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Chapter Seven

W hen Geny returned to Margery’s side, she fully expected to be pressed with questions she would have trouble answering. And although her friend raised her eyebrows with a speaking look and left her mother to step over to her, Geny thought she detected something else in her gaze that she could not fully discern—a warning. Had Margery been watching them?

Perhaps Geny had only imagined that Mr. Rowles had been about to kiss her. His face was close to hers, and there was a focus in his gaze, enough that her breath left her chest. But the idea was pure folly on her part, for surely he would not do such a thing. How could he when they had no understanding and were in such a public place? At least, she did not think he would do it. If only it did not trouble her how much she had secretly hoped he would. That longing would be for her to privately mull over while she lay her head on her pillow that night.

Alas, there had been no time for private confidences because Mrs. Buxton was fully engaged in performing the duties of watchful mama, while remembering to introduce Geny to the people she thought she would most like to meet. Since Margery was unable to pepper her with the questions she clearly wished to, it was unsurprising to hear the sounds of her arrival the next day.

“Mother was gracious enough to spare me for the afternoon so I might come and visit.” Margery removed her bonnet and cloak and handed those to the footman, then faced Geny with laughter in her eyes. “Although I suppose I did not give her much choice in the matter.”

Geny turned to the footman, who hovered by the door waiting for instructions. “Adam, have some tea brought for us. That is all we will need.”

Margery sat across from her and waited until the door closed behind them before piercing Geny with an intent look. There was still a hint of a smile on her face, and her eyes sparkled with interest. “Now who is he?”

Geny did not pretend ignorance. “ He is the new steward,” adding the emphasis although she was sure her friend would remember.

“From the asylum. I was sure I had remembered the name!” Margery exclaimed.

“Exactly. I was astonished to find him at Mrs. Sookholme’s. He said that a friend had secured an invitation for him to attend. What did you think of him?”

Margery sat back and cast her eyes up, as though attempting to conjure up his image. Geny did not need any such assistance to call his face to mind. Throughout the evening, she had glanced in his direction more than once, as he stood in conversation with two of the gentlemen she recognized as having donated to the asylum. Thankfully, he was facing away and did not see her pointed interest. She hoped no one else did. Then, at the end of the night, he caught her regard before leaving and dipped his head in a bow. The small gesture of recognition had sent a surge of delight through her.

“He is a handsome man, I will give you that.” Margery brought her attention back to Geny. “Truly, I have never known anyone to catch your eye before, and that is what intrigues me the most. Unless, of course, you are hiding a score of suitors at the various balls I am not invited to.”

Geny laughed. “No, you know of every one of my suitors—of which there are precisely none.”

“There have not always been none,” Margery reminded her. “There was Mr. Saxton?—”

“Who said he found orphans to be nasty little creatures,” Geny finished for her.

“And then there was Mr. Davidson, who has fifteen thousand a year?—”

“Who spit at me when he talked,” Geny said, pulling her mouth down in distaste. “So you see why I have not been interested in any of the ones my father has put before my notice.”

“I do. There is only one thing that worries me,” Margery said.

Her friend hesitated, her face more serious than Geny was accustomed to. She did not like where this was going—did not like the idea that Margery would find fault with Mr. Rowles and thought she knew where the hesitation might be coming from.

“It is only because he is not a gentleman that you seek to put me on my guard. But you are being more prejudiced than I,” Geny protested. “If anyone should find fault with the disparity of our station, it should be me or no one.”

Margery shook her head. “No, it is not that. I only wish for a husband who is worthy of you and who loves you, nothing more. As much as I am in doubt of finding such happiness for myself, I feel certain you will find your perfect match. It is only…do you remember the gentleman my mother was speaking to last night when you came up to us?”

“She spoke to a great number of gentlemen—unless it was the one she was urging you in the carriage to favor with your attention? ”

“The very one. Mr. Thompson. She has hopes in his direction, which of course must be dashed.”

Margery paused and swiveled to look as Adam entered the room, carrying the tea platter, a maid trailing behind him. Together, they set out the tea and cakes before withdrawing, allowing Margery to continue. “Mr. Thompson said that at first glance he mistook your Mr. Rowles for another gentleman by the name of Mr. John Aubin.”

Geny waited for more, and when nothing was forthcoming, replied, “It is natural to mistake a person for someone else.”

