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Chapter Ten

T hey went to the stable together, Mr. Rowles claiming he wished to see the wall for himself once more so he could accurately describe it to the mason. Geny had considered asking Charity to accompany her for propriety’s sake, but after wrestling with what the correct course of action should be, she decided against it. Charity would be teaching the duties of a lady’s maid to a small group of orphans, and Geny feared to make a bigger deal of the outing than it truly was. She was merely performing a service for the asylum alongside one of the workers. It was like going somewhere with a footman, she reasoned, and then tried not to think about how little she viewed him in the guise of a footman or any other worker. She also refused to admit how much she was looking forward to their conversation during the short outing.

Geny went to the carriage house where she found her groom and gave him orders to have the horses put to again. Mr. Rowles then excused himself to see the wall before retrieving his hat and cloak, and she found herself pacing nervously inside the stable as she waited for him, unable to stay still. Her unruly emotions were somewhat akin to a runaway carriage; she had no control over them and no idea where they were headed.

He returned just as the groom had readied everything. When a stable hand stepped forward to assist her, Mr. Rowles put up his hand, indicating that he would do it. He held her hand in a firm grip, allowing her to climb in, and she was suddenly seized by some nonsensical notion of the princes and princesses she’d read about as a girl. She slid over on the seat, and he took the place across from her, then closed the door. With an inquiring look, he raised his hand to tap the ceiling, and she nodded. The carriage started forward.

Her goal had been to assist Mr. Rowles in finding a mason, with the added benefit of spending more time with him. But now that they sat across from each other, all she could focus on was how nervous she was. This did not extend to mistrust; although she did not know what they would discuss, she knew she could trust being alone with him in the carriage.

“So this Adam Cook is located in Clerkenwell?” Mr. Rowles asked. He had overheard her giving instructions to the groom.

“Yes. And John Smith lives only a few streets away if Mason Cook cannot do the job. This was one reason Mr. Laurier recommended them both, besides their skill. The odds are greater that at least one of them will be free to take on our project without traveling the whole of London.”

He nodded and brought his gaze to hers, a smile lurking in his eyes. “I am happy to have your company, although I fear I am abusing your goodness.”

“You are not. I do precisely what I wish to, and I wanted to come.” It was forward of her to admit to it, but she could not lie. Never had she behaved thus in the presence of a man—with so little filter for saying exactly what she thought.

A silence settled between them until his lips turned upwards. “You look very fetching today, Lady Eugenia. I should not say it, but I keep thinking it. ”

Geny ducked her head to hide the smile that sprang instantly to her lips. “You have a sweet tongue.”

He chuckled softly. “I do, perhaps. But in this instance, I am only stating the absolute truth.”

“ Hmm .” She pinched her lips together and attempted to plug the joy that bubbled over.

Mr. Rowles took a deep breath. “Have you given any thought yet to which orphans will train under my supervision?”

“As a matter of fact, I did wish to speak to you on the matter, because I have two boys in mind. I suppose I should consult Mr. Dowling first since it is his domain.” She let out a sigh. “I confess that I have not been eager for that conversation.”

A dry laugh escaped him. “I think I can imagine why. Although, I would rather hear it from you than assume I know its cause.”

“Mr. Dowling is a strange mix of familiarity and fawning, and I find it uncomfortable. On one hand, he will easily approach me on any matter he deems must interest me and will stand closer than I would like him to. And in the same instant, he will speak of the social distance that separates us as though he is not worthy of breathing the same air. It shows how little he knows me, for social disparity is not something that offends me. Being overly familiar, on the other hand, does.”

“He does not look upon me with any fondness,” Mr. Rowles admitted. “But the feeling is mutual. I suppose I should be the one to ask him about the orphans to train. After all, we do work together.”

“Perhaps. If he gives you a difficult time, please let me know.”

Geny fiddled with her gloves and glanced at him under her lashes. When he caught her regard, he smiled wordlessly. His smiles were open, but she wished he were not so mysterious about the details of his life. The only thing she knew about him was that he was from Surrey and that he had a brother.

“Were you close to your parents? ”

“I was too young to remember my birth father. My mother remarried when I was only two years old. I remember loving her very much, and she died when I was seven.”

“Oh.” Her heart sank at the thought of him losing his mother at such a young age. “You poor thing. It was hard enough for me to lose my mother, and I was already sixteen.”

“It was dreadfully hard. I suppose what brought me comfort was that my stepfather and stepbrother had a true fondness for me, as though we were related by blood. My stepfather never remarried after her death. I think having two wives predecease him was enough for him. He died four years ago.”

“I am sorry to hear that. And your brother?” she prompted him. “You mentioned he is living in the north with his wife. He cares for a parish there, I believe. Do you visit him?”

