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Chapter Four

J ohn trailed behind Lady Eugenia as they descended the wooden stairs flanked by an iron railing, his thoughts darting from one thing to another. There was much to consider. He had the distinct impression that Lady Eugenia was interested in him as a woman was in a man. There was something in the way her eyes flew from his rather than hold his gaze. And the way she held herself very still when in his presence, as though she feared to make a false step—although, to be fair, he had not spent enough time in her presence to judge her usual comportment.

It would not be the first time he found himself the object of female admiration. He had always had a knack for winning the regard of women from all classes. He prided himself on never taking his flirtations so far as to raise false hopes in the breasts of innocent maidens. If they insisted on hoping anyway, why, there was nothing he could do about that. And for the less innocent maidens, he treated them with a respect that most gentlemen did not. It hardly even mattered that Lady Eugenia was the daughter of a peer. He had had plenty of those fall at his feet, too, when he had been a ton favorite.

Well, ton favorite was perhaps an exaggeration, since he had always preferred the gentlemen’s clubs to the balls, soirées, and dinner engagements. As for Almack’s, he had not set foot in the establishment above two times and had not considered himself enriched by either experience. This did not change the fact that he was put out when he stopped receiving vouchers.

Suffice it to say that the fact that Lady Eugenia would seem nervous around him was not an astonishing thing in itself. What was astonishing was that she did not base it on the usual things most women did, for in his present situation, he had no social standing. He was at a foundling asylum in the guise of a paid employee who had no claims to the gentry, which was as far from her station as one could be. He was most decidedly not attempting to charm her. And he had been solemn in all of his interactions with her—his usual mien since he had fallen from favor. And yet, he could only describe her behavior around him as nervous. He was a handsome man; he could not deny it. But he had nothing to offer her in a worldly sense, so the notion that she might find him a subject of interest puzzled him.

Neither of them spoke as she led him through the massive dining hall with pine tables and chairs. This latter element struck him and caused him to remember something else he found curious.

“The asylum has proper beds,” he observed, “and chairs rather than benches.”

“Yes,” she said, pushing in one chair that sat askew as she walked by it. “Since we are training the children to work as servants, some of the more adept will serve as footmen, and they need to practice serving around people who are seated for dinner. And some will become maids who will have to make proper beds. It is better they develop this skill from the outset.”

She turned her face to him as she led him from the dining room. “It is also more decent.”

The walls in the entrance were painted white, and this public area was the only space where everything looked well-tended. The floors were made of polished wood. The hall was bare of ornamentation, except for a large painting of the earl and what was presumably his late wife. Lady Eugenia bore an astonishing resemblance to her mother, though he refrained from saying as much. She gestured to the set of stairs on the opposite side and at a diagonal to the dining room.

“The girls’ dormitory is at the top of this set of stairs. I am afraid you will not find it much different than the boys’, but we can still visit.”

“It will be good to see where it is situated.”

So far, he could make his way around nearly one half of the asylum. He had yet to see the classrooms located underneath the boys’ dormitory, but he had glimpsed the meeting hall and chapel underneath his office when he had taken the wrong set of stairs.

As they climbed to the first floor, his mind went to the second thing that had struck him. Lady Eugenia truly cared about the orphans. That fact had been evident when he saw tears sparkling on her lashes as she spoke of the baby who had been dumped at the gate of the asylum. He had never given a thought to the welfare of orphans in London or anywhere else. They were just living the life Fate had doled out to them, and what could he do about that? He was not the decider of people’s fates. At first meeting, Lady Eugenia had appeared cool and aloof, traits accentuated by her naturally upturned nose and straight hair pulled back in an uncompromising style. Why, she did not even bother to soften it next to her face. He wondered what she looked like when she went to balls, although that was not something he would likely ever see. For her to care so much about children beneath her notice was perplexing in the extreme. But he had to admit that it touched him.

“And here is the girls’ dormitory. I warned you that you would not find it much different from the boys’. ”

He cast his gaze down the length of the dormitory with beds on each side, all of them neatly made. The blankets seemed in slightly better condition than in the boys’ room, but they were still thin. And just as in the boys’ dormitory, there were boxes underneath each bed. A blue ribbon caught the corner of his eye, dangling from a box underneath the second bed.

