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Chapter Nineteen

J ohn entered Blackstone’s in a state of shock, scarcely able to return Plockton’s greeting. Lady Geny had just learned of his identity. He was nearly certain of it based on her stunned expression, which mirrored his own. That, and the way she turned to step into the carriage without speaking to him. The knowledge that he had lost her good opinion hurt more than he could have imagined. It was only now that he realized just how much he had been fooling himself into thinking he would find a way out of this dilemma without losing Geny. It had been foolish to hope that he would.

John walked numbly in the direction of the drawing room, scarcely heeding anyone around him. Since he had come to the club with no particular purpose that day, he considered going home. Time in solitude was needed to deal with the blow he had just suffered on the street. Strangely enough, though, the undemanding atmosphere of the club soothed the turbulence of his emotions, and he decided to stay. He headed toward the empty chair next to Harry Smart.

“Aubin, this here is Miles Yardley. He’s just joined, too. We go two years without any new members, and now we get an assortment at once.”

“A pleasure,” John said quietly with a polite nod.

Even if he were in the mood to do so, he would not accost the man to learn why he had been blackballed elsewhere as John had been upon his first meeting.

“You will never guess what caused him to be blackballed,” Drake said, grinning as he wandered over to them.

“I do not think we need to go into that now,” Mr. Yardley said stiffly.

John felt for him and shook his head. “No indeed.” Then, in an effort to ease Yardley’s discomfort more than anything, he forced himself to make conversation. “Has anyone seen Sir Humphrey?”

“Hasn’t been in today,” Harry answered. “Why?”

In another world, John would have been more circumspect but given that he had just lost any chance of winning Lady Geny, he threw caution to the wind. “I need to find a way to bring Lord Goodwin to book for what he did, and I realize that I cannot accomplish it alone. I may be losing my access to the foundling asylum soon.”

“The foundling asylum? In Bloomsbury?” Mr. Yardley turned to him, an interested light in his eyes. It seemed he recognized it.

“Yes, the very one. Do you have a connection to it?”

Yardley indicated that he did. “As a barrister, I once represented a peer who had made a significant donation to the asylum years ago when it first opened, but he was not confident the money was used for the right purposes. He came to see what might be done.”

“Who was your client?” John asked before he thought the better of it. He was unsurprised at Yardley’s answer.

“I am afraid I cannot disclose that. Client privilege, you understand. ”

“Of course.” John thought for a minute. Drake had turned away, but Harry was still listening. It didn’t matter anymore. He had nothing to lose. “Can you tell me whether you were able to pin anything on him?”

Yardley seemed to feel the information was safe to divulge. “In the end, my client declared himself satisfied. The earl showed him a commemorative tablet that had been engraved with the names of sponsors and amounts, informing him that it would be hung in the chapel. My client thought that if he’d anything to hide he would not publicize the donations that way. Said the early funds had been absorbed in improving the building structure?—”

John snorted. When Yardley broke off to stare at him, he explained. “Part of the stable wall crumbled last week.”

“Ah. So it was not used to improve the structure.” Yardley did not appear to be a man who spoke before he was ready to do so, and he took his time as he mulled over this.

“If you want to expose the earl, you must not attempt to do it yourself, for society will only drag your name through the mud…” He paused as an interested light came to his eye. “Was that it? The reason for your being blackballed?”

John nodded.

“Then I advise you to give any evidence you collect into the hands of a peer and let him do the work. My father?—”

“His Grace, the Duke of Rigsby.”

A voice behind their chairs startled John and caused both him and Yardly to look behind them in an attempt to catch sight of the man who had spoken.

John almost jumped at the ghoulish face that peered back until he recognized it to be a wild boar’s head, next to which was Lord Blackstone. A candle lit the viscount’s face from underneath, casting black shadows on his features as though he were attempting to frighten them. John suspected this was not the case .

“I beg your pardon?”

“We must approach His Grace. Goodwin has persuaded the duke’s son, Lord Amherst, to invest in his textile mill in exchange for his daughter’s hand.”

“What?”

