August laughed behind them.
“Lady Helena? Is something the matter?” Had something happened in the few days since the dinner at her parents’ home?
“No, I meant that we could talk about Lady Helena and you. You and Helena.”
August pulled abreast of them as they walked down the front steps to the carriage waiting on the road for them. “I’m afraid Violet has it in her head that you and the lady in question might form a special sort of relationship.”
There was no way to explain away the sudden jolt of interest that her comment provoked. He paused, letting that information digest as a footman helped both of his sisters into the carriage. Feeling as if his tie had somehow tightened itself around his neck, he followed them into the carriage and gave it a tug to make certain that it hadn’t. “To what purpose?” he asked as he settled in across from them. “I’ll be returning to New York in a few weeks, and from what I can tell, Lady Helena has a full life here.” As he spoke, the seed of an idea began to form, but it was so outrageous he could hardly countenance it.
“Things change, Max. Priorities get rearranged.” Violet smiled at him, her brown eyes wide and hopeful.
He sighed as he realized that they would have to see this conversation through before she would be satisfied. “Why are you suddenly so enthusiastic about this?”
“It’s not sudden. She’s been going on about this for months now. What exactly happened between you and Helena on your trip to Edinburgh?” This was from August, the sister he had assumed to be on his side.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. If you recall, we were too absorbed in saving Violet from the clutches of a fortune-hunting scoundrel to indulge in a flirtation.” He looked pointedly at his youngest sister and was gratified to see that she had the grace to blush. It wasn’t entirely true, however. There had been some flirting, if one would call it such. It wasn’t the elaborate and vapid flattery that was thrown at him in ballrooms. It was quieter and deeper. A genuine admiration had bloomed between them as they had traipsed across the North to find Violet.
“But afterward there was,” Violet insisted. “You came to visit almost every day the first week we were back in London and I was her guest. I saw with my own eyes how you looked at her.”
Max was beginning to understand that Violet had all the subtlety of an omnibus. “I admire her, I’ll admit that. She’s beautiful, kind, and intelligent.” And he’d spent more than one frustrated night in bed imagining her beneath him. He shifted uncomfortably to look out the window as they passed the park. A group of nannies pushed their young charges in baby carriages.
“Then you can see a future for the two of you?”
“No, I cannot. I can admire a woman and not entertain some bizarre notion of spending the rest of my life with her.” No. His imaginings of Helena were much baser in nature, making this topic with his sisters completely uncomfortable and borderline inappropriate.
“It’s hardly bizarre. I know you like her. I saw you talking to her after dinner the other night.” Violet was pouting now. Her bottom lip actually puckered the way it had when she was ten and he had insisted she was too old to ride on his shoulders, not that his protesting had done him much good then . . . like now. “She would make a fine wife.”
“A fine wife? You sound like Papa.”
That turned her pout into a scowl. “What does that mean?”
He was sorry he had brought it up, knowing her feelings of aversion to their parents’ opinions at the moment, but before he could apologize, August explained. “Papa believes that Max should marry very soon to carry on the family lineage. It seems that his brush with ill health has made him long to see the Crenshaw Iron Works legacy confirmed.”
Max had told August that much but had stopped short of telling her the ultimatum Papa had given him. It had seemed unnecessarily cruel to share it with her.
“Oh.” Violet’s scowl softened, but she appeared very perplexed. Perhaps she would take his side in this simply to subvert their parents. “Well, that is an imprudent reason. You should consider Lady Helena because she’ll make you happy, not because she’ll satisfy Papa and his schemes.”
That was exactly right. She would satisfy Papa and his schemes. He’d probably be overjoyed at the thought of the future generation of Crenshaw Iron descending from a genuine lady. The idea Max had hardly dared to acknowledge grew roots: Lady Helena could buy him time, lots of precious time to thwart Papa at his own game.
Chapter 4
Woman’s ability to earn money is better protection against the tyranny and brutality of men than her ability to vote.
Victoria Woodhull
Violet, this is perfect.” Helena stepped through the door of the former priory that Violet had found to potentially house the London Home for Young Women. It was very obviously a religious relic of another time with its stone walls, arched windows, and tower. Over the centuries, the building’s use had probably changed a dozen times, but tall stone columns inside and much of the stained glass remained, allowing in the gray autumn light from the small courtyard outside. Most recently, the large chapel appeared to have been put to use as some sort of factory. Machinery lined the back wall, and rows of trestle tables were set up in the middle of the floor.
The small campus was nestled at the end of a narrow residential street off Commercial Road at the very edge of Whitechapel where it bled into Limehouse. It included the chapel, an attached three-story building that had once housed monks, and the mews in the back. The whole grounds were surrounded by a wall that was crumbling in places and would need substantial refurbishment. Helena liked it because it would keep the courtyard as an outdoor space for the children and provide some separation from the street. While the surrounding streets were populated by earnest and hardworking people, there were warrens and dens of criminals lurking deeper into the East End.
“I knew you would like it,” Violet said from behind her. Ostler, the manservant Helena had hired to help provide protection at the orphanage, followed them inside and closed the door.
Since her marriage in the spring, Violet had joined the board of the orphanage and had followed Helena’s enthusiasm for the London Home for Young Women. Because Christian had donated the money to purchase a building, Helena had thought it only logical that Violet take the lead on the committee to find a location.
“There’s already a workshop here and private rooms with a communal kitchen in the attached residential building, and I think perhaps the rooms above the mews could be used for a school,” Violet continued. “The owner, Sir Phineas Penhurst, was gracious enough to give me a tour himself yesterday. I knew as soon as I saw it that you just had to come look for yourself.”
“Do you know what work was performed here?” Helena ran her gloved fingertips across the edge of what appeared to be a loom and came away with years’ worth of dust.