Adairia, who was no princess.
Adairia, who, like Julia, had no father or family… beyond Julia.
The gentleman was speaking to one of the drivers, directing the distribution of those flowers. As he checked the glimmering fob that dangled from his perfectly cut black trousers, there clearly wasn’t a place the fellow cared to be less.
But then, what person in their right mind would prefer these parts, compared to the ones a bloke like him was accustomed to?
“Oswyn said Rand Graham has information about me…and that he wishes to speak with me about…things he knows about my abduction,” Adairia ventured, and Julia abruptly stopped. Adairia halted beside her.
Rand Graham. The evil leader of the Rookeries. Younger and more deadly than even Diggory. And that was saying something about his evil. Before he’d been taken down by the head proprietor of the Hell and Sin Club, the late Mac Diggory had ruled the streets of East London—and he’d done so with a viciousness that lived on in the memories of him that still haunted these cobblestones.
“First, you aren’t a viscount’s long lost daughter,” Julia started.
“An earl’s,” Adairia swiftly amended.
Innocent as the London day was unforgiving, Julia’s sister was too-naïve-for-her-own-good. “And you were not abducted, Adairia,” she continued. “My mother and I found you. You were lost,” she said bluntly, reminding her sister of that forgotten details. “Do you remember that?”
Adairia’s features fell. “Yes, but—”
“And third of all, are you really suggesting we answer a summons from Rand Graham, the most ruthless gang leader in the Dials since Mac Diggory, and discuss your supposed abduction from these parts?” Rand Graham who now controlled these parts.
After a beat of silence, Adairia beamed. “Yes!”
Oh, good Lord in heaven. Julia took her sister-from-the-streets by the arm and marched her toward more important matters—the fellow passing out flowers.
Except, Adairia wasn’t done.
“I don’t understand what the harm is in speaking with him. Oswyn said Graham knows information that no one else knows. He says I have an aunt, and she is a duchess, and—”
“You really don’t understand the danger?” Julia snapped, fighting to maintain her patience and realizing for the first time just how much she’d failed Adairia while trying to preserve her joyful spirit and innocence. “Since Diggory’s death, Graham’s openly fought for control of St. Giles and the Dials, and you really have no idea about his reputation?”
“But—”
“Let us assume that this farcical story is true. Let us assume you were abducted, which you absolutely were not,” Julia took care to remind Adairia. “The ones behind that evil would have been people Rand Graham is even now seeking to protect.”
Her eyes tortured, Adairia troubled at her lower lip, and for the span of a heartbeat Julia believed she’d managed to get through to her sister.
And then, Adairia lifted her palms. “But I have to know, Julia. I have to.”
“Aren’t we enough?” Julia implored. “Do you really need to go chasing dreams of bigger”—better—“families?”
That managed to cut through her friend’s jabbering.
Briefly. “Of course you are. But, Julia…” Adairia gripped her by the shoulders, turning Julia away from the street and forcing her to meet her eyes. “This is our chance.”
“Aye, it’s our chance.”
The other woman’s gaze lit.
“Our chance to get ourselves a windfall.” And they had to act before they were beaten to it. Julia pointed past her friend’s shoulder, directing her focus and attention precisely where it should be… on the crates upon crates overflowing with the whitest, most-silken-looking flowers she’d seen in all her years as a flower peddler.
Which, given that she’d been doing it since she was a small girl and had continued doing it all these years later, was saying a good deal indeed.
Adairia frowned, that downturn slip of the woman’s lips as rare as her silence. “I’m not talking about the flowers.”
“I know,” she said. “But you should be.”
The tall, golden-haired fellow headed to one of those carriages, and Julia instantly strained. He was leaving, which meant they had to act now.
Wait…
The servant collected another small case of white flowers.
No… there were more blooms, was all. So many. Why, at that amount, she and Adairia would be selling for days. There were so many, it would be impossible to keep up. They’d have to dry some of them out.
Fingers tugged at her sleeve.
“Julia.”
Dried flowers fetched less.
“Julia.”
But with this many of them, they could string together even more when the fresh buds weren’t plentiful.
“Julia!” There came another frantic tug on her tattered sleeve, and Julia ripped her attention her friend’s way.
“What?”
“What? Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said, Julia? I’m pointing out that if we pursue this,” Adairia said, “then we can put all of this behind us.”
Bloody hell.
The swarms had already converged upon the gent, and he and his servants were handing out cases of flowers to the waiting girls around him.
“Let’s go!” Julia muttered. Taking her friend by the hand, she began dragging her forward.
At her side, Adairia smiled. “Splendid. I—”
“I’m talking about the flowers. They’re going to be all gone.” Blast and hell. She maneuvered herself through the collection of smallish children and young women. “Flowers, please, sir,” she called, lifting her palms up to the liveried footman who was accepting offerings from another ridiculously bewigged fellow inside the coach.
The man gave her a once-over and frowned.
“Those ones are a bit old to be flower sellers, don’t you think, my lord?” he called, and Julia followed his stare to the person to whom he’d directed that question. Tall, attired in an elegant cloak, the man was already retreating, indicating how little he cared about this. “Probably one of the whore sorts.”
The whore sorts.
Of course, because everyone knew there were two types of flower sellers—the youngest of girls, who hawked