He gestured to it. “Not quite. I don’t think you would find that in the boys’ dormitory.”

She directed her eyes where he had indicated and smiled. “It must be Grace’s. I think that’s her bed. She is a pretty little thing but not the neatest of girls. Fortunately, she has a knack for needlework, so we need not despair of sending her out to be hired as a maid, only to have her sacked.” She went over and tucked the ribbon back into the box.

“They have some possessions, then.” He would not think that orphans owned anything but the most functional items, even ones who lived in an asylum.

“Only what we give them,” she said. And then as though the thought had just occurred to her, she added, “But you need not worry about that for your accounting purposes. I usually manage to find clothing from among members of society; either what they give away or make. Even if they have no time to sew, they are usually happy to donate what their maids do not want, and we can then transform those items into clothing.”

He puzzled this over, then glanced at her curiously. “A maid would not want a blue ribbon?” He had seen that one. It had hardly looked used. This was not an article that had been passed from one person to another until it was in shreds.

A flush of pink stained her cheeks. “Well, if it is a small thing, I might use some of my pocket money. I think everyone deserves to own something that has never belonged to anyone else. Something special and just your own. Do you not agree?”

She looked at him with such earnestness, he found himself breaking their gaze first, now uncomfortable. She could not have been doing it on purpose, but it was as if Lady Eugenia was attempting to reveal his own selfish nature by situating it next to what he was coming to see was her pure one.

“I had never thought of it, but I suppose you are right.”

“Yes, well.” She seemed momentarily at a loss for words. The sound of a baby crying at the far end of the floor caused her to look in that direction. “If that is Benjamin, I shall be very pleased. It means he is doing much better to be exercising his lungs in such a way. Shall we continue?”

He nodded and followed her to the next room, which held chairs where girls of various ages plied their needles. A maid or a teacher of sorts was looking at the work of the youngest and pointing to where the cloth had been knotted. She looked up when they entered.

“Lady Geny,” a child cried out.

“It is Lady Eugenia,” the worker corrected gently. She was coarse in appearance but spoke graciously, as though she had taken on the gentle bearing of the earl’s daughter. Either that or her natural gentleness was at complete odds with her looks.

“It is all right,” Lady Eugenia said. “Good morning, Grace.”

She went over to speak to the girl of the blue ribbon, who was currently wearing a black band like the other girls. John could only assume they’d all been given a colored one for special events.

Grace had called the earl’s daughter “Lady Geny,” which suited her. It was somehow more approachable. Geny. He thought about what it would be like to be on such intimate terms as to use her Christian name—a nickname, at that. The only thing intimidating about her was her title and, at first glance, an unapproachable air. He was coming to suspect that this was the furthest from the truth. He had never met anyone like her.

Lady Eugenia praised Grace for her work and stopped to examine each one of the girls’ stitches. The oldest was pulling a piece of blue thread through a delicate piece of muslin, and Lady Eugenia went over to suggest she not pull the thread so tightly, before setting her hand briefly on the girl’s shoulder with a small word of praise. Then she turned to him.

“Shall we visit the nursery?”

John nodded and followed her back into the corridor, eyeing her slim set of shoulders and regal neck. His urge to inquire about her nickname was too strong to resist, and he decided to throw his reserve aside.

“Lady Geny?” he asked, smiling at her.

She turned a startled gaze to him, then blinked before an answering smile reached her lips. “Some of the younger ones have difficulty saying my name, so I told them they could call me Lady Geny.”

“Do others call you that?” The words were out before he realized that he was being too familiar. “I beg your pardon. That was impertinent of me. It is none of my concern.”

There was a slight pause before she answered in a soft voice. “My mother called me Geny. She was the only one, except for my brother and closest friend.”

Not your father? he thought. But now he had a better guard on his tongue and did not speak the words. “Geny is a very pretty name. As is Eugenia,” he said, then hastened to add a belated, “my lady.”

Good heavens . It was unlike him to be so uncouth. In fact, it had never happened in front of a lady before. Women never overset him. It was not that she did, particularly. True, she was a well-looking woman, and titled, too. But those things had never brought any change over him. If he had been prone to losing his head over status and a pretty face, he would have been married long ago.