“Not as often as I should.” He sighed. “I have been thinking that I should have gone to see him before I took on this position. It will not be so easy to get leave to do so now.”

“It is not too late. Fortunately, the asylum is not a workhouse, either for the children or its stewards.” She smiled at him. “Perhaps you might go this summer?”

“Perhaps,” he said as the carriage slowed and came to a halt. It was probably just as well their conversation was interrupted, for although he had answered her questions, he did not seem eager to offer more than he had to. She did not want to offend him by continuing to pry.

The groom opened the door. “This is the address, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

She waited until Mr. Rowles stepped down and lifted his hand up to take hers. The strength of his grip sent a tingle through her. He held her hand for just a second longer as though to make sure she was firmly set on the ground before he released it.

Geny looked around them. In the distance, she could see some tenement housing, but here the road had more space, and there were houses along it that seemed to belong to people who earned a correct living. A small forge sat by the side of the humble house in front of them, and a man plunged the glowing iron into a stone basin of water, causing it to sizzle loudly. He set it down and, wiping his hands, came over to see them.

“Mason Cook?” she asked.

“Ay. ’Tis me.”

She glanced at Mr. Rowles, who stepped forward.

“I am the steward for the foundling asylum in Bloomsbury, and a part of the stone wall in the stable needs to be repaired urgently. Do you have the time and competence for such work?”

Mason Cook was a wiry gentleman with grizzled hair and a deeply lined face, and he seemed to reflect for a moment before answering. He turned when a younger man stepped out of the house.

“Carl, we have some Quality here needing a repair on a stone wall. Can you do it?” The man nodded, and Mason Cook turned back to Mr. Rowles. “’Tis my son. He’ll be a better man for your job, though he can’t come until Monday next week.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Rowles glanced at the younger man. “Have you something with which to write? I will give you the direction to the asylum.”

Carl tapped his head with a meaty finger. “I’ll remember it.”

Mr. Rowles accepted this without question and gave him the directions, adding, “I will see you Monday next.”

“I did not expect to meet with such immediate success,” he said when they had resumed their places inside the carriage again.

“Nor I. I suppose we will not need to visit the other mason.” Geny was conscious of a vague sense of disappointment, for it meant they would not have an excuse to spend more time together.

“No, I do not think that is necessary.” He smiled at her. “Thank you for your assistance, my lady.”

She smiled back. “Of course.”

As the horses moved forward, Geny reached into the reticule that lay on the seat at her side. “Even if this is Mr. Dowling’s domain, I did wish to show you the list of boys I thought might suit for training in arithmetic—although I think only the first two are truly suitable. I’ve listed their ages and talents.”

He took the paper from her and unfolded it, then squinted as he tried to read her writing.

“I have difficulty reading this with the light coming in from the west end.” He glanced up at her. “Thank you. I will look it over as soon as we reach the orphanage.

Without forethought, Geny slid over on her seat and patted the place next to her. “The light is better on this side. If you were able to read it now, I can answer any questions you might have.”

She had not intended to invite more intimacy with Mr. Rowles. It was just that she was a practical woman and was in the habit of using each opportunity that was given. Besides, she felt instinctively safe with him. But she did suffer a moment’s embarrassment as soon as she realized what he might presume of her suggestion.

Fortunately, he did not hesitate and moved to sit beside her in the most natural way. That gesture alone caused her heart to start beating pitifully. Although she had had no designs when she suggested he sit by her, now that they were side by side, she could feel the warmth of his arm next to hers. It was a comforting, inviting sensation, and she understood why such proximity was generally avoided between unmarried ladies and gentlemen. She also suffered a pang of conscience that she had not insisted that Charity accompany her .

Mr. Rowles skimmed the paper and pointed to the first name. “Gabriel seems to be an interesting choice. If he has such a prodigious memory, he may have a knack for more than just sums. I am less certain of Timothy, but I certainly trust your judgment, for you know them well.”

He turned to look at her and froze, as though he had only just been made aware of their closeness. With his gaze intent upon her, she could not answer for the space of a heartbeat. It was as though her breath had been knocked from her lungs.

She licked her lips and that drew his eyes downward, although this, too, had not been her intention. Suddenly, despite the fresh air of springtime pouring into the carriage, their confined space had grown too warm.

“Gabriel was the first person I thought of.” It was not without a struggle that she managed to get the words out, and not for the life of her could she pull her eyes from his. After she swallowed over her dry throat, she reached over with her gloved hand and pointed to the second name. His gaze followed reluctantly to where she pointed, and she drew a deep breath, striving for normalcy.

