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Chapter Eight

“ C areful, my lady.” John steered Lady Eugenia away from a puddle in her path, reminding himself to pay more attention and not lead her straight into one. There was something about her that made him forget everything else.

Ever since the Sookholme ball, he had been unable to pull his thoughts away from Lady Geny—for that was what he had begun to call her in his mind. She was a beauty, that much was clear. But she had also been surprisingly easy to talk to when they were at the ball together. He had never before enjoyed such a simple, natural exchange with a woman. Usually, women were for charming, and he knew the easy victory of winning them over simply for the sake of being able to do it. Lady Geny, however, was no easy victory; he could not view her in that light.

True, he had sensed, and had been nearly certain of, her interest in him from the beginning. The open way she had spoken with him that night confirmed it, as did the way she froze when he had nearly lost his mind and kissed her in public. She had been as affected by the mood as he was. The fact that she had disregarded Mr. Dowling’s words of caution only reinforced which way her heart lay.

But this could bring John no satisfaction, for she was far above his touch. It was not that she was a daughter to a peer—he had never cared for such a thing. It was the way she loved the foundling infant and all the orphans. The way she had seemed to accept him from the beginning without having proof of his status. On the contrary—she believed him to be nothing more than a common man with no ties to the gentry. And yet, she treated him with a manner that was beyond cordiality. She showed warmth and interest. He did not deserve a woman like that, not with his less-than-pristine past.

“Mr. Dowling does not appear to like you,” she said as they neared the stable.

“I believe we view each other with an equal degree of prejudice,” he replied, careful not to say that he had taken an instant dislike to Mr. Dowling. It had been immediately clear the man was bent on winning Lady Geny’s regard, though he would never succeed. John did not like to boast about himself, but he knew enough about women to know that she would never respond to Dowling’s flattery.

They stepped into the cool, dim interior of the stable, and she held on to his arm for seconds more before dropping it and pointing eastward.

“It is there. The stable hand informed Mr. Biggs of it in his last week as steward. I believe he did not have the mind for repairs that he would not be around to finish.”

They walked in the direction she indicated, the straw and distinct smell of horses teasing John’s nostrils. They passed one of the stalls where a roan horse bobbed his head up and down at Geny, and she reached into the pocket of her cloak, pulled out a bit of apple, and fed it to him.

“Yours?” he asked, smiling at her. She and the horse had such an instinctive way between them that he was certain she must know it.

“My father’s. And here is the other half of the pair. Hero.” She reached up and gave the second gelding a bit of apple as well.

“You are well prepared,” he observed.

“Always.” She flashed him a smile, showing two deep dimples on either side. How could he ever have found her cold?

He had frequently bought and sold horses when he was living as a gentleman—when he was surviving on gambling wins, the small inheritance from his mother, and the expectations from his brother’s estate. Now, he kept only one pair for driving and a stallion for riding. The stallion he had left at his brother’s estate.

That reminded John of the letter from his brother he had tucked into the pocket of his cloak, which he had not yet read. His fondness for Greg had been submerged by feelings of guilt at how low he had been brought in life. He was unworthy of the gift of the Westerly estate. Since he had fallen out of society, he had become significantly more restrained in his spending. But that didn’t atone for the way he had been living for the years before it, when he had plowed through his small fortune with wild living. His brother did not know even half of his exploits and was as yet unaware of his expulsion from society. The thought of telling him sent his mood plummeting.

“This is it,” Lady Geny said, pointing to a portion of the wall, and he followed her gaze up.

The ceilings were as high in the stable as they were on the ground floor of the asylum. The weak portion of the wall was visible above his head, and on the other side of the wall was the chapel. It did indeed need to be dealt with as soon as possible, for if the stones fell, it could injure both horses and people. When he had sought the position of steward, his mind had been bent only on revenge; the idea had not occurred to him that he would be required to oversee such projects. That had been na?ve.

“I do not have the contacts at my disposal to begin the repairs immediately,” he said, before he had thought the better of it. He may as well admit he had no experience as a steward.

“Yes, I imagine they would be different in London than where you were before. Where did you say you were from again?”

“Surrey,” he answered, prey to a mix of feelings. He was grateful that she had seen the best in him and assumed that his lack of knowledge came from his not hailing from London. There was also the fear that the more information he gave her about his life, the more likely it would lead her back to finding out who he truly was. He wished he could have known her before his fall and pursue her through traditional means.

But then, her father would not have allowed it—not even then.

“We will have to anchor it with a pattress plate and connect it to the opposite end of the stable with a tie rod.” He knew that from experience on his stepfather’s estate, for it had been done on the wall around the dower house.

“Then we must tighten the bolt until the wall straightens.” He shot her a glance, smiling wryly. “But of course you do not care how it is to be repaired. You simply wish to see it done.”

