His Badge, Her Baby...Their Family?. Stella Bagwell

right.” Eleanor rose from her cramped position. “Now, don’t concern yourself with any of that right now. Just think about getting well again.” As she spoke she brought a glass of water she found by Betsy’s bed. “Here, take a sip of this and then get back to sleep.”

      She cupped her hand under Betsy’s head to raise it. The girl obediently took a few sips and then sagged against the pillow.

      Eleanor set the glass on the bedside table and straightened. “I shall be off, then. A nurse is coming tomorrow, did Mr. Russell tell you that?”

      Betsy nodded. “He was very kind.”

      Eleanor smoothed the bedcovers and adjusted the pillow beneath Betsy’s head.

      “What else could I have done?” Betsy asked. “I couldn’t have the baby. The theater wouldn’t have kept me on if they’d known—”

      “Shh. Don’t think about that now.” Eleanor patted the girl’s hand.

      “But how do you manage it? Haven’t you ever found yourself in such a situation?”

      Eleanor hesitated, not wanting to upset Betsy further. But when she saw that the girl would not be quieted, she finally said, “Once…when I was very young—even younger than you.”

      “What did you do?”

      “It doesn’t matter now. It was long ago. What I learned since then is to be very careful. You mustn’t let this happen to you again.”

      “But what do you do? You saw what happened. None of those potions did any good.”

      “You must prevent it from happening. You must be very careful with the kind of man you take up with. It’s up to him. You must insist he take the necessary precautions.”

      “What kind of precautions?”

      Eleanor looked at the pale young woman in pity. She had so much to learn. “You needn’t concern yourself about that now. You have a long recovery ahead of you. But once you’re well, we’ll talk again. Because if you don’t learn to be careful, you’d better stay away from men.”

      “But you laugh and flirt with them as much as the rest of us girls at the theater.”

      “It only looks that way. What those gentlemen offer must be very good before I’ll allow them to come any nearer than arm’s length.”

      The two were silent a few moments, each lost in thought. Finally Betsy sighed. “Mr. Russell told me I wouldn’t survive a second time. He said it was only by God’s grace that I lived through this time.”

      “I don’t know about God’s grace, but I think you were lucky you had a competent surgeon. Now, don’t think about it anymore for the moment. Get some rest and get yourself well. We all miss you at the theater. I’ve told the manager you have the grippe.”

      Again Betsy’s eyes widened in fear. “Did he believe you?”

      “He was just scared that we’d all get it. He told me you’re to stay away until there is no danger of contagion. Now, get to sleep. I’ll be by again tomorrow. I hope your new nurse isn’t an ogre.” With a laugh and a wave, she left the room.

      As she sat in her carriage and resumed her ride home, she told herself to forget about Betsy’s problems for the moment. She herself needed to get her beauty sleep. Tomorrow she would be having dinner with the Duke d’Alvergny. He had been very attentive at the theater for several weeks, and she had fobbed him off.

      But she’d made some inquiries and discovered him to be extremely wealthy and influential.

      She had spoken the truth to Betsy. Romantic attachments were dangerous, but a gentleman with the right connections and a generous pocket was always worth a second look. Perhaps it was time to see what the duke had to offer.

      “Come watch Punch and Judy! Watch Punch knock out Judy! Tuppence a show.” The hawker’s voice carried above the crowd. A young boy tugged on Ian’s hand.

      “Oh, may we watch?” The other children took up the chorus.

      Ian turned to Jem as the children shouted their glee. “I guess Punch and Judy will be next.” The two men shepherded the children they’d brought from the dispensary neighborhood toward the puppet theater.

      Ian fished out his change and gave the money collector the fee.

      As the hunchbacked Punch whacked his wife, Ian’s attention wandered. His glance strayed to Jem. The youth seemed as entranced by the small puppet show as the children they’d brought to the street fair.

      Leaving Jem laughing heartily at the high-pitched voice of Punch screaming at Baby, Ian looked over the crowd. The streets were packed with people for the annual Southwark Fair. It would be the last one until the winter carnivals.

      His gaze was arrested by a small commotion about half a block down. As a few people shifted, providing an opening, he saw what held their attention.

      Mrs. Eleanor Neville was holding court. There was no better way to describe the scene before him. Those around her fawned over her, as she graciously bestowed her favor to all and sundry. She smiled, offering her hand to men, women and children alike.

      As if on cue, she moved on, ready to greet those farther on. The crowd parted, men doffing their high-crowned hats, women fluttering their handkerchiefs, children clamoring for a last-blown kiss.

      She was with another young woman. As they came closer, her attention was drawn to the noise of the Punch and Judy show. Her face lit up and she turned to her companion. At that moment her glance crossed Ian’s.

      He thought she wouldn’t recognize him in that crowd, but she raised an eyebrow and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. She said something to her companion and to his surprise, the two started walking toward him.

      “Good afternoon, Mr. Russell. I’m surprised to see you at such an entertainment. Who is minding the dispensary?”

      He smiled sheepishly, aware of the people around them eyeing him curiously. “My partner.”

      She smiled. “I confess I find myself perplexed. You have no liking for the theater, yet here I find you at a fair.” Her lips formed a pretty pout. Ian struggled to shift his focus away from them.

      He nodded at the young children around him. “I’ve brought some of the children who usually spend their time in the streets around the dispensary.” At that moment Jem turned around and his eyes grew wide at the sight of Mrs. Neville. He made his way to her side.

      “Mrs. Neville! What a pl-pleasure,” he said, holding out his hand, then drawing it back again as if unsure that was the proper thing to do.

      Mrs. Neville laughed charmingly and held out her own hand. “The pleasure is mutual. It is good to see you again, Mr. Beverly, under more cheerful circumstances.” She introduced them to her companion, a chorus member from the Royal Circus.

      Ian, impatient with the curiosity of the crowd around them, said, “I think Punch is becoming angry with our drawing attention away from his show.”

      Mrs. Neville turned to the puppet stage. “I love Punch and Judy. I started out playing at street fairs, you know.” She stood at his elbow, so close the sleeve of her dress brushed his arm, and it became even harder to keep his attention on the show than before.

      When the show ended, somehow he found himself part of Mrs. Neville’s entourage. She charmed the children, and their group moved along slowly through the jammed streets, stopping at the various stands.

      She ended up walking at his side as Jem and the other actress moved in front of them with the children.

      “What do you have there?” Mrs. Neville gestured to the bag in his hand.

      “Cardamom seeds,” he answered. He held out the bag to her, wondering if she would find the gesture unrefined.

      Instead she