Page 34 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

Chapter Sixteen

T he following morning, the butler appeared while James eyed the growing pile of correspondence on his desk. “Excuse me, my lord. Someone is here to see you.”

“Not now, Smith. Tell whomever it is to come back later.”

“I am afraid they will not wait.”

Margaret, with a child in her arms, pushed past the butler. Flushed and breathing heavily, she deposited the boy in a chair. The limp boy rested his ruddy chapped cheek against a silk pillow, his glazed brown eyes on Margaret. His chest rattled with each breath.

“Smith, fetch the doctor,” James said.

When the butler disappeared, he knelt by the child. “Good morning, Samuel,” he said, guessing this skinny dark-haired boy was his half-brother. “We’ll have you feeling better soon.”

Margaret placed her hand on the boy’s forehead. “I should not be here.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do. He’s burning, and nothing is helping.”

“You were right to come.”

“Will you keep him here? Just until he is better.” She crossed her arms and looked around the room, hugging herself.

“Of course.” Though he had no idea how to explain the sudden appearance of this child to his household, he could not imagine refusing his brother aid.

“It won’t be for long, but our rooms are damp and drafty with winter approaching.

I can think of no other way to get him well, and I can’t work while tending the illness.

” She pressed a fist over her mouth and closed her eyes.

James’s heart twisted. While he did not know her well, from what he’d gathered, she was a stoic woman.

“You must stay as well. I don’t imagine he will be content without you.”

“I need to work. Mayfair is too far from the tailor.”

“Work, then. I lost a housemaid to marriage not long ago. You may take her place.”

Margaret looked at her brother—their brother—one hand balling her skirt, the other cradling his chin.

Her affection pricked James’s heart. What must it be like for her, all alone save this boy whom she supported and cared for?

The abundance of the Halverton estate could easily support them.

There were empty cottages that could house them.

He must create an annuity to provide for their needs, if they would allow it. For didn’t they deserve an inheritance?

“I’ll stay until he’s better.”

At last, James could do his duty. He rang the bell, and Smith entered.

“A footman has run for the doctor, my lord,” the butler said.

“Very good. Ask Mrs. Corfield to my study.”

The butler fetched the housekeeper, and James informed her that for the time being, Margaret would fulfill the duties of the empty maid position, and they would care for her ill brother as well.

Margaret and Samuel were given a large room in the servant’s quarters.

James did not like their living with the servants, but agreed it was best for the time being.

He watched Margaret settle Samuel into bed, his tiny figure barely a lump under the blanket.

The boy could die. Restless, James began pacing the room.

“Sir?”

He stopped and gave Margaret his attention.

“You must leave,” she said.

“But—”

“It is unseemly for you to be here.”

She was right. “How will I know how Samuel is getting on?”

“I will find a way, but go. Your attention will make gossip, and Samuel and I will suffer for it.”

“Say you are a relative to Mr. Kent, the vicar at my country estate.” His mother would approve of his charity.

“Yes.” But she was distracted, adjusting pillows and whispering with gentle concern to Samuel, whose small white hand found Margaret’s.

As he watched his sister and his helpless brother, something inside James’s chest expanded, a feeling as sharp as it was tender.

He was grateful they were there and allowing his help, that Margaret had come to him, even that he’d discovered their existence.

He felt it a mercy to be part of this scene.

The doctor entered and began examining the boy. Margaret gestured at James to leave.

He retreated to his room, where he had a bath drawn.

In steaming water, he stared at the wood-paneled ceiling.

The chance Margaret and Samuel would become fodder for idle tongues was high.

He would ask Mrs. Corfield to tell his mother they were relatives of Mr. Kent.

His mother’s preoccupation with her salons and Louisa may prevent her from becoming too interested in the matter.

He sighed and settled deeper into the bath. It was natural and right that his father’s children were in the house. When Margaret accustomed herself to the idea and saw how comfortable she and Samuel were, she would agree to stay. Everything would be as it should.

After bathing he pulled on breeches and a shirt, threw a dressing gown around himself, and departed for his study.

Since deciding not to vote and visiting Rosemary Lane, the pull he’d felt to shelter the children there had grown.

