"Beauty provokes harassment, the law says, but it looks through men's eyes when deciding what provokes it." Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

---

Chapter Two

His angel stood up from her loom and walked gracefully from her station to stand before Cassian and Mr Towler. She was still an angel. She had not changed a bit. Her face was still the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Her lovely brown hair was pulled into a braid over her shoulder, with the same rebellious little curls framing her face. He remembered her eyes, seeing them from above as he felt death taking him. The kindness in their chocolate depths was unlike anything he had ever seen.

Today they appeared wary. He did not like it. Was she wary of Henry Towler? Did he make her uncomfortable? Did he make the other women feel uncomfortable?

Something told Cassian he would soon have to advertise for a new overseer.

"Mr Kensington, let me introduce you to Mrs Faith Rowe. She joined Angel Faith Textiles just yesterday," Mr Towler introduced. "Mrs Rowe, Mr Kensington, our owner."

Faith smiled briefly before curtseying. There was no recognition in her brown eyes. She did not remember him.

That was actually quite disappointing. Then he focussed on a word he had not properly registered. Mrs.

She was married.

His eyes immediately went down to her left hand, which was intertwined with her right. She was twisting her hands nervously. She wore a wedding band on her left hand. Had she been wearing that when they had met previously? He could not remember. He supposed he was a little preoccupied with dying to notice his saviour's left hand.

What was she doing here? He remembered that she had been wearing clothes of fine silk. Now she wore a dark uniform. She had been travelling in the finest carriage he had ever seen. What happened?

"It is nice to meet you, Mr Kensington," she said politely.

Her voice. Her angelic voice. The voice that had haunted his dreams for years. Why did she not remember him?

"Does your husband approve of you working in my factory, Mrs Rowe?" Cassian asked curiously. He knew it was rude as soon as he spoke the words, but he wanted to know.

He could tell that Faith thought he was being rude as well, but she did her best to hide it. "My husband passed away, Mr Kensington."

The blood drained from his face and Cassian felt like a right cad. That explained why she was working in the factory. Her husband's money must have been lost. Perhaps he was a gambler. Perhaps she never loved him and was happy to be free of him. Before he could apologise, Mr Towler spoke.

"I was just explaining to Mr Kensington that I am in need of an assistant, to help me with the day to day supervision of the factory. I think you are the perfect candidate, Mrs Rowe."

Faith pressed her lips together, the movement capturing Cassian's attention immediately. It took him a moment to observe that Faith appeared uncomfortable with the idea of assisting Mr Towler.

Henry Towler was not the sort of man to treat such a close subordinate with respect, especially not a woman. Cassian needed to sack the man. He was growing more irritating by the minute.

"Mr Towler, if you are not equipped to undertake your own duties, perhaps I should find another to take your place?"

Cassian noticed that Faith's face instantly relaxed. He smiled at her.

Faith furrowed her eyebrows at him, unsure of him. It bewildered him that she did not remember him. How many half-dead men did she come across?

Mr Towler was left speechless. He had not been expecting that reply. "I suppose I should get back ..." he trailed off and left the loom room.

Faith flattened her apron nervously. "Thank you, sir," she murmured.

"Not at all, Mrs Rowe," he replied. "Does he bother you? Please tell me the truth."

His question startled her. Faith sucked in a breath before saying, "He is a man."

What sort of answer was that? Cassian frowned. "I am a man," he countered.

Faith did not reply.

Cassian looked beyond her to the dozen or so ladies that were working at the looms pretending not to listen. "How many of you have been bothered by Mr Towler?" he asked the room.

They all ceased work and looked up at Cassian. Only one spoke. She was an older lady, perhaps forty or so, with her thinning brown hair tucked underneath a cap. "As Mrs Rowe said, Mr Kensington, he is a man."

That was no excuse. He was a man, after all, and he never would have abused his power over a woman. In Cassian's opinion, Mr Towler was not a man. "Excuse me, ladies," he muttered before departing the room.

It angered him to know that Mr Towler had been taking liberties with his workers, but it infuriated him to know that his own angel had been subject to him after only working in the factory for a day.

Faith deserved better. She was an angel.

Cassian marched up the stairs and encountered Mr Towler talking to Mr Drew on the third floor. Mr Towler appeared to be complaining about something. No doubt it being Cassian's refusal to allow him a woman to harass.

