Page 39 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

Chapter Eighteen

J ames found his mother at her writing desk, her chin in her hand as she read over a paper. Overcome with a rush of affection for this mother of his, so resolute and capable, he kissed her cheek.

“Darling boy, what was that for?”

“I almost died just now at the hands of your companion.”

A smile started, but her face turned grave as she observed his countenance. “What did she do?”

“If I was certain she would tell you, I would wait for her to do so, but everyone will be talking about it. You should be prepared.”

“Well, what?” She faced him, her expression tight.

“She raced through Hyde Park and from thence all the way home.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?”

He lifted his palms.

“Yes, of course, there is no stopping her.” She smiled, a wistful glimmer that held a great deal of admiration and affection for Louisa Thorpe.

“By the by, she finished Clarissa already. I’ve never seen a person so dedicated to increasing her understanding.

When she first arrived, she endured our intellectual discussions with little interest. Now, I feel as if she is teaching me. How busy was the park?”

“We arrived shortly after five, the height of the fashionable hour. She was seen by too many to dismiss the impropriety.”

“Heavens! Just as she began to blossom.”

“Yes, a pity that, but I am concerned for other reasons.” How to express what he hardly understood himself?

“When she jumped the fence with Daisy, she seemed prompted by a culmination of emotion, as if the action were some…I don’t know, a way of releasing tension?

I suspect her sprint through the park was sparked by a similar motivation.

I worry something is wrong that we do not know. ”

His mother studied him with a perceptive gaze that made him shift in his seat.

“I told her it would fester if she did not meet it face on,” she said.

“What would fester?”

“I don’t know. She’s met with cruelty at the hand of her father and suffered anxiety due to the strange business between her aunt and Mr. Fletcher. But she discusses those things with me, at least somewhat. Like you, I wonder if there is something more that haunts her.”

“Will you take her back to Lundbrooke?”

His mother started. “No! My salon is in a few days. She will face the consequences of her impropriety, but I will do my best to ease the blow. I will not bend to society the way the sisters have in the case of Miss Cron.”

Earlier that day, she told him that Miss Cron had been sent back to Havenwood, a fact that disturbed him less than it did his mother, for though he understood the unfairness, he did not see that it benefitted Miss Cron to remain where she would be ostracized. “You believe their action unwarranted?”

Her jaw tightened. “I cannot say, as it is not my trouble to endure, but it seems disloyal to dismiss her to preserve their social standing. It is an unpopular opinion that an illegitimate child should not be punished for the sins of her parents, but it is a principle I believe sincerely. No one should suffer society’s condemnation for things outside of her control.

” She expressed this opinion emphatically—it was not a judgment she’d come to lightly.

“Your principles do you credit but will not bring Miss Cron into favor, just as your popularity may not be enough to save Miss Thorpe from ridicule or disdain.”

“If Louisa insists on rash behavior, she must learn to stand still until the gossips find another target.”

It seemed to him that his mother’s age, experience, and strength of mind provided her with a fortress against criticism that Louisa did not possess.

Louisa had demonstrated kindness after Miss Trelawney had spoken ill of her, indicating a strength of character that was not easily offended.

And his mother was not wrong: Louisa was becoming more confident.

But he was concerned that her assurance might be irreparably undermined if she became the focus of contempt.

He would speak to her—or attempt to do so. She wore a shell that was easily cracked but impossible to breach. With careful handling, perhaps she would confide in him at last. Or if she did not unburden herself, she might at least allow him to aid her in some way.

“By the by…” His mother interrupted his thoughts. She hesitated, then pressed forward. “I suspect Margaret and Samuel are not Mr. Kent’s relations.”

His heart dropped.

She slid onto the cushion next to him and took his free hand. “I have long considered it probable that your father had other children.” When he did not respond, she said, “They are his children?”

“Yes.” He choked on the word. “But there is something horrible in discussing it with you.”

She squeezed his hand. “Do not fret on my account. I’ve had years to accustom myself to the idea, though Margaret is much older than…never mind. I am immensely proud of what you are doing for your sister and brother and for Susan.”

His throat swelled with the praise he had not realized he needed from his mother. Knowing she approved strengthened his resolve.

