"Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat." Mother Teresa

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Prologue

Hertfordshire, England

1802

What was this pain?

It felt as though iron rods were puncturing his stomach over and over. He was so tired and so weak. His limbs did not want to perform normal actions. He could not remember the last time he had tasted food. It could have been weeks. His gums hurt and bled. He felt as though he was rotting from the inside out. His mouth was dryer than sand and his lips were cracked and scabbed. His staggered, raspy breathing was only making this worse. He had become so thin that his bones protruded everywhere, and his once thick, curly black hair had begun to thin and fall out.

Cassian Kensington was starving, and was the poorest of poor men. He had not a penny to his name, with nothing but lint in his moth-eaten pockets.

While he was not born into poverty, it had soon found him. Cassian was born the son of a blacksmith and his wife. But an accident had claimed his father's life only three years later, and what little money that had was quickly taken in rent.

Out of utter desperation, and on the brink of starvation, Cassian's poor mother had turned to the entertainment profession. Cast out of their village in shame, Cassian and his mother lived in appalling conditions while his mother entertained strange gentlemen.

"Just you wait here, and you may choose whatever you like for supper tonight."

Cassian remembered her telling him that over and over as she left him in strange rooms, and on strange corners, or alleys, while she went away to do business. He remembered standing on street corners, only a small child, and watching the rich walk by him. They had such fine coats and hats. But they did not see him.

He quickly learned that the rich preferred not to notice the poor.

His poor mother suffered in those conditions. She wasted away, eventually dying from typhoid fever when Cassian was only ten years old.

Cassian had been on his own for twelve years. As a dirty, skinny, young street urchin, work was scarce, and impossible to find. As he grew older, he had hoped to find an apprenticeship, but no master would even consider him when they had older, burlier, stronger boys from families to choose from.

Every so often vicars would take pity on him, and find him odd jobs to do for a penny now and then, but steady work was virtually impossible for him to secure.

Despite his poverty, Cassian had never resorted to thievery. He had seen men in his similar situation hung for stealing, and sentenced to seven years transportation for poaching. No matter how hungry he was, he had never poached, and never stolen, not even a loaf of bread.

Though now, lying half dead on the side of the road as he was, a loaf of bread, stolen or not, would have made him feel like the richest man alive.

He was dying. He could feel it. Cassian's eyelids were heavy as he laid his head down on the ground next to the road. The grassy mounds beside the gravel road were comfortable.

As good a place as any for the death of a man like him. A man who mattered to no-one.

Would anyone find him before the animals made a meal out of him? Would anyone care? Would he have a burial? A grave? Would he be remembered?

Cassian knew his death would not affect a soul on this earth. He would die at the ripe old age of twenty-two without having lived. His position in life having given him the death sentence years ago.

Had he had the strength to cry out in anger, he would have. Cassian had never been given a chance! Not one! He had never been given the opportunity to prove himself, to be able to make a contribution to society.

No woman had ever looked upon him with anything except disgust when he had been in their way. He could never have dreamed to find a woman to love, and one who might love him in return.

Please, he willed in silence, please, I want to live.

In the distance, he faintly heard the sound of hooves on the road. A carriage was coming. Using whatever strength he had left, Cassian lifted his head ever so slightly.

There was a fine carriage travelling along the road towards him. The finest he had ever seen. All those years wandering the streets of London and he had never seen a finer carriage. Four strong horses pulled the carriage, and their hooves thundered against the road. As the carriage drew nearer, he felt the vibration in the earth.

Please, he prayed, I am here. I am alive. Please help me.

But he knew there was no point in hoping. A rich man would never stop to help a poor one. They would not sully their clean hands with the likes of him.

But he heard a voice, a lovely, female voice, cry out, "Stop the carriage!"

The driver immediately pulled on the reins and the horses skidded to a stop.

Cassian squinted up at the carriage as the window in the door dropped down and a face appeared.

An angel. She was an angel! Was he dead? He had to be. An angel was before him. Was this carriage the vessel that was to take him to heaven?

A white gloved hand appeared on the door as she opened it and climbed out gracefully. She wore an exquisite gown, the colour of the sky, and the softness of the fabric touched his bare arm as she knelt down in the dirt beside him. Her brown hair was perfectly pinned and curled, though a rebellious tendril had fallen across her forehead. Her skin was the colour of porcelain, so perfectly smooth and delicate. There was a slight flush to her cheeks and her soft, full lips were parted slightly.