“I cannot argue with you, Mr. Rowles.” There was humor in her eyes when she looked at him. “And yet, you described it so knowledgeably, I am ready to express my admiration.”

He chuckled. “Good. Now, I have seen it, and you may leave it in my hands.” He turned toward her, unwilling to leave the quiet haven of the stable. It was cold and damp—dark even—and yet he was happy to be in her presence.

With reluctance, he turned toward the entrance and indicated with his head. “Shall we? ”

She took a deep breath and pivoted as well. Was he mistaken, or was she as reluctant to leave as he was?

“Did your mother come to the asylum as often as you do?” he asked, wishing to know more about her. He could hardly imagine that any of her goodness came from her father. Lady Goodwin must have been a paragon.

“Yes.” She smiled in reminiscence. “She did not permit me to accompany her each time, but I enjoyed our visits when she did. She once told me she was unfashionably interested in the foundling asylum and the fate of the orphans. However, she was too high in society for anyone to cut her for it.”

“Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman. You must miss her.”

John thought about his own mother, remembering the shock he had experienced at the age of seven when the attending physician announced he would never see her again. She had only been married to John’s stepfather for five years, and John had been two when they tied the knot. Gregory had experienced both the loss of his own mother, though scarcely old enough to remember it, and then his stepmother who had been kind to them both. John and Gregory’s bond might have been merely that of stepbrothers, but they mourned John’s mother together with equal sincerity.

“I do miss her.” Lady Geny sighed as they approached the light streaming into the stable from the opening. “There was a time I thought I would not survive her loss. My father is not an affectionate man, you see.” She stopped short, and her face took on a guilty expression. “I should not have confessed that to you.”

She did not say, because we are not on intimate enough terms to do so , and somehow he did not think she thought it either. This comforted him.

He wished to say something that would lift her spirits. “You must take after your mother, then. For I do not think I’ve met a woman with more affection. ”

He turned and looked into her eyes, knowing he was acting recklessly. He came dangerously close to flirting, although he meant every word. “I do not mean to be familiar. It is only that I have seen the way you are with the orphans, and it is clear you possess a warm and sympathetic heart.”

A stable hand chose that minute to enter the stable leading a horse, and she returned only a quick smile before stepping to the side. “Thank you.”

When the stable hand passed by, John held out his arm to lead her back to the orphanage, where they would each have to return to their own affairs. He wished he had a reason to spend more time in her company. It was becoming the most challenging aspect of his current situation. He knew how to pursue a lady in society. One needed only to take her riding in the park—or visit her drawing room.

He quashed a bitter laugh before it erupted as he imagined what it would look like to show up in Lady Eugenia’s drawing room. How Lord Goodwin would turn apoplectic to see him there. He did not know if the earl would simply have him thrown out, or if he would attempt violence on his person for the audacity. Then again, did not the member at Blackstone’s inform him that the earl was too cowardly for such a thing?

It left John discouraged because there was no way he would be able to attempt an honest pursuit of Lady Geny. How could he? Even if she were able to make her own decisions, her father would have good reason to turn her against him, for his own presence here was a lie. Once she found out, she would cut all ties.

He glanced at her, aware that he had said nothing as they crossed the courtyard. He would not be able to persuade her to do anything at this rate. “Have you been to check on the baby—on Benjamin?”

“Mrs. Hasting said he is doing very well. I have promised to visit him and will do so afterwards.” She sent him a glance. “It is only that I wished to speak to you first about the wall, which I considered to be an urgent matter.”

Was that true? Or had she done so to spend time with him? “I am glad you did. I will see if I can have someone come and look at the wall within a week.”

They had reached the entrance, and a line of boys filed past them. Lady Geny gave them an encouraging nod then turned back to him. “Those are the boys training up for the indoor positions, such as footman.”

“Do they have anyone teaching them arithmetic?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “To own the truth, there has been no talk of it yet. Perhaps because we’ve had no one offer to teach them. Mr. Biggs was a very kind man, but he was not skilled with children.”

“I would be happy to train ones that show promise, if you think it would serve.” His offer had come out quickly before he had thought it through. He could only credit it to his desire to please her.

She turned to him, a gleam in her eyes. “Would you indeed? The more possibilities we have for their placement, the more likely we are to see them well situated. We can ask Mr. Dowling to provide a room for you to teach them in, similar to the training room for the footmen.”

“That would be excellent,” he replied, thinking that her look of gratitude had made his offer worthwhile.

At the same time, he hoped he hadn’t indulged in folly to have promised to teach orphans. What did he know about such a thing? And yet, it was not only Lady Geny that had prompted the offer; he knew it would please his brother that he should try. The idea brought him a sense of satisfaction he had not felt in a while.

