The Lady and the Pauper: Those Scandalous Taggarts, #3

By Tammy Jo Burns

Lady Bridget Patterson has spent the majority of her life living up to her family's scandalous reputation and thumbing her nose at society. Well, and truly, on the shelf, she has given up all hopes of finding a man that meets all of her requirements and has resigned herself to becoming a nun and working with the poor. Until she sees him…

Earl Augustus St. Clair is practically a pauper and one of the most brilliant Principal Officers, Bow Street Runner's, London has ever seen. But when someone begins abducting women off the street, he will have to go undercover to ferret out the person responsible. He has worked undercover before, but never as a member of London's elite society — the beau monde. With the support of a duke, he expects to go in, infiltrate and apprehend the men responsible, and return to his job. Easy enough, until he sees her…

Gus and Bridget's lives quickly become entwined and she is falling in love with a man she believes to be everything she ever dreamed of in the perfect man, when in reality he is none of those things. Bridget puts her own life on the line when her chaperone is kidnapped. Will Gus be able to save her from the kidnapper? Will he be able to convince her she does know him, despite the lie he lived? But most importantly will he be able to save her from herself and prove to her that she is worthy of everlasting love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tammy Jo Burns
• Release date: Sep 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386812173

Book preview

Prologue

Gus St. Clair walked into No. 4 Bow Street from his patrol. London was unusually quiet today and it unsettled him. He made his way to the director’s office, murmuring, Hello, and nodding his head at several of his colleagues. He knocked on Director Barton’s door and waited until he was told to enter.

Anything to report, St. Clair? Barton asked in his gruff tone.

Nothing, sir. It’s a quiet day.

Hmph. A quiet day in London? I look forward to the day. I suspect things will liven up shortly. It’s early yet.

Gus nodded, closed the door leaving Director Barton to his paperwork, went to his own desk, and sat down. He pulled a London newspaper close and started reading through the articles, never knowing where his next lead might come from. He made notes of items that caught his interest. He was turning to the society section when the door flew open. A woman in a ripped dress stood in the doorway, her blonde hair was down around her shoulders, and she had a wild look in her blue eyes.

Help me, she begged stepping further into the room. She slammed the door shut and leaned heavily against it, as if her small frame could keep out whoever was on the other side.

What’s the matter, miss? Gus asked as he rose from his chair and skirted his desk to carefully approach her. He took a step back when the woman practically launched herself at him, gripping his upper arms.

Help me!

Miss, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.

What’s all this noise? Barton barked from the doorway of his office. When he saw the young woman, his scowl grew more pronounced. Who’s this?

I’m trying to find out, sir, Gus answered. All right, miss—

I think I saw her go in there! a muffled shout could be heard from outside.

That’s the bloody Runners!

So we tell ‘em we’re lookin’ for our mad sister that’s run away, a man said louder than he should have.

Please, don’t let them take me. She turned pleading eyes to Gus once more.

"St. Clair, take her into my office while we deal with her brothers."

They aren’t—

We know, miss. Come with me. St. Clair wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and quickly led her to Barton’s office, closing the door behind them. Crawl beneath the desk.

But—

As a precaution.

She nodded, quickly crossed the room, and disappeared beneath the desk in a matter of seconds. Gus heard raised voices coming from the other side of the door. He grabbed some papers off the desk, sent up a silent prayer that the girl would stay put, and opened the door.

Mr. Barton, I finished looking over that… He looked up from the papers in his hand and came to a halt. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Leave that door open, a big man ordered.

Of course, Gus readily agreed.

Ralph, go check the room for our sister, the big man ordered his smaller brother.

It wasn’t long before the man searching Barton’s office yelled, Bloody hell! She’s gone, James!

What? James demanded.

Window’s open and there’s a piece of cloth stuck on the bushes. She was here, all right, but she’s gone now.

And you say your on the side of the law, James accused. You kept us from our sister and we just want to take her back home.

She’s no more your sister than she is mine, Gus said.

Why don’t you two gents tell us why you’re really looking for the girl? Barton asked.

