Several minutes later, they pulled to a stop along a dirty street filled with shoeless ragamuffins scurrying about. The sign on the door to the building where the duke’s coach stopped was written in scratchy, badly drawn letters.
POOR HOUSE
“What the—?” Owen slinked low in his seat and watched from nearby as Alexandra and her maid emerged from the carriage with two baskets in their hands. Their coachman helped them down. Heedless of the muck in the road, Alex walked directly up to the front of the establishment. She balanced her basket on her hip, knocked twice on the large door, and waited until it swung open and a woman wearing a cap on her head and a poorly fitting linen robe ushered the two women inside.
Owen cursed under his breath. A lady unescorted in this part of town was courting trouble. Alex had her maid with her, but the small young woman would hardly be of much assistance if they were accosted by brigands or thieves or worse. Owen kicked open the door, leaped from his coach, and ran across the filthy road. He quickly made his way to the front of the poorhouse and knocked as forcefully as he could.
It took several minutes, but the same woman eventually answered the door.
“Yes?” the woman said. Upon closer inspection, her linen robe and cap were threadbare.
“I’m Lord Owen Monroe,” he explained. “I’m here to—I saw Lady Alexandra Hobbs come in, and I wanted to ensure she is all right.”
The woman eyed him skeptically. “Do you know her?”
“Yes, you could say she is my friend.”
Something in Owen’s demeanor must have convinced the woman because her face softened and she said, “I’m Miss Magdalene. And I believe you. Lady Alexandra is the soul of kindness. Wait here. I’ll tell her you’re here.” She ushered him inside.
Owen paced about the clean but dingy foyer while Miss Magdalene disappeared into the bowels of the building. His hat in his hands, Owen paced some more and turned his hat over again and again.
Several long minutes passed before Alex and her maid appeared, carrying empty baskets. Alex strode into the foyer and stopped abruptly as soon as she saw Owen.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in an angry whisper.
Owen stopped pacing. His hat fell to his side in his hand. “I thought you were in danger.”
Alex glanced about as if she wanted to ensure that Miss Magdalene didn’t overhear. Her voice remained a heated whisper. “I’m in no danger. I come here twice a month. And that doesn’t explain why you followed me here.” She marched past him out the door back to her carriage, her maid close at her heels. The maid scurried up into the conveyance while Alex waited outside on the street and turned to Owen with the empty basket propped against one hip.
Owen straightened his shoulders. He felt like a complete arse. “I thought—You said you had plans, and I wanted to—”
Alex tapped her slipper along the dirty road. Her jaw was tight. “Know what I was doing?”
“Yes.”
She glared at him. “That’s a bit heavy-handed of you, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
She tossed one hand in the air. “Do you have any explanation for yourself?”
Owen shoved his hat back on his head. “I thought you were going to meet Lord Berkeley or—”
She shook her head. “In the rookeries? Besides, what if I had been going to meet Lord Berkeley? Is it any of your concern?”
Owen waved a hand toward the poorhouse. “Damn it, Alex. What are you doing here at a place like this?”
She glanced around and kept her voice to a low hiss. “Not that it’s any of your affair, but I drop off my embroidery and that of some of my friends twice a month. The people here sell it on the streets for a bit of money.”
Owen was stunned. “Charity? You’re here for charity?”
“Why else would I be here? I’d bring food, but Mother would notice and Cook would be scolded.” Alex wrenched open the door to the coach. The coachman leaped from his spot in front and stood at the ready to help her into the vehicle.
“I’m leaving now,” Alex announced. “You’re making a spectacle.”
Owen glanced around the street. It was true. A small crowd had formed and was watching them.
“Wait.” His hand on her arm stopped her. He lowered his voice, too. “Does your mother know about this?”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Of course not. She’d never allow me to come here. Even though I bring Hannah.”
“That’s what I thought. It’s dangerous here. Your mother would be right to worry.”
Alex met his gaze. “I’ve found in life that there are some things that are more important than worry.”