“That is true, which is why I do not hold much stock in what he says.” Margery dropped her gaze to her hands in a rare sign of reticence. “However, he did say that Mr. Aubin was chased out of town. In essence, he was shunned by society and blackballed by the clubs he was a member of. Mr. Thompson doesn’t know him personally, for he does not mingle in those circles. But his friend pointed him out at a boxing match amidst the spectators in January.” She smoothed the gloves she held on her lap, then raised her eyes to Geny’s. “Mr. Rowles bore a decided air to the gentleman he had seen there. He admitted that it was at night, and he had only a brief glance, which allows that he might have been mistaken.”

“Well, there you have it.” Geny shrugged. “It is no more than a rumor or a mistake.”

“Yes.” Margery dragged out the word, then drew in a quick breath. “I am sure it is that. I would not worry about it were it not that this Mr. Aubin is reputed to be a terrible man. A hardened gamester who cleaned out another gentleman in one night by cheating, thereby ruining him. A frequenter of the less reputable establishments. A penchant for strong drink.”

It was strange that Margery would so insist on a chance remark. Besides, Geny could not picture any similarities between Mr. Rowles and such a man. He was nothing like that Mr. Aubin. She sensed his kindness and his stability and trusted it to be genuine. She crinkled her brows. “Even so, you said that Mr. Thompson admitted he was probably mistaken.”

“’Tis true. My concern comes only from a sense of protectiveness for you, but if you think the suggestion preposterous then I believe you.” Margery studied her expression until a smile appeared. “It appears you have already given your heart to Mr. Rowles, haven’t you?”

For the sake of something to do—something to manage the feelings that were too new and raw—Geny leaned down and stirred tea leaves into the pot, then sat back. She was nervous. Excited. It was hard to contain such emotions, and she could not for the life of her hide them from her best friend.

“I don’t know what it is, for I hardly know the man, but each time I am in his presence, I cannot help but like him more. Yes, he is a handsome man, but it is beyond that. There is a quality to him impossible to explain. I can’t help but be drawn to him. And I do like him.” She briefly covered her face with her hands to hide the laughter that escaped her lips, then sat back upright, as though her governess might still be watching and ready to scold. “He said that he found my character beautiful and without equal. I have not stopped thinking about that.”

“Did he?” Margery’s widened eyes showed just what she thought of the compliment. “I must like the man too, then, for he clearly has good taste. Another reason to ignore Mr. Thompson. He is no judge of character.”

Geny laughed. “Do not be so hard on Mr. Thompson. It was an innocent mistake.” A comfortable silence fell between them and Geny poured tea for them both.

“Well, then,” Margery said, accepting her cup. “I hope I shall have a chance to know Mr. Rowles better, for if you like him, then so must I. At least the fact that he is not a gentleman ensures he is not likely to snub me.”

“He would not dare,” Geny said, narrowing her eyes with mock fierceness.

On Monday, Geny went to the orphanage as usual, and although she had Charity style her hair into a softer arrangement, she wore a more sensible gown in the color of rifle green. Once again, the simple act of climbing the stairs to reach the office she shared with the head matron left her breathless in her anticipation of seeing Mr. Rowles. Mrs. Hastings was at the point of leaving the office, and she stepped back to allow Geny to enter.

“The foundling baby appears to be completely on the mend, I thought you might wish to know. He even smiled at Nurse today.” Mrs. Hastings was rather severe overall, but Geny knew she had a soft spot for babies.

She hung her coat on the hook and turned to face the head matron. “That is wonderful news. I had planned to visit him this morning.”

Geny only taught the five children reading and writing once a week, which gave her the freedom to attend to other matters in the asylum. She had insisted upon teaching one class, however, for although she did not have the time to devote many hours, it was her favorite time of the week. She also planned to visit Gabriel and see how he was coming along with his training. He was a good-natured twelve-year old boy who had a bright future ahead of him.

Mrs. Hastings left for her errand, and Geny went over to her desk. There was nothing precisely she had to do, which left her with time to spare. She sat, prey to her state of indecision—prisoner to her desire to see him while wrestling with her good sense. It was impossible to go directly into Mr. Rowles’s office. She had no reason to do so and therefore must look ridiculous should she attempt it. However, nothing that she had planned to do at the asylum today seemed as important as this. She could not imagine leaving without at least exchanging a few words with him.