But the angel's eyes were what captivated him. The brown colour reminded him of the extraordinary confection windows he had seen in London, of the chocolate he had always longed to taste. The concern in her eyes was something he had never seen before. Nobody had ever looked upon him with anything but disgust or pity. The angel was kind.

Cassian was grateful God had sent his most beautiful angel to collect him.

"Don' touch 'im, ma'am," grunted the driver, though Cassian barely heard him. "You don' know what crawlers he's carryin'."

"Oh, hush," warned the angel, "can you not see that this poor man needs my help?" The angel placed her gloved hand on the side of his cheek. Cassian willed his eyes to stay open, to see her beautiful face for as long as he could. "Oh, you poor thing. What must have happened to you?" Her face turned to her driver. "Mr Carne, fetch me the water from inside. I have some biscuits, too. Bring them," she instructed.

The driver must have obeyed, as within moments the angel was trying to help him sit up to eat. The angel's arm was around him, supporting him, and he could feel her soft hair on his cheek. She had a sweet scent, something floral that reminded him of spring time.

"Here, drink," she urged, bringing the cool metal of a flask to his lips.

Cassian could not remember the last time he had tasted clean water. He usually drank from whatever pool of water he came across. The water soothed his parched throat, and was welcome relief on his bloodied and chapped lips.

Next the angel was feeding him the most incredible sugared biscuits. They melted in his mouth but his stomach hurt as it received its first food in an age. It hurt to chew, but the nourishment was more important.

"We need to go, ma'am," urged the angel's driver.

"One minute," replied the angel. "He must eat."

"Ma'am, he's just an urchin. Ain't nothin' you can do for 'im. He's half dead already. Just look at 'im!"

Cassian watched as the angel pressed her lips together firmly. "He is not just an urchin, Mr Carne. He is important to somebody." The angel brushed her white glove over his forehead, pushing away some of his matted, curly dark hair, and she smiled her angelic smile. "And I am familiar with the feeling of desperation. What is your name?" she asked him. "I can write to your family if you wish."

With moisture returned to his mouth, he managed to reply, "No family, ma'am, and my name is Cassian. Cassian Kensington."

"I am glad we met, Mr Kensington. My name is -"

"Ma'am, we need to go!" her driver urged more forcefully.

The angel regretfully nodded. "I am afraid Mr Carne is right, Mr Kensington. It is essential for me to reach my destination by sundown." She looked truly regretful. "This," she said, holding up the flask, "is made of silver. You will fetch a fine price for it." She then dug her delicate hand into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a coin purse. "Take this as well," she insisted. She pushed the heavy coin purse into his hand.

Cassian barely had the strength to hold it. "Ma'am, no..." he said weakly.

"Yes," she insisted. "You will take this." She then removed the glove on her right hand. Her hands were so delicate and dainty, and residing on her ring finger was a beautiful jewelled ring. Cassian had never seen anything so valuable up close. "And this," she decided, removing the ring and placing it in the coin purse for safekeeping. "You will take this, too."

"Why?" Cassian struggled to ask.

As the angel slipped her glove back onto her hand, she smiled at him. "I have good intuition about people, Mr Kensington. You are a good man who just needs a little help. You will take this money and you will make something of yourself. I have faith in you."

The angel knew nothing about him. Why would she show him this kindness? He could have been a criminal for all she knew. "How can I ever thank you?" Cassian rasped.

"Thank me by living a better life." She placed her hand on his cheek once more. "I know what it is to be desperate, but yours is a far greater need than mine." The angel got to her feet and brushed the dirt off of her skirt. "There is a village, that way, not a half mile. Rest a little, and when you have your strength, you will find a bed and a meal there."

"May I have your name, ma'am?" He needed to know who to thank in his prayers. This angel deserved eternal blessings or her kindness.

As she climbed back into her carriage, she turned back to look at him once more. "I suppose you may call me Faith." She smiled warmly. "Good luck, Mr Kensington. May we meet again."

The angel, Faith, was taken away in the carriage, and Cassian was left on the side of the road richer than he could have ever imagined.