Now the kids were scrambling in earnest. Pillowcases, blouses, and undergarments were scattered on the cobblestones. Gwen gathered up what she could while he chased after the street urchins.

Most of the kids didn’t fight too hard. They weren’t too keen on someone else’s underthings, but the laundry was easy pickings, and anything was a prize to kids who lived close to the bone.

A rickety old vegetable crate lay abandoned in the lane. Patrick flipped it upright and dumped the laundry inside. By the time he’d scooped up the last pillowcase, they were both winded and exhilarated.

“That was kind of fun,” Gwen confessed.

“Kind of like running after baseballs.”

She burst into laughter. “If you say that word one more time, I’m going to have to leave.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “You pick a place for us to go. Somewhere public.”

She pulled back to look at him in confusion. “Why so earnest?”

This was it. He turned her shoulders to face him squarely. “I want to keep seeing you, but out in the open. We’ve rubbed along pretty well over the past few weeks. I like you.”

He knew she liked him back, but he didn’t know if she was embarrassed to be seen with him. He’d never know as long as they kept huddling on the fire escape. Heat prickled across his skin, and his heart kicked up to an uncomfortable pace.

“I like the idea of you and me,” he continued. “I know we seem so different on the outside, but I’d be a happy man if you wanted to step out in public with me. Officially, that is.” His face flushed. “If you’re game.”

“I’m game,” she said. “Wherever you want, I’ll go with you.”

“Come here.” He grinned, tugging her into his embrace. A couple of the street kids saw them and let out rude catcalls, but he didn’t care. The fact that Gwendolyn Blackstone Kellerman looked up at him with admiration shining in her pretty green eyes sent him over the moon.

It looked like they might have a future after all.

17

Patrick’s mother was sullen as she sat in the corner of her bedroom, watching him change the linen on her bed. She was still too weak to help, and he assumed her moodiness was born of frustration at the length of her recovery. He was wrong.

“When are you planning to tell me about that woman?” she asked, disapproval heavy in her voice. “I know she shows up every evening after I’ve gone to bed and the pair of you sneak out onto the fire escape.”

Patrick blinked in surprise. “Mrs. Kellerman?”

“Aye. Never in a million years would I have suspected you of running around with another man’s wife.”