She sat for a while, knotting her fingers, the only sounds in the orphanage muffled and coming from far away. Then, an idea sprang to her mind that was so clever it caused her to inhale sharply. She would go to Mr. Dowling’s office first, for she did have a reason to speak to him. He had recently placed Betsy as a kitchen maid in Mrs. Strathmore’s household. The asylum had the practice of checking in two weeks after a placement to make sure the situation was working well, and she could ask him about it. From there, it would only be natural to step into Mr. Rowles’s office to wish him a good day.

She wondered if he would be glad to see her and was already smiling in anticipation. He had said her character was beautiful, and that was quite the loveliest thing anyone had ever said to her.

Having decided upon a course of action, Geny stood and went to carry out her mission. She went through the parlor and was almost at the doorway of the meeting room when Mr. Dowling appeared through it, causing a near run-in. They both drew back in surprise.

“I thought I heard your voice, my lady.” He bowed and smiled at her. She did not know why his presence always made her want to flee. “How do you do?”

Her initial disappointment was overpowering, for now she had no reason to visit Mr. Rowles’s office. She might be forced to leave the orphanage without having spoken to him, and she would not be given a clue if he felt anything like she did. Was it only she who thought about him constantly? Did he return her regard? All of these thoughts and sensations flew through her mind in the space it took for her to return a polite smile and civil nod.

“I am very well. I was wishing to speak with you?—”

He did not let her finish before saying with an arch smile, “I do not know what I could have done to have merited any space in your ladyship’s thoughts.”

Geny paused in exasperation. She was accustomed to such fulsome behavior from him, although her wintry reaction to it would have signaled to a more intelligent man that it was not welcome. “I was wondering if you have been to the Strathmore residence to see how Betsy is getting on?”

He looked momentarily nonplussed at her question, as though he did not even remember who Betsy was. Then a look of comprehension dawned on his face, and he rallied. “I have not yet done so, but I had plans to do that this week.”

This caused her irritation to rise. Mr. Dowling paid attention where it was not welcome and lost it where it was most needed. She put on a cultivated look of surprise that she hoped would depress his pretension.

“But it has been a month since Betsy was placed, Mr. Dowling. Usually this step is something that must be accomplished after two weeks.”

Her displeasure was evident should he choose to note it. She could not be certain he would, since he seemed to have a particularly thick skin.

An oily smile returned to his face. “I have been busy arranging other interviews for the orphans who will soon complete their training. But I have not forgotten about Betsy, you may be assured of it, my lady.”

Geny was certain he had but merely responded with, “Very well.”

There had scarcely been time for a natural pause in the conversation when she had a sudden urge to leave—to walk around the asylum and see that all was in order, as much to get away from Mr. Dowling as to expend her nervous energy. A bold notion of how she might shake off Mr. Dowling struck her, and she seized it before thinking overmuch.

“If you will excuse me, I must meet with Mr. Rowles. A part of the stable wall is beginning to crumble opposite the chapel. I must bring it to his attention so he might have it repaired.”

“Allow me to perform the service for you, my lady,” he quickly replied.

This taxed her ingenuity for only the space it took her to remember that she was an earl’s daughter and needn’t ignore her own wishes out of a self-inflicted obligation to be polite.

“I thank you for your offer, but I will do it.”

Mr. Dowling stepped back as though he would give way and act like a sensible man. At the last minute, he held up his two hands in a cautionary gesture, thereby blocking her exit.

“If you will allow me to give you a word of warning, my lady. I am not sure how befitting it is for you to visit the stable in Mr. Rowles’s presence.” He glanced down the corridor, judging whether he might be overheard, before turning back to her and continuing in a lowered voice. “He is not a gentleman by birth, you see. And therefore, I think you ought to be cautious with him. Who knows what his code of conduct may be? One cannot predict the behavior of a man who is nothing but a commoner.”

Geny pressed her lips together and took a moment to control her annoyance. Mr. Dowling was a gentleman in name. He was the fifth son of an impoverished gentleman, and she privately thought that he had taken this position because no other was open to him. It certainly could not be out of interest in the cause that he did so, for he could scarcely perform his duties with less enthusiasm. She did not think his words deserved a reply, and so she waited.

