“Please do,” she said with enthusiasm so great that her cheeks flushed with joy. “We always need more hands.”
He felt a wave of such satisfaction at her look he was convinced he could pass out pamphlets for the rest of the day and not complain.
What the blazes was happening to him?
Beatrice grabbed a stack of pamphlets from one of her friends, a dark-haired girl with a red hat, and put them into his hands.
“You are not above such a thing?” she queried.
He paused, then said earnestly, “I am never above working with you, Beatrice. And I think we should do more. I think we must unite and create an organization that strengthens the Ladies’ League of Rights.”
“What an excellent reply,” she marveled.
“Thank you,” he said with a wink. “It was impulsive.”
“I’m glad to know that you did not have to practice it,” she teased.
Bloody hell, how he wished he could kiss her right there and right then.
Seeing her out and about, doing what she loved was positively invigorating.
Inspiring, even.
His work took place largely in back rooms with taciturn old men determined to keep gold and power in their gnarled grasp.
He wondered that he had never done such outside work before. Why hadn’t he gone out amongst Londoners?
He did want to begin something new with her. Something they could strive for together.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked, holding those beloved pamphlets.
“No,” he said firmly. “What do you have in mind? You lead on this.”
Her eyes widened with astonishment, and she swallowed. “Let us work side by side, then. As one. Surely we can organize and begin a speaking tour. We can set up stages and bring the voices of those who do not have rights as of yet to all.”
He nodded, feeling waves of excitement. “To all of London. To Manchester, York, Bristol, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Dublin,” he enthused. “We can organize it and bring speakers to areas that might never hear of the injustices being done daily at home and abroad.”
She beamed at him. “Together?” she whispered. “How can we lose?”
With a squeeze of his hand, Beatrice then turned back to the crowds passing her and continued her work.
As he looked about, he realized that it would be better if Beatrice had more opportunity to speak to people, for she was making claims right, left, and center without quaking.
And many were listening to her and taking the pamphlets.
“Support ladies and their seeking rights and independence,” she called, brandishing her literature.
“Support women and their right to keep their children,” she added at the top of her lungs.
His throat tightened, and his eyes burned. And he thought of his mother. The pain of it sped through his body like poison, and he fought a gasp.
If only his mother had been given the rights Beatrice now fought for. If only someone had championed his mother…she might not have had to abandon him.
He might not have had to be alone.
He forced himself to draw in breath after breath, digging his nails into his palms before the agony at what could have been overwhelmed him.
“Support women and their right to be protected from violence within the home!” she called, turning to another group.