John leapt to his feet. Such arranged marriages were not uncommon in society, and it mattered little that he could not have her. He would not sit by idly while Lady Geny was bartered off in such a way. “I need Lord Amherst’s direction.”

He was ready to run off at that very moment in search of him. Lord Blackstone held up a hand and gestured for him to resume his chair, before leaving behind the barred teeth and dim circle of light to take the empty seat next to them. John obeyed, and Lord Blackstone indicated for Yardley to speak.

“Well, Miles? I believe you have something to say?”

Yardley nodded. “Let us have all of the evidence you have currently gathered and see what might hold. You do not even need a court of law to stop the earl. Society’s silent rebuke will serve just as well.”

John complied, detailing the marble plaque, Gabriel’s anonymous sponsorship, the caved-in wall, and missing recorded expenditures, leaving nothing out as Blackstone and Yardley listened. Harry patted his pockets and pulled out his snuffbox, appearing enraptured by the conversation.

At the end of it, Yardley frowned. “I am afraid it is not enough to bring the earl down. It is a lot of circumstantial evidence, but there is nothing solid. You may have to go up north and visit the textile mill yourself to see if you can find any evidence there.”

The momentary hope that Yardley would give him the magic solution was dashed. A silence fell that was broken only by some teasing laughter coming from one corner of the room. He glanced over, unsurprised to see Sebastian Drake at the heart of it .

“Get the evidence,” Lord Blackstone said. “And I will bring it to the duke’s attention. I was able to preserve his favorite spaniel, who now sits happily in his permanent place in the duke’s library. His Grace will receive me.”

“Thank you,” John said. It was the best he could do.

That night, John wrestled with the question of whether he should bother going to the orphanage the next day or not. The uncertainty of whether Geny had truly learned of his identity, and the fact that he still had work to do there weighed on the side of going. However the apprehension of having her receive him with contempt made it difficult for him to set forth with any confidence.

In the end, it was the thought of Timothy and Gabriel waiting for him that made him go. He could not disappear from their lives without explanation. Even if he was chased out of the asylum, they should know that he had attempted to continue in his role as steward and had not forgotten about them.

He went early and was therefore unsurprised that the carriage bearing the earl’s crest was not there. This was a small respite he had depended upon, as it would give him some time to settle into his office and prepare himself for when she did arrive, if indeed she had planned to come today. Perhaps she would avoid him entirely and send word that he should pack his things, never to return.

There was also the risk that Lord Goodwin himself would arrive and throw him out on his ear. The risk had always been there, and he could not blame Lady Geny if—shocked by what she had learned about his identity—she arrived at the orphanage in the company of the earl so he might throw John out.

Although she is perfectly capable of doing the task herself , he thought glumly.

To his surprise Gabriel was already in his office, diligently at work at the small table.

“I hope you do not mind that I came in before you were here, sir. It takes me longer to work on the sums than when I was using my other hand.”

John praised him for his diligence, offering an encouraging smile despite how depressed he felt. He looked around the office, conscious that he might be leaving it soon, and removed his hat as Gabriel turned in his chair.

“John Groat delivered the courier. It’s on your desk.”

“Thank you.” John sat and pulled the small pile of letters toward him. In addition to the usual collection of itemized bills, there was a thick letter with many pages, sealed and addressed to the financial steward of the foundling asylum. Without giving another thought, John split the seal and spread open the pages.

Redhill Spinnings heard her murmur a greeting to someone in the office, presumably Mrs. Hastings. He waited a little longer, but she did not appear at the doorway.

He could no longer wait to see her and was turning to Gabriel just as Timothy walked through the door.

“Tim, you’re getting later and later,” Gabriel said in a voice as close to teasing as his sober nature would allow. “I have now caught up to you even using my weak hand.”

“I promised Mason Cook I’d clear the floor around the support beams before he arrived. I was busy.”

“Good morning, Timothy,” John said in reply to the bow his apprentice made him. “Why don’t you both go and learn from the mason today? A little sun will do you good, Gabriel. Just take care not to do anything to injure your arm any more.”

