“D o you like your rooms?” Maximus asked, looking ridiculously handsome in his morning suit.
He had personally gone to collect her mother and grandmother this morning, after she’d promised she would not hie off.
She’d meant it. She’d stay. How could she not?
And now? Here he was towering over the both of them, powerful and yet clearly hoping they were pleased.
“Like them?” she echoed, amazed he would ask.
Peggy looked about the large chamber, which was just the first in a series that she and her mother and grandmother had been given. Her mother was standing just behind her. Her grandmother was off discussing things with the dowager duchess.
“ Like is not really the word, Maximus,” she said. “They are beautiful.”
And they were.
The walls were a beautiful striped pink silk, which should have been off-putting. It was not. Instead, the room felt as if she had fallen into a lush rose bed. Paintings decorated every wall, depicting flowers, ladies dancing through gardens, and fruit trees. They should have felt trivial. They did not.
The women were captivating, each lady looking as if she had an inner depth and secret to tell. The furnishings were delicate, like spun confections one might find at the best cake shops in town.
It was a room meant to make one joyful and it was very, very different than the rotting wooden walls and dripping water she was accustomed to.
As opposed to her own guttering fire which let off smoke, the mantel here towered and was made of marble carved with delicate ivy leaves.
The rooms were just down the hall from Maximus’s.
“Mrs. Cutmore, do you approve?”
Peggy stilled. Her mother had been silent, taking it all in. “How can I not, my lord? It is clearly in the very best of taste.”
“Good,” he said, looking relieved. “There is room for yourself, a room for Peggy, and a room for your mother.”
It was a shocking use of space. She and her mother and grandmother had slept in the same room as long as Peggy had been alive—except for when her mother had been out working, of course.
“There is a sitting area for all of you, so that you can ignore us mad Briarwoods when you need a moment’s respite,” he continued. “And you can, of course, take your meals up here as well if you wish. We don’t wish to force you to feel as part of the family.”
“We’re not family,” her mother said.
“No, we’re not, Mama. We’re here for a greater purpose.”
Maximus smiled. “Yes, thank you for allowing your daughter to stay here. And, of course, my grandmother has much work to do with your Mrs. Liza Cutmore.”
“I see,” Peggy’s mother said.
“Mama,” she said carefully, “Maximus means no harm.”
“Oh, good.” Her mother’s brows rose, her suspicion darkening her eyes and belying her words. “Do forgive me, my lord. You are a jewel in our lives. We shall have to take very good care of you.”
Maximus smiled, apparently determined not to be bothered by Peggy’s mother’s suspicions. “That is too great a compliment. It is your daughter who is a jewel. There is no question. We are very glad that she came into our lives.”
With that, Maximus gave a bow. “I shall let you become acquainted with the rooms, and then I hope you will come and join us later.”
Maximus gave Peggy a long look and then slipped out, clearly full of excitement, as if he had found some new vim and vigor in his life.
She’d done that.
She knew it. Somehow, she had given him that spark that had been gone. And she felt proud, glad even.
And she didn’t think it was simply because he enjoyed her kiss. No, it was more than that. He enjoyed being with her. There was something about the way that she lived that made him choose to leave his own dark days behind.
“He’s going to break your heart, you know?”
“Mama,” she said, turning quickly, “I have not given him my heart to break.”
Her mother let out a weary sigh.
Peggy whipped around and faced her mother. Her poor mother was thin, very thin, frighteningly so. And her russet hair was now lined with silver.
Slowly, like a much older woman, her mother crossed to the fire and lowered herself down to a delicate ivory silk cushion-covered chair. “Oh, you may say so, my dear, but I’ve just seen the way the two of you look at each other. It’s not even a good business arrangement. Though I will say that the fact he’s the son of an earl? Well done, well done.”
“Mama,” she bit out, winding her hands together, “that’s not what’s happening here.”
“Perhaps it’s not,” she said with a tired, broken shrug. “But that’s certainly what it seems like, and that’s certainly how things have always been done between people like us and people like them.” Her mother’s mouth tightened, even as her eyes darkened with sorrow. “And don’t you forget it. He might say one thing but do another. And worse still, you’ve got none of this in writing. There’s no contract. A proper mistress has things in writing.”
“I’m not his mistress.”