He had determined to write the governor of the Foundling Hospital a letter.

He would visit as soon as may be and see what he could do for the parentless children.

Scuffling sounded from the entrance hall.

The clock read ten in the morning. It could only be Louisa and his mother, returned from an early walk.

He glanced down at his deshabille. He hadn’t closed his shirt, but there was no reason to think the ladies would disturb him.

Yet, their footsteps approached. The door swung open.

“I considered it, but it’s very long…” Louisa stopped, her eyes widening at the sight of James’s exposed chest.

“Mother. Miss Thorpe. Good morning.”

His mother strode in. “James, your shirt is undone.” She gestured for Louisa to follow her. “Now, I know it is here somewhere.”

Louisa turned away and helped his mother search the bookshelves while he struggled with his buttons.

He cleared his throat. “What are you in search of?”

“ Clarissa ,” his mother said. “Can you believe Louisa has never read it?”

“I believe it is here.” From its place, James pulled the thick volume, a lengthy epistolary novel about a young woman who, threatened with a forced marriage, put her trust in a blackguard.

He presented it to Louisa, grateful she had escaped the machinations of her own family without submitting to the wiles of a villain.

Her soft hand slid over his, driving a wave of heat through his arm.

He withdrew and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robe.

As well-mannered as the countess herself, Louisa behaved as though seeing his exposed chest was an unremarkable occurrence.

He remained rooted in place, not knowing what else to say.

Louisa’s curls framed her face, as tasteful as her practical morning dress, which had few trappings.

Golden sunlight washed over her face, highlighting arched brows over blue eyes that spoke everything warm and inviting.

A freckle kissed the corner of her mouth.

She arched her neck, drawing attention to the delicate line of her jaw.

“You may return to your room,” Louisa said, perhaps feeling his stare.

Despite himself, he laughed. Who was she to give him orders in his own study? Then again, why was he standing there in only his shirtsleeves?

“Just so,” his mother agreed. “And get Graham to shave you.”

“Since the two of you are in agreement, I will take myself off.” He bowed dramatically and left the room.

Later, after preparing himself for the day, he went in search of Louisa, finding her sitting at his desk. With Clarissa open before her, she scribbled into a journal. Upon his entrance, she snapped the notebook closed, sending a smattering of ink from the quill over his desk.

“Oh! Pardon me, my lord.” She began sopping up the mess with a blotter. “I was out of ink and meant only to write a few thoughts before I forgot them.”

He moved to help her clean the ink. “You have no need to feel embarrassed. I would enjoy hearing your thoughts, if you would share them with me.”

She glanced down at Clarissa and turned the sharpest shade of red he’d ever seen her wear. “No! I mean, not until they are fully formed.”

Disappointed, he straightened, his insides shrinking as he reconsidered his purpose in finding her.

He wanted to tell her about Margaret and invite her to visit the Foundling Hospital with him.

Even as Louisa retained her reticence, his desire to share his worries and hopes with her increased.

Was it selfish of him to draw her into his problems?

Rather than reject his disclosures, she showed real concern.

While she may not require a listening ear, he did.

It was petty to withdraw simply because he felt her doing so. He reminded himself that whatever she kept from him was none of his concern. Perhaps she was not burdened with this odd pull that led him to her, but he could not help following it.

He sat across from the desk and said in a low voice, “Where is my mother?”

She raised a brow at his furtive manner. “She is resting in her room.”

A swift glance over his shoulder told him the hall was empty. No doubt Graham waited nearby, but he was respectful enough not to listen.

“My sister and brother are here.”

Surprise, excitement, and trepidation flashed across her face until she settled her countenance into something serene. “And?”

He told her of Margaret’s arrival, Samuel’s illness, and the ruse that kept them as servants. “You remember Mr. Kent, the vicar? I’m sending it around that they are his relations in hopes that no one will suspect their relation to me.”

Louisa frowned thoughtfully. “Would a vicar have family in so low a position? And without others to call upon?”

She was right. Mr. Kent was a gentleman whose relations would not be household servants. He must move them into the guest rooms and give Margaret a stipend, though she would resist the offer. “What will I do if my mother writes to him?” The errors of his quick decisions fell upon him.