Page 18

W hat Piers said over luncheon, that baby Georgie could have been rescued or stolen from Essie Brown or someone like her, appalled April, though she had to admit it was possible.

Quite how and why the baby had been left at Petteril House in particular, remained a mystery.

But it now seemed possible that the elusive Tucker could be the hero rather than the villain of the story.

She and Piers just had the vile prospect of trawling through Essie’s “farm” and others to investigate.

That, April knew only too well, would be horrific and dangerous and very likely not even productive. And would any children they rescued have any better chance in the orphanages?

Some, she thought. At least the orphanages were founded on some kind of good intention...

Immediately after luncheon, she went up to change her dress—largely an excuse to catch Mrs. Robb before she went out to visit her own family.

The nurse, whose coat and hat lay on her couch, had clearly just finished feeding Georgie and was settling him down to sleep.

“Someone came looking for him,” she threw quietly at April.

“Her name is Essie Brown and she’s a baby farmer.”

Mrs. Robb, who was after all a respectable young woman, blinked as if she had never heard the term before. Then her eyes widened. “You mean...? I thought such creatures were myths.”

“Oh, no. They exist. Any way to make money exists. I want you to know in case she or anyone like her approaches you to hand Georgie over.”

“It must have been her,” Mrs. Robb blurted, gazing fixedly at April. “I took him out into the back garden for some fresh air, and while I was sitting on the bench with him, I just had that feeling of being watched...”

“Did you see anyone?” April asked. “Hear anything?”

“No, I just felt it. So I ran back inside, and everyone made a fuss of him until I calmed down. Then that woman came to the door.”

“Gussie—my cousin, Miss Withan—said she was quite convincing.”

“She did sound distraught. The thing is, my lady, there seems to be so many bad people about with evil motives that it terrifies me in ways I could never have imagined when my husband was alive. How do you ever find the truth in such a-a web ?”

“Good question,” April said ruefully. It struck her that Amanda Robb was not up to snuff, not for living where she did now.

To keep her daughter safe, she needed to get out of there, more even than April had needed to get out of St. Giles.

Another problem for the future. “We’ll manage,” she said vaguely.

“Go and enjoy your time with your daughter. We’ll look after Georgie until you get back. ”

Mrs. Robb nodded. Reaching for the door, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the baby, then went out.

Georgie scrunched up his face and kicked, breathing hard and opening his eyes, as if he sensed his larder had just departed.

“She’ll be back, little one,” April told him.

He gazed up at her with what felt like trust.

She smiled, touching his soft cheek with her little finger and gently stroking.

“Go to sleep, now, Georgie Peorgie.” While she kept smiling and stroking, he continued to gaze up at her until his eyes began to close again.

Emotion she couldn’t name held her captive, but she knew there was care in amongst it, and longing and sorrow and. ..

And I will not cry. I will not.

All the same, she stayed until Martha the house maid came to sit with him. Even then, she only just managed to remember to change her gown before she went back downstairs to talk to Gussie about their drive.

“Piers has gone to the library,” Gussie said, tossing aside her novel with something approaching relief. The girl was clearly bored. “I told him you must be very brave.”

“Me? Why?” April asked startled, sitting down opposite her.

“Because you survived what you did. I think that shows character, much more than Mama’s idea of character which seems to have more to do with blood lines. Like a horse.”

April laughed, although she could feel herself blushing.

If she was honest, though she knew it would never happen, she wanted Piers’s family to accept her, for his sake if no other.

“I’m not so different from you. Or your mama.

We all deal with the hand we’re given and some of us are lucky. Or clever.”

Gussie regarded her thoughtfully.

Joshua entered bearing a silver salver and bowed. “Sir Peter Haggard, my lady.”

Otherwise known as Haggs, Sir Peter was an old friend of Piers’s who was always welcome.

“Oh, show him in,” April said at once, aware that Gussie had bounced suddenly to her feet. “And inform his lordship if you would.”

Joshua had barely shut the door before Gussie cried in apparent panic, “What the devil is he doing here?” She was already halfway across the room, clearly meaning to bolt, which baffled April utterly.