“Clearly not. You’re going to be his lover, which is worse.”
“I am not, Mama!”
Her mother cocked her head to the side. “I just hope that he is kind and showers you with presents. Or this will be a complete loss for you.”
“Mama, how can you say such a thing?”
“Because I have been there, my dear,” her mother warned. “I have given myself when I should not. I have lost everything, and I did not think I was going to have to see the same thing happen to my daughter.”
Peggy shook her head and lifted her hands, gesturing around them. “Look about you, Mama. Look at where we are. We are in the Duke of Westleigh’s house. We are the guests of the Dowager Duchess of Westleigh. And we are now in close friendship with the son of the Earl of Drexel.”
Her mother took her in. For a moment, it seemed like she would counter with a fiery retort, but then she said gently, “Yes, very fine friends, my dear. Until it’s all taken away. And I promise you, he will leave you. Men like that always leave women like us.”
“What about the dowager duchess?” she exclaimed.
Her mother stared at her. “A dream,” she said. “A once-in-a-lifetime dream.”
“And why not me, Mama? What if he wishes me to stay?” She did not stop herself from saying it, even though she knew the madness of it. The truth was there was no way that Maximus would ask her to marry him as the duke had once asked the dowager duchess. And she didn’t want that either. Her dreams were focused on America. But she wished her mother wouldn’t see only storms.
She could never be his mistress. Her mother was right in that mistresses were often abandoned.
Perhaps…if she was his wife, that would be something entirely different. She would have security then. She dashed the absurd thought away. She could not dare to pin a hope on the possibility that Maximus might one day ask her to wed him.
It was highly unlikely. He’d already brought her into his house. That was not the action of a man who was going to ask someone to marry them. At least, she didn’t think so. She crossed to her mother, knelt down, and took her frail hands into hers. “Can you not be content, Mama? This place is beautiful. You will get to rest here, perhaps even see a doctor. We could never have afforded a doctor before.”
“I don’t want any of their money,” her mother suddenly said, almost like a child, afraid and angry. “I don’t want any of their help.”
“Then you are the fool, Mama. Take what you can get. That’s what you’ve always taught me. Take the money and run, no? Whatever one can carry.”
Her mother leaned forward, squeezing her hands. And it was impossible to ignore every wrinkle, every sign of hardship, that had been engraved upon her face.
“You are right. Forgive me.” Her eyes softened and she relented. “I am being the fool in this. After I made you promise to never be a fool. How terrible of me, my love. We shall take everything that we get. We shall enjoy every day that we have here. We shall eat every chocolate they offer and devour every meal. Every gown they give us, we shall keep because when we leave here, we shall need every bit of it to survive.”
She swallowed.
Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps this would be all they had. The truth was her mother was almost certainly correct. The East End was full of women who had pleased lords for a short time, then been shunted out to spend their lives in deeper and deeper poverty.
Her mother bent down and began to cough, a hard hacking sound from the years of living in the damp and doing soul-breaking labor.
Her mother had been forced into the workhouse several times over the last few years.
Somehow, Peggy had managed to evade it.
The workhouse had nearly driven her mother mad. And her lungs had never been the same after that last stay. So many people thought that people could go to those places and get some sort of help. But it wasn’t true. Usually, they were worked to the bone and made ill. Often, the workers lived in the worst possible conditions with very little food.
Sometimes she wondered how it was possible that she had not been pulled into the workhouse too. She knew she’d been nimble of foot and good at escaping and running away. She’d been running away all her life. Sleeping in small, ratty nooks. But now she was not going to sleep in a nook. She was going to sleep in these grand rooms. And soon, she would have enough money to go away to America, and everything would change.
There was a knock at a door on the wall. She stared at it. “What is that? Are there rats?”
“No, my dear, no rats. That’s a servant’s entrance.”
And as if to prove her mother’s point, the panel swung open and two maids entered carrying a large copper tub. Behind them, footman after footman entered, each carrying jugs of water.
“Lord Maximus thought that you might enjoy a hot bath after your journey here,” said one of the maids.
And they immediately began pouring the water.
“You must go first, Mama.”
Her mother looked at her. “No, my dear, this is for you to look your best.” And then her mother leaned down and whispered, “For him.”
“No, you will go first, Mama,” she insisted, her heart aching. For once, this sort of luxury had been her mother’s. Until a cruel man, her own father, had taken back what he had given.