Told ye. She’s mad, needs to be in Bedlam, she does. When we got home from work, Ma told us she’d run off. Don’t worry, we’ll find her, and she won’t ever run away again.

That sounds as if it could be construed as a threat.

Come on, Ralph, we’re wastin’ time.

Where we gonna look next, James? The boss…I mean well, we shouldn’t’ve let ‘er get away.

Shut your mouth, James ordered, flicking a last look behind him at the men standing in the room.

Well, they were pleasant blokes, one of the officer’s said.

Hmph, Gus muttered as he walked into Barton’s office and looked under the desk. The woman was truly gone. He crossed to the window, leaned outside, but there was no sign of her out there either. Even the men who had come looking for her seem to have lost her. He slammed the palm of his hand against the window frame, jarring the window loose and causing it to slam shut.

Are you trying to break my window? Barton growled.

Sorry, sir, Gus replied.

Did you expect she’d still be here?

I was hoping. She was truly frightened.

That she was, Barton said.

At that moment, the door slowly swung away from the wall and the woman stepped further into the room. She was so pale she looked to be an apparition. Will you help me? she asked, shivering. She started sliding towards the floor when Barton caught her.

Have a seat, miss. Barton guided her to a visitor’s chair on the other side of his desk.

We’ll do our best, miss. Put this on, Gus said as he pulled off his overcoat and swung it around her shoulders.

She pulled Gus’s coat close, and burrowed inside. She stared at the floor and jumped when Gus took the seat next to her.

Easy, Gus said. Can you tell us your name?

Olivia Smith.

Miss Smith, what happened?

Judith and I were walking to pick up some things the mistress needed when those two blokes grabbed me from behind.

How do you know it was those two men without seeing them?

"I heard them."

Gus and Barton shared a speaking glance.

I am telling you the truth! It was them that tried to kidnap me.

Go on, Miss Smith. Finish your story, Barton ordered.

They dropped a sackcloth over my head and I couldn’t see anything. I yelled for Judith to run. She’s my little sister and it’s my duty to protect her. When Mama sent us to London to find work, she told me to look after Judith. At least she got away. I fought them, but—

Go on, Miss Smith, Gus encouraged her.

They put me into a coach.

Did you see any markings?

No. They had a sackcloth over my head, remember? They bound my hands, but were arguing. They didn’t seem to notice that I forced a gap between my wrists.

What were they arguing about?

If my hair was the right color to fulfill the order. One of them said it was too dark.

What? Barton asked, a look of confusion on his face.

That’s what they said. I thought it was strange, she said.

"Why would they refer to you as an order?" Gus asked.

I didn’t stay around to ask, she snapped. They were also arguing about my sister managing to get away. They were worried she might be able to identify them.

Do you think she could?

I don’t know. Could you? Didn’t you see and talk to them? Miss Smith asked, irritated.

"How did you get away?" Gus asked, changing the topic.

I don’t really know. They were still arguing and shut the carriage door. I knew I had to try to escape or I would never see my family again. I worked my hands out of the rope and removed the sack from my head. I inched the door open, but they were standing right there. I shoved it open with all my might. It hit the one with his back to me, and he fell into the other one. While they were trying to untangle themselves and regain their footing I jumped down and ran.

How did you find us?

We were shopping on Bow Street when I was taken. Once I got my bearings I knew I had to seek out the Runners.

Gus started to correct her, but Barton stopped him. The Runners tended to get testy when they were called that. It was a nickname Londoners had given them long ago and really didn’t describe what the men did at all. In fact, very few people remembered they were really called Principal Officers.

Miss Smith, there isn’t much we can do. If you had seen them—

But you all saw them, she argued.

Yes, but you didn’t.

But I told you, I recognized their voices.

I’m sorry, but it’s not enough to go on, Barton said. They could have been two different men who disguised their voices when they came in here.

Now who’s making up tales? Miss Smith challenged. "That’s what you think I’m doing, isn’t it? You think this is probably all a lark I’ve made up. That perhaps I am a sister who has run away."

We will make a file about this situation, Barton said, dismissing her.