“I understand now why you’ve been out of sorts. You have lost respect for your father, and that is understandable, but people are complicated. He did many great things and would be as pleased with you as I am. Do not discount all the good he did in his life on account of his shortcomings.”

Silence fell, warm and filling, as James absorbed the peace his mother brought with those few words.

It must have been difficult for her to know of her husband’s indiscretions, yet she did not seem to loathe him.

No one had a more generous spirit. James certainly did not, for his father’s perfidy had changed his view of the world and set him attempting to repair his father’s misdeeds.

Perhaps he could not erase the pain of the past, but he knew he had much good left to accomplish in caring for his siblings and improving the lot of poor and orphaned children.

But although he tried to exude certainty, James had little idea how to care for Margaret, Samuel, and Susan.

He knew Susan needed her brother, Tom, and planned to set out looking for him the following day, but how to find the boy, he was not certain.

Samuel needed an education, and Margaret would not be happy without employment, but how to ensure their safety and well- being, how to find the right school for Samuel or the best situation for Margaret, he did not know.

W ith Samuel beside him, James maneuvered his carriage toward east London.

Margaret was certain his prospects of finding Susan’s brother would increase if Samuel came along.

Convinced that Margaret simply needed a break from her now very healthy and energetic charge, James was happy to have his half-brother along.

“Where would you hide, Samuel?”

The boy shuddered. “I’ve seen many boys slipping into alleyways. Sir? Best not take your carriage to that part beyond the tower, but you was smart to dress common like.”

Before passing the Tower of London, James found a safe place and charged his tiger to keep the horses.

Samuel eyed the great pair of grays, then looked upon the shiny buttons of the tiger’s livery. “I’ll be old enough to be your tiger in a year or two. Will you teach me horses?” Samuel asked James.

“You want to be a groom?”

Samuel lifted a shoulder. “Or a gentleman, like you.”

“Like me?”

Samuel shrugged and glanced up at James, eyes shining with an admiration that stopped James’s breath. The boy shoved his hands deep into his pockets and lowered his head.

James took Samuel’s hand, and they walked into London’s most unsavory cluster of parishes. Foul air enclosed them as the streets became more populous. James, a little familiar with the area since he’d found Margaret and Samuel there, navigated with more confidence than he felt.

“How will we find one little boy in all this?” James did not expect a response.

“We call out his sister’s name. Susan! Susan!”

A woman with a scarf tied round her head and a purple bruise on her cheekbone said, “What you callin’ out for? I’m Susan.”

“We’re looking for a girl of two or three, called Susan. She has an older brother.” James described the boy.

“Haint seen ’em.” She sauntered away, hips swaying as slowly as cold honey, glancing back at him with a shadow-filled smile.

They continued down the street, asking in shops and of anyone they saw if they knew a boy by the name of Tom. Many did, but none seemed to be the Tom they sought.

Noting Samuel’s slowing step, James said, “We’d best get back to the carriage.”

“Ho, there. You in the fine coat.” A man loped toward them wearing brown work clothes and a fine new hat. “Heard you’re lookin’ for Tom? Susan’s Tom?”

“I am.”

“What’ll you give me for ’im?”

“I do not wish to buy the boy.”

“As I see it, the boy’ll run off soon as ’e sees you, sure as the mist rises from the Thames. If I snatches ’im, ’e’ll go wi’ you.”

“I only wish to speak with him.”

The man raised his palm. “Talk wif ’im, take ’im, wha’ever you do, you can’t be doin’ it wifout me.”

James reached inside his pocket, pulled out a few coins, and jingled them in his closed hand. “I accept your help.” He held fast to Samuel’s hand and followed the man down the street.

“That man is The Warden,” Samuel whispered.

“What does that mean?” James asked.

“I don’t rightly know, but I know lots of boys who have nightmares about him.”

They followed the man across the street and down a narrow alley. James covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and skirted around a box of refuse. They approached a splintered wood door at the end of the passage.

The Warden opened his palm to James. “Pay first.”

James suspected a trick but dropped the coins into the beefy hand.

Through a crack in the door, the man shouted, “Tom, come ’ere quicker’n eatin’ pudding.”