MR BILLIONAIRE CHOICE

h spending the night in a prison cell, or with the fact that I had made a total mess of my plan,

k statues, chasing me through the dark streets of London all night, shouting: 'Stop her! Stop the feminist! She has to be at work on Monday! At nine sharp! Cat

heart hammering so fast I knew I woul

over the gutter of one of London's finest dingy alleyways. The door, of course, was designed to fit the standards of the window and was similarly crafted from highly decorative iron bars. The bed, as my back could attest, was also made to fit the highest standards, and was able to reduce your back muscles to a tangle of aching knots within five minutes. All in all, it was a

truth be told, they probably thought it was safer for the other prisoners. After all, they couldn't want those poor misunderstood thieves, burglars and murderer

fuge? Would I be sent to prison for daring to defy the laws of England? Or put in the stocks? Or transported to the colonies like a common thief? That last thought cheered me up considerably. I had heard t

colony. I couldn't leave. And even if I could get out of England, I knew I would rather stay and fight for my rights. Running from my proble

by the throat, and it had just slipped through my fingers. Would it be like that with every other kind of freedom? Yes, it probably w

uffed it into my sleeve to conceal it from the Bobby who had taken my personal effects. Yes, a

ing little voice from the back of my mind. Forget it! Forget about him. Forget he ever existed, or

dn't, w

rtainl

t cer

t.

s. Often enough had I wondered about what would happen with me if my uncle, the one who took me and my siblings in after our parent's death, were suddenly to die. Deep inside, I knew the answer. There was

ens of thousands of working-class men, women and children available for those jobs, and I suspected they were ten

y worker earned about 1s 3d per day. That made about 400s per year, or in other words, £20. The average rent for a nice, comfortable home was about £100. So, if I took up factory work, I

ple managed to live at all. But I soon stopped w

ver... Mr Ambrose had offered me a job as a private secretary. That was a prestigious post, and well-paid. It cou

o

ever nastier manner, proving itself to have quite sharp and annoying edges. Well... I looked around. There was

t up into the moonlight filtering i

rd Am

re H

denhall

ccupation – as if the man expected everybody to know who he was. And maybe, just mayb

Street in the very heart of the banking district? Where all the largest banks and companies, even the East India Company and the Ba

pparently were a few things hidden

out it. It had been a preposterous idea in the first place. He would kick me out of his office as soon as he caught sight of me, or get his goons to do it. Maybe that m

n job! My own money, earned with my own hands. Money to do with as I pleased. No longer would I be dependent

people on this wonderful earth, she was most desirous of obtaining what she could not have. First and foremost among those desires was a craving for social status, w

n invitation to a duchess's tea party. The sale of relatives, however, unfortunately being illegal in England, she was confined to trying to marry each of us off to as rich and noble a bridegroom as possible, thus killing two birds with one stroke: not only would she be ridding hers

ll six of us were still unmarried, and if I had my way, things

dispensed with at a good profit, and was not very pleased about it. She had pointed out more than once that we would not always be

for myself?' I had asked her on

nguage, and then given me a sour grimace which was probably