Read Online Dukes Prefer Blondes by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online Page B

close attention to you. But you’re not to wear that. ” He waved his hand at her dress. “Nor yet the thing you wore in court. Go in and tell Matron to have the girls run up something for you in her style of dress. Say it’s for amateur theatricals. Send me a message via Fenwick, telling me where to collect you.”
    He touched his hat brim and walked away through the courtyard. She watched him go. She kept on watching long after he’d moved out of view and his long strides would have taken him to the next street.
    â€œI passed,” she murmured. “I passed the examination.”
    Saffron Hill
    Two days later
    T he house looked about to collapse on itself. The buildings in the Temple grounds had been modern, airy, pristine purity by comparison.
    Inside was only marginally better, hinting of attempts, against great odds, to clean. To Clara the odds seemed insurmountable. Scores of very dirty, very ragged girls crammed the first room they entered. Some of the older ones loitered in corners much as they must have done on the streets, their garish finery proclaiming their trade. Others, of varying ages, sat bent over scraps of paper or asleep, their heads on their arms. Still others lay curled up asleep on the floor. Very possibly, this was the cleanest and safest place to sleep these girls knew.
    Two teachers, one man and one woman, calmly—­and stoically, in Clara’s opinion—­tried to impart some rudimentary form of learning to this mélange. The woman was in charge of reading, and the man patiently led his charges through the simplest arithmetic.
    â€œYou’d better get used to this before we go on to the boys,” Radford said.
    â€œGet used to it!” she repeated softly. “How is that done, I wonder?”
    â€œYou wanted to help,” he said.
    â€œI think I can get used to the smell,” she said. She didn’t think a lifetime would be long enough to get used to the sight.
    These girls, crammed into the low-­ceilinged room, made up only the smallest drop in London’s ocean of impoverished humanity.
    â€œTry not to touch anybody or breathe too deeply,” he said. “If you catch a fatal fever, your brothers will take me apart limb from limb—­and that will be the most enjoyable part of my untimely demise.”
    â€œMy brothers will have to stand in line behind Davis,” she said.
    The maid was muttering to herself, yet when Clara glanced at her, she thought she saw sorrow as well as disgust in the faithful bulldog countenance.
    Davis had certainly taken every precaution, dousing Clara’s handkerchiefs with vinegar and making sure every inch of her was covered, except for her face. She’d tried to make Clara wear a vinegar-­soaked handkerchief over her nose and mouth, but Clara won that battle.
    Two of the prostitute-­looking girls smiled at Mr. Radford. One started to sashay toward him but he gave a brisk wave, and she retreated with a smirk and whispered something to the other girl.
    The male teacher approached them. Mr. Radford led him aside, and they muttered together for a moment. Then the teacher summoned one of the young prostitutes. Mr. Radford jerked his head toward a corner of the room where nobody was lounging at the moment, and the girl went with him. He hadn’t invited Clara, but after a moment’s hesitation, she went, too, and Davis trailed after her.
    He didn’t scowl at Clara, as she expected. Instead he gave her the What a Good Puppy You Are look and said to her, “Ah, Mrs. Faxon. Here is Jane, who is acquainted with Toby Coppy.”
    Jane eyed her suspiciously, top to bottom, then in reverse.
    â€œJane, Mrs. Faxon teaches at Bridget Coppy’s school. They’re looking for Toby.”
    â€œWhat’s he done, then?” the girl said.
    At least, that was what Clara guessed she said. Her Cockney speech was several degrees more impenetrable than