The girl wrenched open the drawing room door and was then forced to fall back as Sir Peter strode in.

With the privilege of old friendship and familiarity, he must have simply followed Joshua upstairs.

“Miss Withan,” he said, brought up short. He bowed, though his lips twitched with amusement. “I thought you might care to come for a drive in the park since the sun is almost shining.”

Gussie, after a poor sketch of a curtsey, swung away from him. “How kind,” she said distantly. “But I am going later with April.”

“We can all go together if you like,” he said evenly. He was still smiling though it struck April he was hurt. She liked Sir Peter and could have sworn Gussie did too—a little too much, in fact.

“Not now,” Gussie said distantly. She must have realized leaving the room was too rude, so she sat down beside April, holding herself rigid, gazing toward the window.

Baffled, April invited Haggs to sit, which he did. He caught her eye as he did so, his eyebrow twitching in interrogation. She could only shrug minutely. If there was a quarrel between the pair, it was clearly one-sided.

Was this Hortensia’s doing? Had the dowager viscountess decided that Haggs was not good enough or rich enough for her daughter? Or was she pushing Gussie towards a marriage the girl was not ready for?

“What’s this I hear about a baby on your doorstep?” Sir Peter asked.

“We thought the rumour mill would be at full tilt,” April said, and at least had something to tell him about until Piers and the tea tray arrived more or less together.

“So,” Piers said, while April poured the tea, “if you’ve heard any un-insulting rumours that might explain the infant being left with us in particular, do enlighten us. Frankly, we are baffled and chasing our tails.”

“Surely not,” Haggs said sardonically. “We’ll allow you a couple more days to resolve the puzzle, will we not, Miss Gussie?”

Gussie, however, had used the receipt of her tea cup as an excuse to move her position and sit well out of Sir Peter’s line of direct vision. “Indeed,” she said.

“How is Lady Haggard?” April asked after his stepmother largely to avoid the inevitable silence while Piers passed their guest tea and set a plate of dainty sandwiches at his elbow.

“Well. She has left for Pelton Park. I’ll be following in a few days since there are several matters there requiring my attention.”

Gussie’s head moved in an involuntary gesture, as if she was about to look at him, then was still.

Park entered the room with the familiar silver salver, presenting it to April. Surprised, for most of the people in London who were prepared to call on her were already in the room, she picked up the card.

Her gaze flew up to Piers, who was reaching for a scone. “Mr. James Darcy,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows, abandoning the scone. “Show him in, Park.”

April knew they were both wondering the same thing. Had Bernie the stable lad been caught following him? Awkward...

“A neighbour across the square,” April told the others.

“Ah. When is it you return to Haybury Court?”

“Tuesday,” Piers said, “all being well. We’ll take Gussie to Maria’s first. I imagine you’ve heard the good news.”

Haggs grinned. “Indeed. My congratulations and good wishes to all Gadsbys.”

“Mr. Darcy,” Park intoned, and the perfectly tailored yet somehow rakish figure of their neighbour swaggered in and bowed.

Piers went to meet him, his hand held out, while April rose and observed.

A few years younger than Piers and Haggs, perhaps still in his early twenties, he already bore lines of excess and dissipation on his face.

His eyes, however, were direct as he shook hands with Piers, his smile a little apologetic.

April guessed there was no real malice in him.

But like many of the ton’s young bucks, he had too big an allowance and too much time on his hands. She guessed he enjoyed it, too.

“Have you met my wife?” Piers was asking, and April approached, offering her hand.

Darcy took it, bowing over it with some grace and style. As his gaze lifted to hers with what she guessed was practiced flirtation, it clung, and his eyes widened to something like wonder. No doubt that was practiced, too.

“Lady Petteril,” he breathed, then cleared his throat. “Your servant, my lady. How delightful to meet you at last. I have only ever admired you from a distance before.”

Was he actually blushing? Could one practice that too? “We’re very glad to see you. Are you acquainted with our cousin, Miss Withan? And Sir Peter Haggard?”

Darcy bowed to them, too, then followed her to the sofa, sitting beside her as she poured him a cup of tea. At least he said nothing about poor Bernie. Yet.