A file? That’s all I am to the great Bow Street Runners? A file?! she demanded, hysterically.

Please, Miss Smith, calm down, Gus stepped in and said.

"Calm down? I was almost kidnapped and you tell me to calm down? Thank you very much! Will one of you at least escort me home? Or is that too much to ask of the mighty and powerful Runners?"

I’ll see you home, Gus volunteered. He hoped he could get a better feel of the situation after seeing where she lived.

Oh, well, isn’t that generous of you? Miss Smith said, her voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

I’ll write everything up when I return, Gus told Barton. The older man nodded his head and returned to some paperwork on his desk. Gus gently wrapped his hand around Olivia Smith’s upper arm and led her out of the building. They crossed several streets before he was able to wave down a hack. She jumped at every loud noise until they were safely ensconced in the rented coach.

Where shall I take you?

She rattled off an address in Mayfair and he cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her. I work for good people, she said mutinously.

Apparently. The ride to her employer’s house was quiet. When the carriage stopped in front of a large townhouse, Miss Smith quickly left the carriage. I’ll escort you to the door.

That isn’t necessary. Here's your coat back. Thank you.

Yes, it is necessary. Gus followed her to the door and knocked when she found it locked.

Oh, praise be! the butler exclaimed when he opened the door and saw the two of them standing on the other side.

What is it, Grigsby? a feminine voice asked.

Olivia’s been returned to us, Your Grace!

Olivia? a young woman with a swollen face and puffy, red eyes stood in the foyer.

Judith! You’re safe! While the two of them hugged and cried, a woman with a regal bearing entered the foyer.

Grigsby, secure that man! Richard, come quickly! Judith, take Olivia and send a footman right away! Hurry!

No, Your Grace, you don’t understand, Olivia tried to stop the woman and explain who Gus was.

What’s going on in here? A man with silver at his temples joined the group.

Richard, oh darling, help Grigsby! That ne’er do well actually brought Olivia back to us.

Your Graces, he didn’t kidnap me. He’s a Runner. He escorted me here.

Are you certain, young lady? the duke asked.

Yes, Your Grace.

Young man, might I see you in my study?

Yes, Your Grace, Gus said. He refused to be intimidated by this man, but he would respect him until he gave him reason not to. Gus figured it wouldn’t take long at all from what little he knew of the ton.

Dru, I’ll take care of this.

Oh, no, Richard, don’t you dare. I want to know what is happening, as well.

Come along, he sighed and escorted his wife into the study. Shut the door, he ordered. He led his wife to a chair, and he reclined against the desk. Please be seated. He indicated another chair to Gus. I am Richard Rochester, Duke of Thornbrook and this is my wife, Dru.

Your Graces, Gus bowed politely.

And you are?

Captain Gus St. Clair, Principal Officer.

I see, the duke said. So how did you come across our maid, Olivia?

She came to us. He recounted the information to the Duke and Duchess of Thornbrook.

And you didn’t remand those men immediately? the duchess demanded.

No, Your Grace.

Why not? she demanded.

She couldn’t visually identify them.

But she recognized their voices, Lady Thornbrook argued.

She would have to recognize them by sight. We had no reason to hold them.

That is preposterous!

I believe what my wife is trying to say is that our staff is like family, and the fact that one of them suffered from such a horrific experience has us all concerned.

I understand, Your Grace.

Do you? Lady Thornbrook asked. Do you know how frightening the prospect is that it could have been one of my daughters?

I assure you, Your Grace, I do. I have six sisters, and I can’t imagine anything that Miss Smith experienced happening to them.

Six? the Duke of Thornbrook asked.

And four brothers. My parents love one another very deeply, Gus said.

Then you understand why I’m so concerned, Her Grace said.

I do.

We’d like to retain you to look further into this situation, the Duke of Thornbrook said.

I will take back your concerns to Mr. Barton, my director. He will then be the one to decide whether or not we will take the case.

I understand.

Well, I don’t. My husband has offered to put you on retainer. That should be all there is to it.

Dru, love, he’s not in charge. Allow him to do what he must.

All right, but the sooner we have an answer, the better.

