“But there must be a way,” Lila insisted. “For the life of me, I can’t see it, but theremust.”
“There is always a way,” Donovan said. “Even in this.”
Beck and Lila looked at him. “How?” Lila asked.
“We must legitimize her family in another way.”
“How?”Lila and Beck said in unison.
“Through her brother, Mr. Woodchurch.”
“Good Lord. The worst of the lot,” Beck said with a flick of his wrist.
“Perhaps. But he is the one man besides the viscount who has caught the eye of the ladies. One in particular.”
“Who?”Beck asked, casting his arms wide. “What woman in her right mind would want anything to do with him?”
Donovan chuckled. “Miss Flora Raney.”
Lila gasped. “I thought he looked familiar! I’ve seen them together more than once!”
“There is an attraction there,” Donovan said. “And I would think that Mr. Hugh Woodchurch would like to see his eldest son married into money. He might be more agreeable to terms with the Raney family than he would for a daughter he sees as nothing but a liability.”
“That is ahorriblething to say,” Lila exclaimed.
“Yes, but no less true,” Beck said sadly.
“But how do we manage it?” Lila asked.
“We? I can’t be party to this,” Beck sniffed.
“It has to be made apparent to everyone,” Donovan said.
The three of them looked at each other. Lila suddenly said, “Aha!”
“Aha?” Beck echoed.
“Jumbo the elephant.”
“I beg your pardon?” Beck asked.
Lila was suddenly on her feet. “The elephant. He’s to parade on Wednesday, and I thought it would be a perfect opportunity for the viscount and Miss Raney to spend a bit of time together. In the patronage box, of course.”
“Excellent,” Donovan said, and grinned.
“Excellent! Why is it excellent? Will someone please explain this to me?” Beck demanded.
“I will, I promise,” Lila said, but she was already at the door. “But first, I must purchase some tickets and pay a call to Miss Woodchurch.”
She could hear Beck shouting after her that she shouldnotpay a call to Miss Woodchurch, but Lila was running out of time. Something had to give.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
INABOXhidden in her wardrobe, Hattie kept her wages. On a dark and wet Sunday afternoon, she’d pulled the box out and was counting how much money she had. Thus far she’d saved twenty pounds, after paying her father and buying a few needed things. She figured she’d need at least forty pounds to rent a small cottage for a few months. Mrs. O’Malley told her that telegraph operators earned as much as six pounds a week—she was contemplating asking her father to help her find a position like that.
But asking him to help with anything would cost her.
And where was she going to go? She had in mind the country but wasn’t certain what sort of work she might find in the country.