“They’re going to bring me up another bath, aren’t you?” she asked, looking at the servants.
“Of course, miss. The second tub will be coming soon,” the maid said.
Peggy smiled. She stared at the hot, steaming water, mesmerized, her body suddenly nearly swooning at the idea of sinking into the warm water.
One maid had stayed behind. “I will be taking care of you. My name is Annabelle. And we have many clothes for you to try, and linens to wrap yourself in. We have dressing gowns as well. Would you both care for something to eat while you wait?”
“Yes,” her mother said, “anything you should like to bring is suitable.”
“Would you like me to help you prepare for your bath?” Annabelle asked.
“No,” her mother said. “We will do that on our own, thank you.”
The lady’s maid gave a quick bob and headed back out the servant’s entrance.
Peggy hid her wince. She knew why her mother did not wish the girl to stay. It was hard enough, having fallen so far. But having to show the servant her frayed petticoats would be hard.
Every extra penny they’d had had gone to fetching Peggy the right dresses to wear to infiltrate the ton.
Her mother let out a sigh of amazement as she contemplated the bath.
All of that water! Peggy stared at it like it was gold because it was. When one lived in the East End, there was nothing like this. One did not have pitcher after pitcher of hot water to pour a bath. There was no crystalline, perfect, pure water to bathe in, no.
If one was lucky, one had one good pitcher of water that one could splash about in and use to drink. It had always been one of the hardest parts about preparing for balls and parties. Getting ready with so little clean water was exceedingly difficult.
But now look at them! They could swim in the stuff.
Her mother stood slowly, contemplating the bath. “I have not seen something like this in…”
“Yes, Mama?”
“Well, since you were born, my dear.”
She pressed her lips together, tears stinging her eyes. She’d known poverty all of her life. But her mother? Her mother had known the difference between good living and deprivation.
Peggy had always assumed that was far worse than not knowing the difference.
Her birth had been a point of ill omen for her mother. She knew that. The lord her mother had been mistress to had kicked her out once he’d learned she was with child. He had not wanted the burden of a baby. That was not what women of pleasure were for, he’d said.
He had expected her mother to do something about it. She had not. She had kept her daughter instead of him. In return, he had cast her out without a penny.
And her mother had discovered that the love she thought he had for her had never actually existed. So, Peggy understood why her mother was so bitter and so certain that Maximus had a bad heart.
She did not think Maximus had a bad heart at all. But she was certain about one thing—Maximus didn’t have any intention of giving her his heart, and she had no intention of giving him hers.
That was the truth.
And that’s why there would be no pain or suffering in this. They were partners. She did not owe him anything. He would not owe her anything. And therefore, no one could get hurt.
She would not long for him to beg her to stay. She would go freely, quickly, her chin up and shoulders back, triumphant and proud of her own ingenuity and ability to make her dreams come true.
Slowly, carefully, she helped her mother divest herself of her garments. It was hard to look at her mother’s body—frail, bony, curved—showing all the signs of malnutrition and hard work. Her mother had kept Peggy alive for years by doing things that no one should have to do.
She admired her mother. She loved her so dearly. And she could not be angry at her for the fear that made her say such things.
It was also why she’d been willing to risk so much to take up thieving. She couldn’t let her mother suffer anymore. Not after her mother had sacrificed so much. Her mother and her grandmother both deserved a bit of peace at the ends of their lives. A rest free from filth, never-ending work, and cruelty.
She would give that to them. And if waking up Maximus could make that happen, she’d ring every alarm bell she knew. As long as she never used her own heart, all would be well.
Carefully, she took her mother’s hand and helped her down into the warm water.
A moan of contentment slipped out of her mother. “I’m sorry for being so awful, Peggy,” she said, her voice shaking as tears filled her eyes.
“It’s all right, Mama. I love you.”
Her mother turned to face her. “I love you too, my dear. No matter what happens, thank you. Thank you for this. I have not felt like this in…”
“You are welcome, Mama,” she said. “But in truth, it really is the Dowager Duchess of Westleigh who’s done this. Not I, and not even Maximus. I think she’s the one who’s making this happen.”
Her mother smiled sadly. “If you say so, my dear. If that’s what you choose to believe, I shall not argue further.”