“Besides,” he continued in a low pitch, “all I ever see him do is to look into the old account books. He hasn’t placed any orders or begun any new repairs. Where is the money Mr. Peyton is handing over to him? Not only does Mr. Rowles lack a gentlemanly status, he does not even behave like a steward. Perhaps we should approach Mr. Peyton with our concerns, for I have doubts that he is performing his role adequately. ”

Her irritation rose to a pitch, concealed under an impassive face. That Mr. Dowling thought himself properly positioned to give her a warning bothered her more than anything. She hoped he would never lump her into his use of “we” again. It took everything in her to hide her disdain.

“I thank you for your observation regarding Mr. Rowles. I will bring the notion up with my father,” Geny said.

In truth, the earl never cared about issues that involved the people working in the orphanage. She had tried in the past to draw his interest there, and it had always been without result. However, she could speak directly to her father’s man of business herself if needed. Mr. Peyton oversaw the orphanage, after all. And she was sure that Mr. Dowling’s words were spoken more from jealousy than anything else.

“As you wish, my lady.” He seemed disappointed.

“As for your warning, you need not concern yourself with my affairs. Mr. Rowles and I will visit the stable in the groom’s presence. Besides, I am able to care for myself.” It required considerable effort, but she smiled at Mr. Dowling and moved to step past him. “Now, if you will excuse me…”

She let the rest dangle and left him to go to Mr. Rowles’s office, her relief palpable as soon as she had escaped, although she felt Mr. Dowling’s eyes on her back.

She walked in quiet steps down the corridor, stopping in front of the doorway of Mr. Rowles office and looked in. He sat at his desk in his shirtsleeves, poring over the account books, just as Mr. Dowling had said. To her untrained eye, these books did not look new, so there might have been something in the accusation. But Mr. Rowles was likely trying to make sure everything had been noted correctly.

He looked up and smiled broadly when he saw her, which made her forget any doubt the headmaster had tried to instill in her. Mr. Rowles stood and bowed before glancing down at his appearance. His smile fled, replaced by a panicked expression .

“Forgive me,” he said, reaching for his coat in a hasty gesture. “I should not have removed my coat in such an improper manner. But I was growing too warm.”

“I do not mind it,” she said, hiding her smile. On the contrary . It only shows you to advantage.

She stepped back into the corridor to give him privacy and allow him to finish dressing, thinking what an intimate thing it was to be standing in the same room with a gentleman as he buttoned his coat. When he cleared his throat, she stepped back into the office. For the first time, Mr. Rowles appeared to be flustered and did not meet her gaze. It was nice to see him uncertain for once, which was how she felt each time she was in his presence. It caused her heart to flutter, and she bit her cheeks to keep from smiling.

“How may I assist you, my lady?” he asked, his smile sheepish but with a warm light in his eyes.

“You may accompany me to the stable,” she said. “That is, if you can spare the time. There is a matter there requiring your attention. Part of the wall is about to crumble and needs to be repaired.”

Mr. Rowles gestured forward. “I am perfectly ready to accompany you. Let us attend to it now.”

“It should not take long.”

They walked in silence past Mr. Dowling’s office, where he sat at his desk, only glancing up briefly as they went by. They continued into the corridor and down the stairs leading to the courtyard. When they stepped out on the cobblestones, he held out his arm.

“Please allow me to escort you. The ground is uneven here, and I would not like for you to turn your ankle.”

“You are very kind.” Her stomach gave a little dip as she slipped her arm into his. Yes, it was just as firm and solid as she had remembered it.

An unwelcome thought accosted her as she wondered for the first time what her father would think of Mr. Rowles and whether he would countenance the match. She was certain he would not and did not dare to imagine what it would be like to go against her father’s will.

“So, I am no gentleman and therefore cannot possess a basic code of conduct that would safeguard you against unwanted advances,” he said, pulling her thoughts from the unpleasant direction in which they had gone. For a moment she was confused, unable to make sense of his words, until she realized that he had overheard Mr. Dowling from his office. His gaze was trained ahead, and when she glanced at him, saw a brief quirk of his lips that let her know he was amused more than anything.

“You heard that, did you?” She gave a quiet laugh. “But you will have noticed that I did not take the warning seriously.”

“Did you not?” he asked. “I will have to take your word for it. Only Mr. Dowling’s words reached me. I heard none of yours.”

The smile still sounded in his voice, and she replied tartly, “I am here with you, am I not?”

“You are.” He gave an ever so slight pull toward him so that she felt the warmth of him through her pelisse. “And I thank you for the trust you have placed in my common decency.”

She glanced at him again and, although he still wore a teasing look, she was fairly certain there was some sincerity in his words.