Yes, Your Grace. I will deliver the information myself, both to Mr. Barton and back to you. I should return to the office.

Of course, thank you for your time. The Duke of Thornbrook held out his hand to St. Clair.

St. Clair left the elegant townhouse, unsure as to what just happened. Never before had he met members of the ton like that couple before. Imagine, a duke and duchess who cared so much about their staff as to retain the Principal Officers to find out who took a maid after she had been safely returned. He paid the driver and entered the office some time later.

Is Barton still in his office? he asked the men loitering about.

Yes, several of them muttered.

He walked over, knocked on Barton’s door, and waited until he was told to enter. Did you get the girl delivered?

Yes. It was quite interesting.

Oh?

Have you heard of the Duke and Duchess of Thornbrook?

I’ve met His Grace a time or two.

Miss Smith is a maid in his household. They want to retain us to find out who attempted to kidnap her.

I see.

You don’t seem surprised.

They are a unique couple, so, no, I am not surprised in the least.

Do you want us to investigate?

Yes, but don’t waste too much time on it. It could have been a jilted lover for all we know.

What do I tell them in regard of a retaining fee? he asked instead of arguing against the director’s negative comment.

Charge the usual amount.

Yes, sir.

Do you have a problem with any of this, St. Clair?

No, sir.

Your voice tells me otherwise.

I can’t help but think it’s a little silly to give into a man like Thornbrook, even if he is a duke.

The Duke of Thornbrook is a very powerful man. He has many relatives and friends that are just as powerful. If you want to continue on in this line of work, you should know who not to make enemies of. Thornbrook is one such man.

I understand. I’ll begin immediately.

Excellent. Shut the door as you leave.

Yes, sir. St. Clair left his director. Gus walked to his desk and sat down, staring blankly at the far wall, wondering how he was going to solve a kidnapping that had already taken care of itself.

A few days later…

St. Clair, what have you to report in regard to the attempted kidnapping of that young maid? Barton looked at him from behind his desk.

I need more time, sir.

I told you—

I know what you told me, sir. It’s been haunting my every waking moment.

And?

If there are women being taken, no one’s reporting it to us or the patrolmen.

An isolated incident?

I don’t think so.

Your proof?

I have none, sir. Just a feeling.

Such as?

I’ve spent some time down at the docks. Been questioning some of the sailors. Heard talk about a foreigner arriving here a few days ago.

Oh? What makes this foreigner so special?

He’s the son of a desert sheikh. His father sent him to London with a dignitary from Morocco.

What are you thinking?

That it would be very easy for this sheikh’s son to take women from London back to be part of a harem or sell to other men. Women they would find exotic. Women with something besides dark hair.

You think they could start abducting women as soon as they stepped foot on English soil?

They had all the time on the ship to develop a plan. They only had to hire men to carry it out. Plenty of those around the docks willing to do whatever necessary to make money.

What do you want to do? Barton asked.

"I want to go undercover. This man is living among the ton. I need to be there as well."

And how do you plan to do that?

If Thornbrook wants to find out who kidnapped his maid, I’m going to need his assistance.

Later that afternoon…

Gus found himself standing outside the elegant Mayfair mansion of the Duke and Duchess of Thornbrook once more. He took a deep breath before letting it out and raised his hand to knock on the door. He was studying the ornate rose door knocker with thorns and a metal bramble looping off it when the door opened. The same butler from his earlier visit welcomed him into the foyer.

Mr. St. Clair, isn’t it?

Yes. I had hoped to speak to His Grace.

I will let him know you are here.

Thank you. Gus did not have long to wait before the butler beckoned him to enter the study. Once inside, the door was shut, leaving him sequestered with the Duke of Thornbrook.

St. Clair, it’s good to see you again.

You, as well, Your Grace, St. Clair said, shaking the proffered hand.

Sit. Tell me how you are coming along on the investigation.

We have a suspect, Your Grace.

And?

The problem is we have nothing definitive. I need to get closer to the man and see what I can find. That’s why I’m here, with Director Barton’s permission, of course.

What is it you need exactly?