Lady Eugenia was too polite to comment on his lapse in urbanity. “Here is the nursery.”

The room had once been painted yellow and was much smaller than the dormitories, having only six cots in it. Three of the bassinets held an infant, and two babies sat on the floor, one of them waving something in his hand. It looked like a wooden ring. There was an older orphan sitting between them, apparently training to care for babies.

“There is Benjamin,” Lady Eugenia announced, going over to one of the nurses who held a baby on her lap. “May I?”

The nurse handed him over. “He is faring better than he was yesterday.”

John stepped closer to look over Lady Eugenia’s shoulder at the baby, taking care not to stand too near and give her more reason to think him overly familiar. It was just close enough to see the baby’s face.

Little Benjamin was an unfortunate-looking fellow and had, what seemed to be, a natural scowl on his face. The dark line that made up his hairline was close enough to his eyebrows to make it appear as though he had no forehead. His eyes were mere slits, while his nose and lips looked swollen. Although John had little experience with babies, this one had to be the poorest specimen of one he had ever seen.

Lady Eugenia tucked the blanket under Benjamin’s chin, rocking him slightly in her arms.

“Aren’t you a handsome fellow?” she asked him, stroking him on the cheek until he lifted a somber gaze to hers. “Yes, you are. But do you see what a fighter you are as well? You ought to be proud of yourself because you have resisted a very chilly night wrapped in nothing more than blankets, and now you have fought off a wicked cold.”

She smiled at the baby, and John—who had come around her and now stood facing her—felt like he had been struck a blow in his chest. He could barely breathe, and there was a buzzing in his ears. What had come over him? He stood, frozen, watching her rock the baby back and forth, when suddenly Benjamin began to dribble a startling quantity of milk all over his chin and her gown.

“Oh dear,” she said, laughing, as one of the servants hurried to bring her a cloth. The nurse took the baby from Lady Eugenia, and she began to wipe the milk that stained the bosom of her dress. John dragged his eyes away.

She brought a clean blanket over and tucked it around Benjamin. “You feel much better now, don’t you?”

The baby’s expression appeared to change as he stared at her. He was still somber, but he looked as though he would smile at her. As if the foundling were not sure whether he could, but thought he might just take the chance. John could relate to the feeling. His heart was still hammering in his chest from the disturbing shift that had just occurred.

She glanced at John, her smile slowly fading until only a twinkle in her eyes remained. She looked down and pressed her lips together at the darkened stain on her bosom. He suspected she would appreciate going to cover the stain, and it was this that prompted him to cut their tour short, much as he was reluctant to end their time together.

“I beg you will excuse me, Lady Eugenia. Might we continue our tour at another time? I have forgotten that I have an urgent correspondence I must have sent out.”

“Of course,” she hastened to assure him, although a crease appeared in her brow.

He bowed. “I am most obliged for the generous gift of your time. I am coming to appreciate the asylum in a way I had not before.” He smiled at her, swallowing to cover the unsteadiness that went with it, a sensation he was desperate to hide. “I bid you good day.” She returned the farewell, her good humor still apparent. He could almost be jealous of Benjamin for having coaxed such a smile from her. But perhaps he could inspire her to keep it .

She dipped her head in a gesture of grace. “Good day then, Mr. Rowles.”

He left her, and as he walked down the stairs to reenter the other wing of the asylum, he allowed his smile to truly break free. He would enjoy coming to know Lady Eugenia. It was an excellent thing she came nearly every day.

On Friday, John headed in the direction of Mayfair with Lord Blackstone’s card in his pocket. His prevailing emotion was curiosity. That Lord Blackstone would seek an audience with him was nothing short of extraordinary. In most polite circles, you had to prove yourself and run after other, more distinguished members. No one ever came to you with offers of friendship. He would suspect the invitation was shady beyond anything were it not for the fact that it came from a peer.

As he rounded the corner to St. James’s Street, he glanced down its length, uncomfortably aware that he was now in his old haunt. Hopefully, no one would spot him here, for he was not in the mood to be snubbed. The massive house came into view, and he studied its stone facade which stretched five windows across. The entrance was just four steps above ground level, tucked underneath a portico. There were two floors above the ground floor and another shorter floor on top for the servants’ quarters. Although the curtains were open, the interior was not easily visible from the street, except for the faint outline of a large bowl of flowers sitting on a table in front of the window.