“Yes, sir.” They both bowed and left, with Gabriel moving at a pace that demonstrated the rapid convalescence of youth.

With the boys gone, John waited a few more minutes before drawing the conclusion that Lady Geny was not planning to come to his office. The notion that she might come and not throw him out, but simply ignore him, had not occurred to him. He did not know what to make of it, but he could not avoid meeting his fate. It would happen sooner or later.

He walked past Mr. Dowling’s office, not bothering to bid him good morning, and went straight to the head mistress’s office. It was unfortunate that Mrs. Hastings was there, for he could not simply close the door and lay everything on the table between them.

“Good morning, my lady. Good morning, Mrs. Hastings.” He faced Lady Geny. “I was hoping I might speak to you about Gabriel and Timothy’s progress since you were so kind as to recommend them to me. Is now a convenient time?”

Lady Geny looked at him for a long moment, before standing.

“I have a few minutes to spare, Mr. Rowles. Let us go to the meeting room.” Though the meeting room was directly above the chapel wall, the mason had deemed it safe.

He followed behind her. As they went past Mr. Dowling’s office, the headmaster spotted Lady Geny and leapt to his feet. John was determined that Mr. Dowling would not be an audience to whatever it was they had to say to each other, but he did not know exactly how to rebuff him.

Lady Geny paused in her steps and turned to the headmaster as he reached the doorway. “Mr. Dowling, your presence is not needed. I am having a discussion with Mr. Rowles.”

She moved forward, and John followed once again through the parlor and into the meeting room, impressed by the efficient way she had disposed of Mr. Dowling. They entered the room, and he waited until she sat before taking the seat across from her.

He moistened his lips; it seemed impossible to begin. He did not know where he should start, and she was not giving him any assistance by opening the conversation for him. He could not blame her .

“I am guessing you have learned that my name is John Aubin.”

She returned a slight nod, her regard steady. His eyes drifted to hers, and he wondered if they were red or if he were simply imagining it. Her expression was too aloof to reveal any heightened emotion.

Since she had not said anything further, the onus was on him to elaborate. “I am surprised that you have not exposed my identity in the asylum and chased me off.”

“Not yet.”

This was not an auspicious beginning, but he deserved it.

“Your father and I are at odds,” he said, still struggling to find his way through the most difficult conversation he had ever had in his life.

Lady Geny raised her brow. “Are you indeed? What an odd way to deliver your explanation. I had rather thought you might begin by explaining how you are working in the orphanage under an assumed name. Have you conjured it up out of thin air?”

He knew this was mere quibbling over words, but he could not help but protest. “It is my name—or was. Rowles is my birth father’s name. Aubin is my stepfather’s name. He adopted me.”

The news did not seem to relieve any of Geny’s ire, and she cocked her head. “So what are you truly doing here in the asylum?”

“I am trying to expose your father’s wrongdoings.”

That was the worst thing to have said, and in a flash she was on her feet. “Thank you for being so forthright. We clearly have nothing else to discuss.” She walked with brisk steps toward the door, but John leapt from his seat and raced toward her, cutting off her path.

“Please, Geny.” He held her arm, preventing her from opening the door until he had explained himself. She looked at it pointedly, and he released it .

“Even after everything we have gone through, I did not give you leave to use my Christian name.” Lady Geny swallowed, the only sign of a troubled spirit. “And I would thank you for not doing so.”

“My apologies.” John took a step backwards, yet still partially blocked the entrance, hoping she would allow him to have his say.

“My lady, your father did me an ill turn. I was on my way to my brother’s estate in Surrey in November. It was early in the morning, and I had stopped at an inn where I overheard the earl’s conversation with a man I now must suppose to be Mr. Peyton. Lord Goodwin had just learned of Parliamentary legislation that would threaten the return on an investment he had made. He instructed his agent to sell off his shares quietly without informing his peers.”

She stared at him for a moment before responding. “Impossible. My father would never do such a thing. His reputation is beyond reproach.”