"I need access to the ton."

And just how do you plan to accomplish that?

With your assistance, I’d like to introduce myself. Augustus St. Clair, Earl St. Clair.

I think I’m beginning to see. You would like me to sponsor you, of course.

It would be easier.

Before I agree, I’d like to hear more about this suspect of yours.

St. Clair shared the same information he had shared with Barton. When he was finished talking, silence permeated the room. He watched Thornbrook’s face, trying to gauge what the man was thinking. Finally, he no longer had to wait.

You could be creating an international incident.

Only if I’m wrong.

You think you’re correct?

I think he’ll lead me to the answers I seek.

All right. You will stay with my family.

I do not wish to put your family in danger.

I can protect my family, Thornbrook said.

I have no doubt of your ability to do just that, Your Grace, but I would feel better about the entire situation if you would agree with me on this one point.

I have an idea.

I’m willing to hear it.

I still have my old bachelor’s quarters. I only use them when the family is at the country house and I have to come to London for something. I hate staying in this monstrosity without Dru and the children, but then you don’t wish to hear the ramblings of an old man.

Not old, Your Grace, Gus said diplomatically.

Not young either, Thornbrook countered.

Seasoned then.

Yes, seasoned. I like that. Back to the matter at hand. The townhouse is located in Bloomsbury Square. The square itself is in decline, but it is quiet. My father used to tell me stories about it in its heyday, but I think it will suit you well. Middle class families have moved in. It would be just the place for an earl, fresh to an unexpected title, to wet his feet in London society.

It sounds perfect. A quiet neighborhood where the people go to bed early and rise earlier. They won’t be paying attention to the comings and goings of a single man.

No, they won’t, His Grace agreed.

As for my background, I thought we might present me as a distant relative? St. Clair suggested questioningly.

"I believe you will be a friend’s son. Said friend will have passed away unfortunately leaving you to inherit a title from a distant relative who died without an heir. I have offered my assistance to help you navigate your way through the ton."

You don’t believe anyone will question this scenario?

It happens more often than you would think, St. Clair. My only suggestion is to do your best to steer clear of Prinny. He has a way of ferreting out people’s secrets, perhaps because he has so many of his own, His Grace surmised.

Of course, Your Grace.

Do you know all the latest dances?

Yes, Your Grace. When one is raised with as many sisters as I have, you learn many things you wish you had no knowledge of.

As a father of girls, I commiserate completely, son. By the way, you should call me Thornbrook, the older man said. If you’re going to be a peer of mine, and we know one another, you should call me Thornbrook.

Yes, Your…Thornbrook. You’re correct. Well, I suppose I should go to my room and pack a bag.

"If you’re going to be part of the ton, St. Clair, you are going to have to look it," Thornbrook said, standing when Gus did.

Gus looked down at his clothes. They were clean and well cared for. He brushed them down every night and had several sets of suits that he rotated. The lady he rented a room from laundered and mended his clothes.

It isn’t that you look horrible, you just do not have the appearance of a newly titled earl that has just come into money. I’ll go with you to get your bag. On the way, we’ll stop and speak to my solicitor and have him employ staff and open the townhouse, and then we’ll stop at my tailor’s.

Your Grace, I don’t have the money for a new wardrobe.

Son, if your plan is going to work, you are going to have to look the part. I want answers; therefore, I will take care of your wardrobe.

Yes, Your Grace, Gus said stiffly. He hated that he didn’t even make enough to purchase a new wardrobe for himself. He might had been able to if it weren’t the quality that was needed to mingle among society. This had best get me the information I need, he thought sourly as he followed Thornbrook out of the room.

1

Lady Bridget Helena Patterson smoothed the smock covering her dress. The dress was not one typically worn by women of the haute ton, but then again, Bridget was not your typical society woman. She was currently dressed like a servant. In fact, she had purchased her current dress from a maid employed by her parents. The maid had not batted an eye, for the staff was used to Lady Bridget’s peculiar behavior. To say that she did not act like most members of the beau monde would be an understatement. Bridget would see her twenty-fifth birthday this year and was, as of yet, unmarried.

