Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion. Louise Allen

you care to have a look at Shakespeare’s monument, then? I believe it is this way,’ he said, indicating an aisle that branched away from the direction the rest of the party were headed.

      ‘Oh, um...’ She couldn’t very well object, not when she’d just claimed to have an interest in old tombs, could she?

      And what could possibly happen to her in a church, anyway?

      ‘Just a quick look, before we join the others,’ she said. ‘I don’t expect I shall have leisure to do much sightseeing, before much longer, and I would—’

      She broke off, flushed and curled into herself again. She’d almost let slip that she was only going to stay with the Pargetters until she could find a paid position. What was it about this man that kept on tempting her to share confidences? It was time she deflected attention away from herself. It shouldn’t be too hard. All she’d have to do would be to ask him about himself. Once a man started talking about himself, nothing short of a riot would stop him.

      ‘You said you lost your own mother at a very young age. That must have been very hard for you.’

      ‘Oh, my father pretty soon made sure I had another one,’ he said with evident bitterness.

      She wished she hadn’t said anything now. It was clearly a painful topic for him. And though she racked her brains, she couldn’t think of anything to say to undo the awkwardness she’d caused. An awkwardness that resulted in them walking the entire length of the south transept in silence.

      ‘What did you mean, Miss Carpenter,’ he eventually said, once they’d reached their destination, ‘about not having leisure to do much sightseeing?’

      Oh, drat the man. Why did he have to keep asking such personal questions? He couldn’t really be interested. Besides, she had no intention of admitting that she wasn’t totally happy to reside with the Pargetters. Especially not now, when she could see Dotty and Lotty sauntering towards them. They’d been so kind to her. She couldn’t possibly hurt them by broadcasting the fact she wanted to leave.

      ‘Oh, look,’ she exclaimed, to create a diversion. ‘Sheridan!’

      ‘What?’

      She pointed to the nearest monument. ‘Only fancy him being buried here. And Chaucer. My goodness!’

      He dutifully examined the plaques to which she was pointing, though from the set of his lips, he wasn’t really interested.

      ‘Hi! You, boy! Stop!’

      Mary whirled in the direction of the cry, shocked to hear anyone daring to raise their voice in the reverent atmosphere of the ancient building, and saw Mr Morgan shaking his fist at a raggedy urchin, who was running in their direction.

      Lord Havelock let go of her arm and grabbed the boy by the collar when he would have darted past.

      The urchin squirmed in his grip. Lashed out with a foot. Lord Havelock twisted his fingers into the material of the boy’s collar and held him at arm’s length, with apparent ease, so that the boy’s feet, and swinging fists, couldn’t land any blows on anyone.

      The boy promptly let loose with a volley of words that had Lord Havelock giving him a shake.

      ‘That’s enough of that,’ he said severely. ‘Those aren’t the kind of words you should ever utter when ladies are present, leave alone when you’re in church. I beg his pardon, Miss Carpenter,’ he said, darting her an apologetic look.

      She was on the verge of admitting she’d heard far worse coming from her own father’s lips, but Morgan was almost upon them, his beetling brows drawn down in anger. And her brief urge to confide in anyone turned tail and fled.

      ‘What’s to do, Morgan?’

      ‘The little b—boy has lifted my purse,’ Mr Morgan snarled. Reaching down, he ran his hands over the squirming boy’s jacket, evading all the lad’s swings from his grubby little fists.

      A verger came bustling over just as Mr Morgan recovered his property. ‘My apologies, my lords, ladies,’ he said, dipping into something between a bow and a curtsy. ‘I cannot think how a person like this managed to get in here.’

      Dotty and Lotty came upon the scene, arm in arm as though needing each other for support.

      ‘If you will permit me,’ said the verger, reaching out a hand towards the boy, who had ceased struggling as though realising it was pointless when he was so vastly outnumbered. ‘I will see that he is handed over to the proper authorities.’

      ‘Yes, see that you do,’ snarled Morgan as the verger clamped his pudgy hand round the boy’s wrist. ‘It comes to something when a man cannot even safely walk through a church without getting his pockets picked.’

      ‘He will be suitably punished for his audacity, attacking and robbing innocent persons upon hallowed ground, never you fear, sir,’ declared the verger.

      Mary’s heart was pounding. Could Mr Morgan really be so cruel as to have him dragged off to prison?

      Lord Havelock, she suddenly noticed, hadn’t relinquished his hold on the boy’s collar.

      ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘Morgan, this isn’t... I mean, I think this has gone far enough.’

      The two men glared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills.

      The boy, sensing his fate hung in the balance, knuckled at his eyes, and wailed, ‘Oh, please don’t send me to gaol, sirs. For lifting a purse as fat as yours, I’d like as not get me neck stretched. And I wouldn’t have lifted it if I weren’t so hungry.’

      ‘A likely tale,’ said the verger, giving the boy’s arm a little tug. But Lord Havelock kept his fingers stubbornly twisted into the boy’s clothing.

      Mary saw that Dotty and Lotty were clinging to each other, clearly appalled by the situation, but too scared of offending Mr Morgan to say what they really thought.

      Well, she didn’t care what he thought of her. She couldn’t stand by and let a child suffer such a horrid fate.

      ‘For shame,’ she cried, rounding on Mr Morgan. ‘How can you want to send a child to prison, when his only crime is to be hungry?’

      ‘He lifted my purse....’

      ‘Which he can see you can spare! You are so rich, I don’t suppose you have ever known what it is to be hungry, to be desperate, to have nowhere to go.’

      ‘Now, now, miss,’ said the verger. ‘We don’t want raised voices in here. Please moderate your tone....’

      ‘Moderate my tone!’ She whirled on the plump, cassocked man. ‘Your creed demands you feed the hungry, not toss them in prison. You should be offering him food and shelter, and help, not punishing him for being in want!’

      Lotty and Dotty stared at her as though she had gone quite mad. Actually, everyone was staring at her. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, shocked at herself for speaking with such fervour, and disrespect, to a man of the cloth. For raising her voice at all. Whatever had come over her?

      But then, the shocked silence that echoed round them was broken by Lord Havelock’s crisp, biting voice.

      ‘Quite,’ he said with a decisive nod. And then turned to the verger. ‘And I really don’t care for the way you just spoke to Miss Carpenter. Look, Morgan, you have your property back, can you not...let him go?’

      Mary took a step that placed her next to him. Side by side they faced the rest of the group.

      He really was rather a...rather a wonderful person. She’d been able to tell he hadn’t liked the notion of throwing the pickpocket in gaol, from the way he’d refused to relinquish him into the verger’s custody. But she’d never expected him to spring to her defence, as well. It was just about the most...amazing, surprising thing that had ever happened to her.

      ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she breathed,