The servant nodded as a woman and two small children exited the vehicle. They were silent, but observant as they stared at Cornell. Since he seemed to be unable to speak, he was glad when Pleasant took it upon herself to do it for him.
“Thank you, Lord Haverton. It seems I am indebted to you once again.”
“It’s not necessary,” he returned, although he looked to Cornell. “However, if you might convince Mr. Reed to come by the townhouse for supper one evening—”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Cornell stated firmly, as he climbed into the carriage with Connor.
He thought he heard Miss Hill tell Xavier that she would do her best to convince him to call, and then she ushered Niall and Fiona inside and they quickly set off.
Cornell could tell that Pleasant was curious about his behavior toward the earl, so he felt compelled to explain, “I have my reasons for distancing myself from the earl.”
With Fiona on her lap, and Niall sitting beside her, she returned, “It’s not my place to pry, and of course, you have the right to your own opinion toward Lord Haverton, but he did us a great service today, something that not many men of his ilk would do for the lower classes.”
Cornell fell silent, for he couldn’t very well argue against the truth.
Granted, Pleasant didn’t know the personal connection between him and Xavier, but neither had he felt so guilty for his curt behavior. He’d always imagined his half-brother to be cut from the same cloth as their father, had been biding his time to wait for his true nature to be revealed, but it hadn’t taken him long to deduce that Xavier was nothing like the previous earl. He actually had a kind heart, and it seemed his intentions toward Cornell were genuine. For the first time, it made him wonder if perhaps a relationship with the earl might actually be possible.
However, as they arrived at Pleasant’s lodgings, he pushed any further thought of Haverton aside for the moment. After they sent the driver back to Hyde Park, Cornell carried Connor inside. The moment Mrs. Hill saw her son in his arms, she gasped and struggled to her feet where she’d been sitting and doing some mending. Once Pleasant calmly explained what had occurred, her stepmother’s eyes shone with tears. “Oh, my poor boy!”
She led the way upstairs to the loft where five narrow beds were laid out in a neat row. Cornell had to duck in spite of the low ceiling as he laid Connor on his cot.
“Niall, come and help me with your brother,” Mrs. Hill instructed.
“Fiona and I will make some soup,” Pleasant offered, as she took her sister’s hand and led her back downstairs. Cornell did the same.
Now that the tragedy of the day had been averted, Cornell noticed that, as Pleasant went to fetch a pot for the stove, her hand was trembling. She was likely thinking of what could have happened.
He covered her hand with his, and she stiffened slightly. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit and let me and Fiona take care of this.” He winked at the little girl, who smiled back shyly.
Pleasant shook her head. “I couldn’t ask that—”
“I’m offering my services.” He gently took the pot from her, and she sighed wearily.
“Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
He merely nodded in return and turned his attention to Fiona.
Later, as he was preparing to leave, his coat and hat in place, Pleasant’s stepmother reached out and hugged him. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Reed. I don’t know how I will ever repay your kindness in saving my son.”
Once Connor was in some dry clothes, some broth warming his belly, he was almost the same, spirited boy he’d been before his rather unfortunate tumble into an icy pond. It never failed to amaze Cornell how resilient children were. Now, he cleared his throat, rather uncomfortable with her praise. “There’s no need for that, Mrs. Hill. I’m just glad I was able to help.”
Aine ushered Niall and Fiona back upstairs to see Connor, while Pleasant was left alone with him. She walked him to the door, where they paused, right underneath the mistletoe. He glanced up and his lips twitched. “How convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
She blushed slightly. “It’s just a silly tradition. You don’t have to—”
He cut her off by pressing his lips to hers.
Her response was instant. She melted into the embrace, and a rush of desire fled to his nether regions. He imagined laying her down on his bed, her gorgeous red hair spread out across his pillow, her naked body tempting him beyond all reason…
He pulled away with great resistance. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Cornell huddled in the warmth of his coat as he walked back to his shop. No doubt, the long walk in the cold would do him some good.
However, when he arrived, he was greeted with a surprise guest.
“Frank,” he acknowledged curtly. Reluctantly, he unlocked the door and let the man inside. Mr. Frank Ottfield was a warden of the Worshipful Company of Tylers and Brickmakers. He was a large brute of a man and carried a lot of influence due to his massive size.
“Reed,” was the clipped response, as the man entered and stomped the snow from his boots. “I ’ope ye have somethin’ to drink on this bugger o’ a night.”
Cornell snorted, but after he’d removed his outerwear, he gestured for the man to follow him upstairs to his suite of rooms. The area was open and plainly furnished, with a fireplace in one corner of the modest sitting area. A single door led off of the main room to the left, into his private quarters, while a simple kitchen area was off to the right. He went to grab an extra glass and then returned to the table where a half bottle of brandy sat.
He often enjoyed a dram of brandy before bed, but now he poured a second draught and handed it to Mr. Ottfield who had taken a chair by the fire. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Frank didn’t respond right away, but drank slowly from the tumbler. “I was tasked wit’ gettin’ yer vote.”
Cornell sat down and propped his booted foot over his knee. “With over a hundred livery companies in this city, you’re worried about mine?”
“Many men in this city look up t’ ye after yer service in th’ wars. They respect ye an’ that makes ye valuable.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I told you before that I don’t care for politics.”
“Even when it puts yer trade in jeopardy?” Frank countered. “London is movin’ past our boundaries. Trade is growin’ past our reach, so if we want t’ continue t’ be taken seriously, it’s time we did somethin’ about it. There needs t’ be a reform t’ protect th’ workin’ class people.”
He tapped his finger on the glass. “What exactly is it that you’re proposing we do? Start a revolt? Sign a petition?”
“If it comes down t’ it.”
In that instant, Cornell knew that this situation could get rather serious if left unattended. While he understood Frank’s point of view, neither could he ignore his conscience when it came to betraying his half-brother’s involvement in the guilds.