He walked up the steps and rapped the door knocker, which was in the shape of a crow’s head with its metal beak performing the knocking sound. The door cracked open, and a servant peered out at John.

“Yes, sir? ”

“I have an appointment to see Lord Blackstone. My name is John Aubin.” When the servant made no move to open the door wider, an event he found strange since he had been invited, John reached into the coat of his pocket. “Here is my card.”

The servant took it and opened the door wider, peering at a small black book he held in his hand and comparing it to the name on the card.

“Ah, yes. You may wait here. I will bring this to milord.”

John obeyed, and as the servant stepped to the side to permit him entrance, he was given a full glimpse of the dimly lit hall. All of the wall hangings and rugs were a deep burgundy red. On the right side of the corridor was a set of stairs leading up to another sober-hued hallway. But it was the left wall, where exotic game of all types were mounted like trophies that transfixed his gaze. The only natural light came from the windows above the door behind him, and the rest was from candles placed in sconces on both sides of the corridor and the chandeliers above him. The heavy colors and multitude of glassy eyeballs staring at him stole his breath.

It did not take long before the servant returned. “Lord Blackstone will see you. Right this way, sir.”

John followed the servant through the passage that led to another corridor. The door at the end of it contained Lord Blackstone’s study, and he entered on the heels of the servant as Lord Blackstone stood from behind his desk. John had not expected such a courtesy, both because of his recent loss of status and also because he was meeting a peer.

His good manners fled in the face of such odd trappings in the viscount’s study, and he only remembered to bow as an afterthought. Above Lord Blackstone’s head was a large painting of a beaver donning a morning coat. On his left side a single candle flickered on a table whose legs appeared to be those of a flamingo .

Is this man obsessed with death? John thought . And then— What does that mean for me?

“Well met, Mr. Aubin. Please have a seat.” Lord Blackstone led him to another part of the office where two leather chairs were placed in front of the fireplace.

John found this corner more settling, away from the staring eyes of the animal trophies. He turned his face to the right and drew back suddenly, for in close proximity were the jaws of a snarling tiger.

Lord Blackstone watched his reaction calmly, not seeming to find any morbid satisfaction in frightening his guests.

“He has just arrived last week. My contacts bring predeceased animals to the taxidermist. Their demise was not done at my hand or theirs.”

“Is that so?” John did not feel himself equipped to say more than that.

“I feel it gives them a new life, wouldn’t you say?” Lord Blackstone offered a friendly smile. He looked nothing like a peer. At least not one who wished to boast of his status. Whiskers grew on either side of his cheeks, extending a hairline which fell in soft waves. His eyes looked youthful and his smile was cheery, as though he had never known hardship. There was no doubt he was an eccentric.

“I suppose it does,” John conceded, realizing that he had better start returning answers if he was not to appear rude. He had not yet uttered a single intelligent word.

“Bring us some brandy,” Lord Blackstone ordered the servant. “Or perhaps you would rather have tea? I believe you have been abstaining as of late.”

“You seem to know quite a few things,” John replied cautiously.

“I know everything.” Lord Blackstone threw up his hands, along with the corner of his lips. “I suppose you wonder why I have called you here, other than what Sacks has already told you.”

“It does seem a strange thing that you would wish to seek an acquaintance with me; however, I am honored by your notice.” There. Nothing could be lacking in his address now.

“Well, you were not an easy man to find, which is why I turned the job over to Sacks. I was intrigued after learning that you found out Lord Goodwin’s attempt to ditch his shares in the steam-powered looms after having convinced his peers to invest. It was noble of you to seek out Lord Perkins and try to call Goodwin out on such base behavior.”

“Acting nobly—if that was what it was—has certainly not done me any favors,” John admitted.

“Nobility is never wasted,” Lord Blackstone said.

That sentiment sat for a moment before another thought occurred to John. “How do you know of the venture? And why is it that you believe me?”

“I have contacts who keep me up to date on political maneuverings. It didn’t take much to guess that the threat of a steam-duty tax would be enough to frighten Lord Goodwin off of the investment. Now, of course, with the tax law voted out and the boom in trade, he is considered a genius. He’s calling for more investors to build a mill and housing for workers up north, and many are joining the deal.” Lord Blackstone smiled benevolently at him. “But of course, his success does not invalidate your good actions.”