“Timothy is perhaps not as bright as some others, and certainly not as bright as Gabriel. However, he has an understanding of the way things work. He can fix just about anything, and his solutions are innovative. For that reason, I would like to see him have a chance at a position that will put these talents to use.”

“I will certainly follow your recommendations on this matter since you know the orphans better than I do.”

Mr. Rowles lifted his head and turned back to her, then went still as his regard held her captive. They remained like this for a charged moment, their gazes locked.

“My lady, forgive me for saying this, but I find that you unsettle me.” His voice was soft, but every word rang out like a bell and resonated in her heart .

Geny was breathless. “In what way?”

“You are unlike anyone I have ever met.” He broke the gaze, then immediately brought it back. “I confess that I am developing feelings for you that are inappropriate, given our difference in station.”

“I am not sure… It is perhaps unladylike of me to admit this, but…” Geny stopped, heart pounding, and yet unable to refrain from saying the rest. “I admit to feeling the same way.”

Something flashed in his eyes then. “Since that night at the Sookholme ball, I have longed to do this.” Mr. Rowles reached over and grazed his fingers along her cheek.

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. And as if he needed no more invitation, she flickered her eyes open just in time to see him bend his face downward. He touched his lips to hers, and white flashes like bursts of light came from behind her eyelids. He brought his other hand up and cradled her face as he continued to kiss her.

Geny’s heart pattered in her chest like the wings of a sparrow, and she rested one hand on his arm, leaning forward into the kiss. He slipped his other arm around her waist and focused only on kissing her, his fingers caressing the skin on her cheeks and neck. For one heavenly moment, she knew only the tenderness of his kiss. Not how lonely she was, not the difference between their stations. Inhaling deeply, he pulled her closer.

The carriage jerked forward, throwing them nearly onto the seat across from them. Outside, the groom cried out an oath, and the carriage rattled to a sharp halt. Mr. Rowles placed a protective hand on Geny’s side as he settled her back into her seat, his worried eyes examining her for injury. The carriage tilted, signaling the groom’s descent from the box, and Mr. Rowles leapt to the seat across from her, his chest heaving.

The groom opened the door and peered in with concern. “My lady, are you well? You appear overset. My apologies. A cow-handed gent cut off my path and left me with no choice but to rein in suddenly.”

“I am flustered,” she said. “But I do not blame you. Pray, do drive on.” Before he could close the door, she asked, “How much longer until we reach the asylum, Higgins?”

“In two minutes we’ll be there, my lady.”

The door shut, and they were once again in the dusky interior of the carriage. Geny folded her hands and attempted to regain her composure, a nearly impossible feat but one that must be done.

“My lady,” he began.

She feared what he would say and held up her hand, smiling feebly. “Please do not say anything about…that.” She could not bear to hear that he regretted having kissed her. It would spoil everything. “Would you tell me instead? What is your first name?

He looked at her in surprise, and then smiled faintly. “My name is John.”

John. Somewhere in her subconscious she recalled that Mr. Aubin’s Christian name was John as well. Margery had told her that the night after Mrs. Sookholme’s party, and she remembered it because she liked the name. It was a solid, reassuring sort of name. What an odd chance it was. She received his confidence with a smile but did not make free use of it.

Another shout came from outside, but this time it was followed by the sounds of iron gates being unlocked and opened. The carriage rattled over the cobblestones into the interior courtyard and came to a stop.

John and Geny locked eyes for a brief moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something but seemed to decide against it. The groom opened the door a second later, and he climbed out. Then he held out his hand to assist her, so she might alight.

In the full view of everyone, he became formal and bowed over her hand. “My lady, I wish to thank you for your assistance. I will bid you good day and return to my work.”

Geny nodded and mumbled something inarticulate about it having been no trouble. The disappointment of such formality after their closeness threatened to crush her. The fact that he could hardly have behaved in a different manner did not weigh with her, not when it came to her emotions. She wanted to prolong their time together and discuss what had just happened—to see that he had been affected by what they had shared as well. She wanted to know if…if they had a future together after such intimacy.

She turned to watch him walk toward the entrance and suddenly could not leave the asylum quickly enough. She called out to the groom, who had begun to lead the horses to the stable.

“Higgins, there is no need to unhitch the horses. I will stand here with them. Charity should be in the room where the girls are setting stitches. Fetch her for me, if you will.”

The groom touched his cap. “Ay, my lady.” He went off, and Geny reached up to pat Hero’s nose. He eyed her, seeming to sense her distress.

“Yes, you have guessed it,” she whispered. “And I do not know what will happen now.” The gelding nudged her, and she allowed herself to be consoled by him so she would be ready to face her maid with a degree of calm.