Blessing by Lyn Cote Page B

you know what she is too,” the man tossed back. “From firsthand experience, right?”
    Gerard’s spine tingled, his face flushing hotly.
    Blessing took a deep breath and faced the man squarely. “Go away. I’m taking her home with me.”
    “She’ll be back tomorra night,” the man jeered. “Her type allus is.” He curled his lip and stalked away. “She’ll be back!” he taunted once more.
    Without hesitation the widow bent over the girl. “Can thee stand?”
    “Who are you?” the girl stammered, panting, sprawled against the wall like a limp rag doll.
    “I’m Blessing Brightman.”
    “Oh, I heard of you. You help people.” The girl moved to rise but then fell back, groaning with pain and holding her arm against herself.
    Blessing turned to Gerard. “If thee will help her to her feet, I can get her to my carriage.”
    “Where are you taking me?” the girl whimpered.
    “To a place where you can have a good meal, clean clothes, and a warm bed for the night. Would thee like that?”
    The girl nodded, then moaned, still protecting her abdomen with her arm.
    Gerard did not want to touch this girl. She gave filthy a bad name. But a lady had made a request within his power, and he must grant it. Gingerly and at arm’s length, he slipped his hands under the girl’s arms and lifted her, then propped her against the wall. With his every move, her moans tore at him in a way he hadn’t expected.
    Without any reluctance, Blessing slid an arm under the girl’s arms and drew her close. “Can thee walk if I help thee?”
    The girl grunted her assent. “Just go slow,” she whispered, panting. “Please.”
    Blessing took a step forward and the girl stumbled with her, wavering precariously.
    Gerard knew he should ask Blessing to take his cane and then lift the young girl himself and carry her. But he found he simply couldn’t touch her again, till she staggered and fell, taking the Quakeress down with her onto the filthy alley pavers.
    He growled with frustration and thrust his cane toward the widow. “Here. I’ll carry her.” He helped Blessing up, then stooped and lifted the girl into his arms. She weighed barely anything. “Where’s your carriage?” he gasped at Blessing, breathing through his mouth at the stench.
    She hurried forward. “Not far.”
    Within a block, the carriage came into sight. Gerard picked up his pace, wanting to get this over with. The old, black driver scrambled down and opened the carriage door.Gerard climbed inside just long enough to deposit the girl on the seat, then backed out quickly.
    The Quakeress gazed at him through the dusk. “Thee is a surprising man, Gerard Ramsay. Just when I think I have thee figured out, thee does something unexpected.”
    He didn’t like this at all. He wanted to captivate Blessing and then bring her down a step or two, not actually help her. “You can take the girl and clean her up,” he retorted, “but there are two kinds of women. And she’s the kind who will end up back here in a week.”
    Blessing Brightman drew herself up and held out her hand to her driver, who helped her into the carriage. Then she turned regally to face Gerard. “Thee is wrong, Gerard Ramsay. In truth there is only one kind of woman, but there are two kinds of men—those who respect women and those who debase them. Which kind is thee?” She sat; her driver shut the door and drove off up the bluff.
    Gerard stood there, feeling a mix of shame and anger drift through him. That woman. He would best her yet.

    Reaching the rear of the orphanage, Blessing asked Judson, her driver, to assist the girl out of the carriage. With her charge between them, they helped her into the house and directly into the washroom. Blessing heard Joanna speaking to the cook in the nearby kitchen. Judson left them and went to park the carriage.
    “What are you going to do to me?” the girl whimpered.
    “I’m offering to let thee take a warm bath, and when thee is clean, I will call a