mrs. Douglas speaks the language.”

Charles watched them walk away slowly. Mrs. Douglas spoke Russian? Again, why he was surprised over what another resident of Crabbett Close did, he had no notion.

He walked, mulling the world of newspaper distribution and the odd people from Crabbett Close. He was just thinking he could purchase some apricotines for everyone when the name Tobias slid into his head. Charles looked around him, wondering who had put it there. Tobias, love.

His eyes settled on a woman ahead of him. She wore a pale lemon bonnet. An older lady walked at her side. Miss Althorp. Was he hearing her thoughts?

Grab and run, grab and run. These words slammed into his head seconds later.

Charles had learned to block out the voices when surrounded by people many years ago, but sometimes the persistent ones got through to him.

Grab and run! Just as he turned to find who had thought the words, two boys ran by him. He watched as they weaved in and out of the people. Then suddenly he heard a shriek, and Charles watched as they appeared to grab Miss Althorp.

“Good God, are they attacking that woman?” Lord Brenton said to his right.

“Hold these, Brenton,” Charles said when the man didn’t make a move to go to Miss Althorp’s aid. “I shall return.” Charles thrust his books at him and ran, but as he drew nearer, one boy pulled her reticule off her wrist.

“Stop!”

Both ignored his roar and fled. To his horror, Miss Althorp picked up her skirts and followed. Charles ran, and as his legs were longer, he was on her in seconds.

“You cannot catch them,” he said, drawing alongside.

“H-he stole my reticule! I must have my list! ”

He thought that odd, but clearly, the woman was desperate, so he said, “Stay here. I shall try to catch them!”

He doubted he would; after all, they were boys and possibly used to running through the streets of London. Charles increased his pace. One boy looked behind, which had him slowing. He would be on him in seconds.

Cries came from all around him as people offered encouragement or outrage, and then suddenly Charles tripped over something. Bracing himself for impact, he took the full weight of the fall on his right shoulder. A woman squawked like an outraged hen above him and then landed on his chest. The breath left his body on a painful wheeze.

“Oh dear, do get off that poor man. He’s making a terrible gasping sound, Lady Bolt.”

Seconds after someone spoke those words, she was thankfully lifted off him, and Charles could breathe again.

“Up you get now, sir.” Hands tugged on his arms, and searing pain shot through his right shoulder. Upright, he faced a group of people with varying expressions of shock and concern on their faces.

“Can you believe that happened right here before us?” a lady said, sounding excited. “What are we coming to when someone can’t walk down the street without being robbed?”

“And in our homes. It’s those London Looters, you mark my words!”

“No, them boys were just pickpockets,” someone added. “The Looters are stealing books.” Charles looked around for Miss Althorp while attempting not to move his shoulder. She was a few feet from the group, her eyes on the road.

“Do not follow them!” He raised his voice.

She turned and looked at him, and Charles read her devastation as she hurried back to his side.

“Are you all right, Miss Althorp?”

She nodded, eyes shimmering with unshed tears .

“You are safe, madam.” The words came out harsh as Charles battled the pain in his shoulder.

“Yes, thank you very much for at least attempting to retrieve my reticule.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath and then added, “Are you all right?”

He nodded, but it was only a slight movement. Charles was feeling unsteady on his feet.

“I say, sir, your shoulder is at an odd angle,” someone said.

“Oh dear,” Miss Althorp added. “I think you have dislocated it, sir, and there is a cut to your cheek. You need help at once. Where is your carriage or horse?”

“I walked, and I am fine, thank you.” He wasn’t bloody fine. In fact, he was in agony. But Charles had learned young to never acknowledge pain. To fight through it so someone didn’t put you into bed and treat you with things that hurt more.

“Could someone please call a hackney?” Miss Althorp said, looking at the surrounding faces. “At once,” she ordered with more force.

It galvanized two men, who rushed into the street to wave their hands about frantically.

“He’s in need of having that set.” Miss Dabbers, who he had met earlier, came to stand beside Miss Althorp. The women then peered at him as if he were something in a specimen jar. “I could have a go at putting it back,” the older woman said.

“Absolutely—”

“I don’t think so, Miss Dabbers,” Miss Althorp said, as if sensing his panic. “We shall get him home, and they will call for a doctor.”

The older woman harrumphed and then clamped her lips into a line of disapproval. Miss Althorp studied Charles.

“Did you hit your head?”

“No, just my cheek. ”

“Are you sure? Because your cheek is part of your head.”

“Yes,” he gritted out. “Merely my shoulder, and face, not my head,” he said slowly.

“A hackney is stopping now!” someone yelled. Charles didn’t turn his head to see who, as he was feeling decidedly odd now, and any movement was excruciating.

“Right, let’s get you into it,” Miss Althorp said.

“I can do that for myself,” Charles said, then listed to the right.

“Clearly,” Miss Althorp added, moving to that side to help steady him.

“I just stumbled but am quite capable of getting myself home. Besides, you’re far too small and annoying to hold me up.”