“Publicly, perhaps. But there are things you ought to look into.” Her expression showed only resistance and disbelief, but he went on. “I tried to expose what he had done to Lord Perkins, and your father had me shunned from White’s and Boodle’s.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If he had been as perfidious as you have accused him of being, everyone would have learned about it when his dealings came to light.”

Lady Geny was a clever woman. He had known it would not be easy to persuade her. He could not have loved her as well were she not so discerning.

“Yes, except in the end, the legislature did not pass. And in January, there was a boom on trade so that the other investors lost nothing by it. On the contrary, they gained from the deal. Only your father lost, because he had sold off most of his shares. ”

“So you maligned my father’s reputation for nothing.”

She skewered him with her glare, but it was the pain he saw underneath it that destroyed him—pain he had put there. Still, his expulsion from society was unfair, and he did not deserve it. The reminder caused John to grow indignant.

“Not for nothing. A gentleman does not turn on his friends, leaving them with great losses on a bad investment while protecting his own.”

“You admit you are a gentleman, then?”

He looked away, desperate for more time with her, while knowing she was rapidly losing what little patience she had. Desperate to be able to tell her everything in hopes that something might redeem him from an impossible plight. He loved her. John exhaled silently.

“I am.”

“Does a gentleman fleece another man of his entire fortune in a card game?” she asked.

He had no ready answer for that. He had never been able to convince himself in his own mind that he had acted the part of a gentleman in that endeavor. His defense was feeble at best.

“I am a gentleman in every sense of the word. My father was one, but it was my stepfather who had the wealth and connections to bring me into society. It is through him that I have my standing there—although I lost it when your father had me blackballed from the clubs.”

“And so you infiltrated a foundling asylum to try to get that reputation back.” Her voice dripped with disdain, and it seeped into his conscience like poison.

“Yes, I did, but?—”

Whatever composure she had held until now suddenly snapped, and she went a fiery red. “You kissed me! When you were all the while seeking to expose my father, you traitor. And do you still think you can call yourself a gentleman?”

John stepped back, struck as though he had received a blow to the chest. Traitor? He wanted to defend himself, but he could not. He could not summon a single word.

“I think you should leave,” she said after a breath of silence. “Immediately. I will have Mr. Peyton find a new steward to replace you.”

She had effectively told him she never wanted to see him again. Although expected, hearing her say it was far worse than he could have imagined, and his hands dropped to his side. Summoning his resolve, he delivered one last argument in rushed words.

“Mr. Peyton denies having received Mr. Thompson’s contribution. Six years ago, Lord Hollingsworth’s donation was stripped from the ledgers as an expenditure, so no one knew where it went, but there was an anonymous sponsorship in the same amount for Gabriel. And no, Lord Hollingsworth is not his father. I asked. On top of that, I was handed a letter of reproach addressed to both Mr. Peyton and your father for failing to send the promised funds for the mill and worker’s housing in Manchester. They have received nothing, and yet there are ledger entries listed as funds being redirected to the mill work.”

Speechless with rage, she pointed at the door.

“I will leave as you have asked, but those are things you ought to know. You deserve to know them. Your father has the appearance of goodness. Whether his actions can withstand scrutiny is another matter.”

“I said leave,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

John opened the door and almost ran into Mr. Dowling, who was standing close enough to have overheard everything. Without thinking twice, he reached back and threw a punch into his jaw that sent Dowling reeling backwards. He crashed against a chair and into the wall, clutching his chin and staring at John with wide eyes.

“I would encourage you,” John said, chest heaving, his anger barely contained, “ not to eavesdrop when a lady and gentleman are speaking of matters that are none of your concern. If I hear of Lady Eugenia’s name— or that of Lord Goodwin’s—being bandied about in any circle, I shall invite you to choose your weapon.”

John stormed into his office and grabbed his coat and hat, along with the bag containing the precious evidence. He glanced inside to make sure it was all still there, then hurried down the stairs into the courtyard. He strode toward the gates without saying farewell to Gabriel and Timothy. The iron gates clanged shut behind him, and they rang with the sound of finality.