Mr Drew could see the anger permeating from Cassian. "Sir, all Henry was asking for was –"

"If you need more men, Mr Drew, then tell me. I will hire two overseers. But I will not have any of my workers harassed by someone in my employ," snapped Cassian. Both men took a step back from him. "You had every intention of taking advantage of Mrs Rowe, did you not?" he seethed.

Mr Towler paled. "I thought her competent," he stammered.

Cassian scoffed. "You thought her pretty," he retorted. The word did not do justice to Faith but that was beside the point. "Mr Towler, I no longer have need of your services. You shall leave the premises immediately with a month's pay." Cassian was being generous. He suddenly remembered the bank notes in his pocket that he had never put away. He fished out the correct amount and tossed the money in Mr Towler's direction. The paper floated to the floor in front of a stunned Drew and Towler. "I shall find a replacement myself," Cassian told Mr Drew.

"Are you going to let him do this?" asked Mr Towler of Drew in disbelief. "I saw it with my own eyes. He wants that girl for himself! He is just trying to get me out of the way!"

Something told Cassian that Mr Drew knew a little more about these allegations then he was letting on. "Henry, you ought to take the money and go. I will be a reference for you," he said firmly.

Mr Towler haughtily gathered up his money and proceeded to stomp down the stairs, swearing and cursing the place as he left.

"You will be the one to go if I ever hear that this happens again," warned Cassian. Little did Mr Drew know, but he had a very precious person in his charge. If anything happened to Faith within these walls then Cassian would have blood.

"I understand, sir," replied Mr Drew seriously. He respectfully bowed his head before continuing up to his office.

Cassian knew that with the departure of Mr Towler, Angel Faith Textiles was now understaffed. He made the decision to remain in the factory for the rest of the day to supervise the workers. As he stood on the landing, overlooking one of the processing rooms, he caught his reflection in the window that looked out onto the London street below.

His appearance had changed a great deal in three years. He had always been a skinny child, then teenager, and then an adult, never having enough to eat. The lack of nutrients had meant grey skin, gaunt features, thinning hair, and constant illness.

It was a miracle he survived. A miracle Faith had found him.

Now he was a tall, healthy looking young man of twenty-five. His hair was no longer thin and patchy. It was thick, black, and curly, and fell to his jawline. His skin was no longer grey. It was clear, and perhaps a little tan from travelling recently. His fine, expensive clothing fit his lean physique well, and his bones no longer protruded anywhere.

He supposed it was perfectly reasonable for Faith not to recognise him, but perhaps she did remember him. It took all his strength not to follow the workers into the dining room once the bell from the midday break rang.

Faith did not know who he was, and he did not want to frighten her. As far as she knew, he was the owner of the factory, and the last thing he wanted to do was to appear like one of the men his workers were used to.

But he wanted to tell her who he was. He wanted to show her what her kindness had achieved. He wanted to prove to her that he had made something of himself, just as she had asked him to.

Cassian watched her over the landing as she walked with the others to eat the midday meal. She looked so small in and amongst the others. He could help her now.

Cassian spent the rest of the day helping where he could. He fixed jammed machinery. He moved materials from floor to floor. He carried the finished bolts of fabric downstairs, ready to be sent to the buyers. And he avoided the loom room at all costs.

At eight o'clock, the bell sounded for end of day. Cassian immediately wondered if his poor driver was still waiting outside for him. He would have to pour the man a drink.

The workers tidied and then left their stations before collecting their coats and hats. Those who walked by him smiled and said their goodbyes. Several expressed enthusiastic thanks. He attributed that to Mr Towler's dismissal. It gave him further affirmation that he had made the right decision.

Cassian farewelled Mr Drew, and informed him that he would place an advertisement for a new overseer in the morning. In the meantime, he would send a servant to help.

Cassian exited the factory and saw that Mr Green was still waiting with his carriage. Perhaps he would buy the man a bottle of whiskey. The street was dark, and was only illuminated by the few flickering street lamps. He could see several of his workers walking home in pairs or groups. He was now annoyed with himself that he did not see which way Faith went.

There was a single figure walking down the street, but he could not be sure it was her. The woman was wrapped in a brown coat, and that was really all he could see.

"Sir, look out!" cried Mr Green.

Cassian turned around just as a glass bottle collided with his temple. The bottle smashed upon impact and he felt several shards of it pierce his skin. The pain only worsened as he was knocked to the ground, and he collided with the hard, cobbled road.

"What you deserve," slurred a familiar voice.