“Well, I appreciate your notice and your validation, but I am afraid it will not do me any good now. I am seeking to recover my reputation after it was unfairly destroyed.”

“I know this, Mr. Aubin. If you have taken a position at the foundling asylum, I assume it is to look into the early rumors of mismanagement and see if you can connect them to Lord Goodwin.”

John pulled back in surprise. It had not occurred to him that anyone would figure out what he was doing there. “You seem to be well versed in many things,” he managed at last, shaken.

“Only those matters that interest me.” Lord Blackstone looked up as the servant brought in a decanter of brandy and two glasses, along with a teapot and two cups. “But perhaps you wish for brandy after all.”

John thought about the excessive brandy he had consumed the night before his ill-fated encounter with Lord Goodwin that had led to a series of foolish decisions and opted for tea.

When the servant left, Lord Blackstone turned to John. “I have two propositions for you. The first is that I am inviting you to join my club.”

John looked at him, perplexed. The viscount had a knack for catching him off his guard. “Which club? Where is it located?”

Lord Blackstone lifted his hands and looked around. “You are in it.”

John didn’t remember seeing anybody else when he came in. It certainly didn’t resemble any club he knew. He struggled to keep up with Lord Blackstone’s strange proposition. “How many members are there?”

“Only two dozen,” Lord Blackstone said. “It is small yet. If you wish to join it, you will be made a member straightaway, then I can show you to the rooms where the others congregate. It is composed entirely of gentlemen who have been blackballed by other clubs,” he added proudly.

That didn’t seem to be a positive attribute. “I should like to meet them first before I decide,” John hedged. He had no idea what kind of club he would be getting himself into and wasn’t sure he liked the idea.

“That is all very natural. I will introduce you to them shortly. But this brings me to my second point, and that is how to achieve your goal. I would like to help you.”

“Why?” The one word seemed to encompass his overall bafflement since he had stepped through Lord Blackstone’s doors.

“Because I don’t like bullies,” Lord Blackstone declared, and then without giving him a chance to respond, went on. “Therefore, if you are willing, I will secure you an invitation to Mrs. Sookholme’s ball tomorrow night. The guests will be far enough from society that you needn’t fear crossing paths with people you once knew.” It was as though he had read John’s mind. “Some of them have invested in the foundling asylum in the past, and you might find your conversation with some of them enlightening. There will be more merchants than gentry in attendance, but I should hardly think that will bother you.”

Lord Blackstone waited until John shook his head, still bewildered, before continuing. “It will be an easy thing to begin discussions about the asylum, especially when you mention that you are working as steward there.”

This seemed like a hopeful beginning, especially since he hadn’t made much progress with the accounting books. The idea of the ball excited him more than the club did. “I would be very glad to attend. However, I must warn you that I am going by the name of Rowles.”

“I am aware of it, and I will see that the invitation is sent using the correct name. Shall I show you the other rooms here?”

John sent a surreptitious glance at the untouched tea which would have been welcome since he had not taken any at the asylum. “Yes, that would be nice.”

Their visit bore no fruit, however. When they went into the adjoining room, it was empty aside from a large stuffed bear presiding over the space from a corner chair. His noticeable scent made John deduce him to be a new addition. He sent his gaze around the room to the other stuffed creatures before spotting the large bowl of flowers by the window that was visible from the outside. An armadillo shell. Of course.

“Ah, well.” Lord Blackstone’s voice echoed in the empty room. “I am afraid there is no one here to meet you just now, and I should not like to bring you into the private rooms until you are sure you wish to join the club. Let us hope we will have more luck later. I will have the invitation sent to your address for Saturday’s ball.”

“I appreciate your efforts on my behalf,” John said.

It seemed as though the interview was at an end, and the servant came in as though he read Lord Blackstone’s mind. John was shown to the door, and he left the premises thoroughly at a loss. The place did not seem like much of a club. Besides, what an odd premise for it. Whoever would wish to join it? Could Lord Blackstone be all right in his head? John wasn’t sure. But he wouldn’t turn down the invitation for the Sookholme ball.