Every party and ball she attended she could hear people commenting about her being on the shelf or long in the tooth while the very next breath they talked about how wild she was and the string of lovers and broken hearts she had left throughout London. Only part of those rumors were true.

She studied her reflection in the shattered mirror of the girl’s dormitory at St. Hilda’s Home for Women and Children in the Seven Dials area of London. If the ton knew she volunteered her time here, most would give her the cut direct. Many would indeed question her sanity and wonder why she worked with gutter trash, their words, not hers. These women and children couldn’t help the fact they weren’t born into money. Didn’t the wealthy realize it was merely an accident of birth, instead of a right, that they were in the class they were? Any of the women of the ton could be where these women are right now.

She bent over one of the beds, tugged the blanket upward to cover the mattress, and placed the tiny doll on the small pillow. Her heart clenched knowing that this was the only family and house this little girl knew, and that this was the only toy she possessed. Before coming to St. Hilda’s, the child had worried more about her next meal and staying warm in the winter rather than what material her new dress would be made from.

Bridget stood straight and nervously smoothed unseen wrinkles from her smock. She looked around the room and decided it was time. Bridget lifted her chin as if she were staring down a firing squad. She walked into the large commons area and saw the women and children who were not at work split off into various groups performing different tasks. Her best friend, Lady Sophia Bianchi worked with a large group of women in one corner. The women listened intently to what Sophia said, and some rapidly scribbled notes in leather bound journals.

Bridget took a moment to take pride in what they were doing at St. Hilda’s. They were offering these women and children a better opportunity than they would have normally had. Some of the women obtained jobs in shops in London or as maids in households. It was a much better life than what might have awaited them on the streets of London. Bridget looked across the room and saw the woman who had helped implement this change — Sister Mary Katherine. She was also the woman she needed to speak to most today. She crossed the room and cleared her throat to get the older woman’s attention.

Bridget, is something wrong?

No, not wrong, but there is a matter I’d like to discuss with you.

Go on.

In private, if we can, Bridget said. The look on her face must have relayed the importance of the upcoming conversation.

Of course. Sister Mary Katherine stood and Bridget followed her to a room in the back of the building. The room contained a small bed, an escritoire with two chairs, one in front of the desk and one behind it, a wardrobe, and a single set of bookshelves. The bed was tidy and a crucifix hung on the wall above the headboard. A journal lay open on the escritoire with a feather pen and an inkwell nearby. A Bible rested on one corner and a lamp on the other. Sister Mary Katherine moved behind the small desk and sat before indicating that Bridget should do the same. An awkward silence descended upon them. Take your time, Bridget.

Bridget stood and paced the room several times. She inhaled deeply, then said so quickly that the words ran together, Iwanttojointheorder.

Pardon? Sister Mary Katherine asked.

I want to join the order, Bridget said slower this time, but only slightly.

Bridget, are you certain?

That is not the response I would have expected from you, Sister. I would have thought you would be singing joyfully, or perhaps hugging me and welcoming me, not questioning my decision.

This is not the conversation I thought we would be having either, Bridget. Why do you want to become a nun?

I see what you do here and how selflessly you work. I want to be a part of that.

"You are a part of that. You do not have to be a nun to do good works."

Why are you trying to talk me out of this?

You should not make this decision for the wrong reason. Now, I would like to think that after spending as much time together as we have that we can be honest with one another. It is important that we are honest with one another. Bridget, why do you want to become a nun?

I love God above all else, she blurted, thinking that was the answer Sister Mary Katherine sought.

Of course you do, but I do not think that is the reason.

Shouldn’t that be the reason?

Yes, but there should be so many more.

What do you mean?

That you are even asking tells me this life is not really for you, Bridget. What is going on with you? the nun asked shrewdly.

I don’t know what you mean, Bridget said, pacing the room once more.

What are you running from?

Nothing. I just feel like I can do so much here to help.

You are already doing so much here and we appreciate you for it. You volunteer selflessly and you have even brought your friends along to help, albeit some are more enthusiastic than others.

I’ve brought one friend, Sister.