“I may not need a room, though. I believe I might take two of them in my office, for it is large enough. Perhaps we will start with just the mornings? I can teach them some basic sums, and then we can go over the account books together so they learn how it is used.”

She clasped her hands. “Mr. Rowles, that would be wonderful.”

Her look of pleasure warmed him, but as soon as he had spoken of balancing the accounts, it occurred to him that he might have overcommitted himself. How was he going to look for discrepancies in the account books if he had a pair of orphan boys watching his every move?

He managed a smile and bowed, his hands clasped behind his back. “I wish you a very good day, Lady Eugenia.”

“And I you.” She dipped her head and paused ever so slightly before turning away in the direction of the nursery.

John’s thoughts were full as he climbed the steps to his office. With all his heart, he wanted to pursue her. He was sure of it, but didn’t see how he was to accomplish such a thing. He entered his office, went over to where his cloak hung and pulled the letter from Gregory out of its pocket, then walked over to the window to read it.

John,

I had to learn from Murray that you spent nearly three months at the estate and have only just left it to return to London. May I draw the conclusion from this unprecedented event that you are eager to settle into your new role as landowner and have been making adjustments to that end? Well, I have good news for you. Mr. Wyndham has written to tell me that the papers are finalized and that Westerly estate is officially yours. He will, of course, reach out to you directly with the documents, but he felt it only proper to relay the news to me first.

I do not desire a reply with your thanks, heartfelt or perfunctory, as I’ve oft told you. Anne and I will have no children of our own, and there is no point in having the estate go to you or your son after I have departed this earth—not when I have no desire to care for it while I am still here. It is better all around this way, and I believe even Father would have agreed. That said, although I do not desire a letter with your thanks, I do desire a letter. You are, after all, the only family left to me, and it matters not that there are no blood ties. Anne sends her love, as do I.

Yours—

Gregory

John stood staring through the window, his thoughts dull rather than overjoyed by the news. He would need to write to his brother—yes. But he would also need to come clean about his former manner of living. To begin such a letter seemed insurmountable.

He resumed his seat where the account books from the foundling asylum’s commencement lay open. He used the first portion of each day to see what he could find in the old books, then spent the second half in what was more honorably part of the position he had taken on. Unlike what he had overheard Mr. Dowling accuse him of, he did spend time each day drafting letters to Mr. Peyton who handled the finances for the asylum, placing orders, and carefully recording where the money was being sent.

From looking over the account books, he gathered that Mr. Biggs had been honest in his work. His accounts were meticulous and most added up. But some of the donations the asylum had claimed to have brought in were not showing as having been disbursed. And there were other expenses in recent months that were listed as redirection for mill works, which were likely related to the mill Sir Humphrey had spoken about. But any investment that went into that project should have been kept completely apart. These were currently his only leads into mismanagement. It would be good if he could speak to Mr. Biggs. Perhaps he might find out more.

As much as he disliked having any conversation with Mr. Dowling, he would rather ask him how to find the old steward than visit Mr. Peyton, who might wonder at his curiosity. It would also be faster. John stood and went to the headmaster’s office, where he was sitting at his desk, indulging in a cup of tea.

“Mr. Rowles,” he said, with a nod of his head.

He did not get to his feet, which was meant as a snub. John did not care overmuch, but it lowered Mr. Dowling in his esteem. Not that his impression was all that favorable before.

“Mr. Dowling,” he replied, equally civil and with no more warmth. “I was wondering if you could tell me why Mr. Biggs left his position and where he is now.”

Mr. Dowling left him standing while he continued to sip his tea. “Why, I do not know that it is any of your business.”

John had expected such a reply, although he had optimistically thought it might be delivered with more respect. “I wish to ask him about a donation that was brought in. The pledge listed five hundred pounds, which is a great amount. However, I have not seen the equal sum in the accounting books. Perhaps the money had been used for repairs without being recorded in the ledgers. That is why I wished to see him.”

“Who was the donation from?” Mr. Dowling asked.

John schooled his face, although his irritation rose. He decided he would not bring up the entries that talked about redirecting funds for a mill and instead answered Dowling’s question. “Sir Edward Burbank.”

“I see.”

Mr. Dowling gave the appearance of one who seemed to consider it, but John suspected he had no idea of the financial aspect of things. It would not make sense that he did. If only John knew his own place better, he would have been bolder in responding to such impertinence.

“This is why I wished to have Mr. Biggs’s direction. Did he leave London, or can he still be found in the area?” John stood his ground, waiting for Dowling to respond .

Dowling sniffed and glanced up, rubbing the side of his nose. “I am sorry to say, I do not have that information.”

John nodded and turned to leave. There was no sense in continuing the conversation or even taking a more civil leave. He would have to seek out Mr. Peyton. The only inconvenience was that he didn’t have time to visit the agent until the following week, so it would have to wait. This was not the sort of thing to handle by correspondence.