“What does being annoying have to do with me holding you up?”

“Small then,” he muttered.

Hands aided his progress to the hackney. Looking at the step up and in, he thought it may as well be ten, but he would do it.

“Take my arm,” Miss Althorp said.

“No. I have it.” Charles grabbed the doorframe with his good hand and hauled himself up. He bit back the groan as pain lanced through him. Breathless and sweating profusely now, he sat gingerly on the seat.

“May the Lord save me from men who are fools,” Miss Althorp said, joining him. Her companion also climbed in and settled on the seat opposite.

“Why are you accompanying me? Get out of this carriage at once. It is not right for you to be in here with me.”

“My maid is here, and I am well past the age of caring,” she said primly. “Besides, I doubt in your condition you can hurt me.”

“It is not right,” Charles snapped .

“I have a brother who is also a stickler for society rules.”

“He has my sympathy,” Charles gritted out. “Take your mistress home at once,” he said to Miss Dabbers.

“She’s an Althorp. They do exactly as they wish” was all the woman said. “Especially this one.”

“Address?” Miss Althorp said in a firm voice.

Lord Brenton appeared in the carriage doorway. He leaned in and placed the books on the seat. “Well done on your heroics, Thomas.” The door then closed.

“Address?” Miss Althorp snapped again.

He thought about ignoring her, but as all he wanted to do was get home, he gave it. Charles bit back the moan of pain as the carriage started to move.

“Press your back into the seat to lessen the movement in your shoulder,” Miss Althorp ordered.

“This is all very odd,” Charles said. “I don’t even know you.”

“Are you worried for your reputation, sir?”

“Extremely amusing,” he gritted out. “My point is?—”

“That you would have likely fainted on the journey had we not accompanied you? My brother, Ambrose, dislocated his shoulder also when we were children.” Miss Althorp moved to his side. “He cried and screamed until it was reset.”

“I am not your brother, thankfully,” Charles said.

“But I’m sure equally as stubborn, but perhaps more stoic… or foolhardy. I am as yet unsure which.”

“Are you quite done?” Charles snapped.

“Let out a moan or two, sir. It will make you feel a great deal better.”

“I doubt that.”

“Pass me the lemon drops, Miss Dabbers, as those wretches are no doubt now eating mine, plus they have my list. Plus, a handkerchief.”

Charles looked at her as she whispered the last word. He saw the sadness again. It was a pretty face with a mouth that looked like it pouted. Dark lashes and brows framed her dark brown eyes. A strand of hair poking out under her yellow silk bonnet was brown, he thought, or possibly a dark blond.

“List?” Charles said as a wave of nausea hit him. There was absolutely no way he was humiliating himself by casting up his accounts in front of this woman.

“Open your mouth, sir.”

“Thomas.”

“Open your mouth, Thomas,” she said.

“Mr. Thomas, Charles,” he amended before doing as she asked.

She popped in a lemon drop. The hit of sweetness reduced some of the nausea. He then felt something press to his cheek. She dabbed for a few seconds.

“It does not look deep, and the bleeding has stopped. Now, without a sling, you are struggling to hold up your arm, so allow me to do so.”

“What? No, absolutely not.” Charles tried to move, but it hurt, so he moaned instead. Miss Althorp put her hands gently under his elbow and took the weight of his shoulder.

“You don’t need to do that.” The words came out a raspy growl.

“I had to ride on the horse behind my brother and hold his arm the entire way back to the house,” she said.

“Therefore, I must endure you doing it for me?” Charles gritted out. It did feel easier having her hold the weight of his arm, but he was not about to admit that.

“Thank you will do.”

Charles grunted. “What list?” he said to focus on her and not his pain.

Their faces were close now, and he noted a small dusting of freckles on her cheeks .

“My friend made a list for me, and now I no longer have it.”

He studied her closely. She spoke Russian and had a list. He’d heard the name Tobias, which he believed she’d been thinking. Surely not?

“She can write you a new one,” he said, watching her reaction to his words.

“He is dead,” she said.

Charles inhaled slowly, taking in her scent. Soft, subtle, yet familiar. The same smell that had been on her handkerchief until it faded.

“I’m sorry you lost your list and for your friend,” he said, mind reeling.

The carriage turned, and he bit his lip to stop from moaning as his shoulder moved.

“It does not make you weak to admit your arm is hurting, Mr. Thomas,” she said.

“You should have gone home, Miss Althorp. People will talk,” he said, ignoring her comment.

“I doubt it, and as I am considered old to be still unwed and only in my second year in society, I’m sure no one cares what I get up to. I will drop you home and return to mine with no damage done.”

“Thank you,” he got out around the nausea that was clawing its way up his throat again. “For your help.”

He made himself look out the window because she would become uncomfortable if he kept staring at her as he wished to.

He now finally had a face to put to the voice of the woman who he’d never been able to get out of his head. The woman he’d shared confidences with that day in a bookstore two years ago.