Regardless, you have helped the women and young boys here find work and move on to better lives. Because of you, people who would have never heard of us now know about St. Hilda’s, and, even if they do not give of their time, they give their money. I know it does not look like it, but we have a healthy operating budget which is more than many can boast. It allows us to reach further into the community than I ever hoped. Now, tell me what else could you possibly do?

Bridget met the older woman’s eyes, blushing, as she listed off her accomplishments. I belong here.

Bridget, dear, what is the matter?

I feel so lost in my world.

And you think this world is the solution?

Perhaps. Did you know that I ended my betrothals?

"No. I didn’t know you were betrothed. Sister Mary Katherine answered honestly. You never spoke of it."

"Them. Three of them."

Three?

Yes. I am a horrible person, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I have been enamored enough by one of my fiancés that I wanted to speak about him all day to whomever would listen?

Not if he wasn’t the right man for you.

None of them ever are, Bridget muttered.

What did you say?

May I confide in you, Sister?

Of course.

I have certain qualities I am looking for in a husband, and I fear they will be too specific for any one man to have all of them.

And must a man have all of these qualities?

It is essential. Besides, I don’t want to embarrass my parents with another broken betrothal. I have done enough of that in the past. I am tired of being looked upon as a wild child, but I don’t know how to stop. People seem to only see certain things about me. They overlook the good that you see and focus on the outlandish. And I must admit I have not gone out of my way to change their attitudes.

Oh? In what ways?

If I told you everything I’ve done, it would turn your hair gray, as my mother’s is rapidly turning everyday.

Surely it hasn’t been that bad, Sister Mary Katherine scoffed.

My first fiancé wanted me to have…umm…relations with him before we were married. We were at a party and he gave me punch that was liberally laced with some sort of alcohol. I commented on the funny taste, but he assured me there was nothing suspect. He hoped to sneak me off to a bedroom and have his way with me.

But?

Oh, the alcohol didn’t bother me, except cause me to become overheated and bolder than usual. When my parents found me, I was dancing in a fountain in the courtyard, singing a highly inappropriate song I had once heard my brother sing, and I was desperately trying to slip out of my dress.

Oh, dear, Sister Mary Katherine said, chuckling softly.

Yes. My brother happened to be in attendance and heard my fiancé bragging to his friends about what he had done. Needless to say, our betrothal ended that night with the assistance of my brother’s fist. I was then tossed over Gray’s, that’s my brother by the way, well, actually it’s Grayson, but he goes by Gray, but I digress. He wrapped me up in his coat, tossed me over his shoulder, and unceremoniously dumped me into a carriage. To this day, I can still hear the laughter and catcalls that followed us as we left the party.

You poor thing.

Oh, but it isn’t over. The rocking of the carriage made me so ill that I cast up my accounts all over Gray.

Sister Mary Katherine placed a hand over her mouth and tried to stifle her laughter. Once she had herself under control, she said, But Bridget, surely you see none of that was your fault.

But in a way, I took the easy way out of the situation by allowing my brother to break the engagement. You see, I was going to because I had heard my betrothed telling several of his friends how he had managed to find his way out of his debts. He told them he could stand to be married to a Scandalous Taggart for the wealth I would bring his way.

Oh, dear, I am sorry.

So, I started retaliating against society.

And how did you do that?

The things they said about me were hurtful and degrading, and I had not done anything to deserve it, except be born into a notorious family. It was even more so for my parents. Oh, they didn’t say anything and supported me, but I could see it in their eyes. What killed me was the disappointment I saw in Mama and Papa’s eyes.

But it was not your fault, Bridget.

"But with society, it doesn’t matter. No matter how well I behaved, no one seemed to forget that one incident. I was shunned by young women who had once called me friend. The only men that asked me to dance were looking for a mistress or less. My ex-betrothed spread awful rumors to anyone who would listen, most especially the men. I’ve been pinched, grabbed, and cornered by almost every man of the ton."

Bridget, I am—

Then two more men came into my life, she said, holding up her hand. "I was honest with them from the very beginning. I told them my reputation was