Page 42 of The Secret Word (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #10)

A s Billy’s carriage pulled into the driveway of Maidenstone Court, he leaned forward to peer out of the window at the house and park. He had visited often enough over the past eighteen months that the view was familiar.

On one of the fields to the right of the house, enough boys to be the entire student body of the school were playing cricket, while three men ran up and down the sides of the field shouting directions and encouragement.

Billy allowed himself a small smile. Cricket!

With a real bat and real wickets. And no doubt played to established rules.

Billy himself, and at least half the boys in the school, had learned a version of the game on waste ground between buildings, with rolled up rags or a rock as the ball and any available stick used to bat the object away from an old plank or other improvised wicket.

Supporting the school was one good thing he had done. There were a few, though they were paltry when weighed in the balance against the men he’d ruined (along with their families), the people he’d beaten, and all the other harm he’d caused.

He didn’t apologize for it. The stews of London were a hard school, and only hard men survived. Men who could take the pain and abuse, could turn the anger it engendered into a drive to succeed. Billy was, above all, a survivor, and he’d not ask forgiveness for his hard choices.

But he had had the opportunity to save other boys from those same choices. Only a fraction of the tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands that poverty chewed up and spat out. But some.

And here came one of them, striding away from the cricket game and cutting across the front of the house to meet Billy’s carriage at the front door.

Another smile, this one involuntary. Christopher Satterthwaite was, in some ways, just another of those boys.

In other ways, he was Billy’s greatest weakness, though Billy worked hard to never let anyone know it—not even Christopher himself.

“Billy!” Christopher greeted him. “Here’s a pleasant surprise.

Come in, come in. Clem is due home any minute.

She went to visit the vicar’s wife. The twins are here, though.

I’ll send for them.” While he was speaking, he had been leading the way up the stairs and into the house and now he spoke to the footman who was crossing the hall as he opened the door.

“Roger, let Cook know we have a guest, have tea served to Mrs. S.’s parlor, and ask Nurse to bring the twins down to see our visitor. And Roger, ask the kitchen to look after Mr. Harrington’s driver and groom, please.”

“How is Mrs. Satterthwaite?” Billy asked. Clementine was with child again, and due to give birth in three months.

“She is well. Full of energy. She is certain she is only carrying one child this time, for she is much more comfortable.”

Billy found himself smiling again. It was becoming a habit, and was not at all in keeping with his public image.

He consoled himself that he was William Harrington today, at least to the inhabitants of this household and the school next door.

With a few exceptions. Chris himself, of course.

Clementine. His spy in this household. His spy had reported Clementine’s excellent health.

Billy could only hope it continued. Childbirth was a dangerous proposition.

“And here they are,” Christopher said, with the doting expression and voice he adopted whenever his children appeared.

“How are my children this afternoon? Look who has come visiting! It is Uncle William. Will, make your bow to Uncle William. Bel, give Papa a kiss and make your curtsey to Uncle William.”

Will, put to the ground by the nursemaid, put one hand behind his back, wrapped the other across his stomach, and bent in the middle. He then ran to his father, who had just lowered Christabel to the ground.

“Bel kiss Unca Will,” decided that dainty lady, stomping determinedly toward him.

Billy knelt to present his cheek for her peck. Although he was Will’s godfather, he did not play favorites, treating Will and Bel the same, but he could not deny that the sweet girl had him wrapped around her little finger.

She knew it, too, the little witch. She tipped her head on one side and smiled at him. “Unca Will present?”

“Are you here to join the conspiracy to spoil my daughter, Mr. Harrington?” said Clementine, appearing in the doorway. She came forward with a smile, her hand held out for him to shake, stopping when a child grabbed either leg, making it dangerous for her to move.

Billy, grinning openly now, strode closer so they could shake hands. “How are you, Mrs. Satterthwaite?”

“Keeping very well, thank you. Yes, Bel, I see that it is Uncle Will. No, Will, I shall not pick you up, but if you run and sit on the couch, I shall come and sit there too, and you and Bel may sit on either side of me for a cuddle.”

Will took off for the couch. Bel looked up at her Mama, and then at her father, and followed more slowly.

Once Clementine was ensconced on the couch, with a child tucked into each side, Billy and Christopher all sat down.

Billy was feeling in his pocket for the packet of candied cherries he’d purchased for the children when the maids brought the tea tray in.

Trays, rather, for there was one with tea makings, and one with cakes and sandwiches.

A footman followed with a tea urn, which he placed on a sideboard.

Safely out of reach of the children, Billy noted.

“I’ll make the tea, shall I?” Christopher asked.

Will was already wriggling down to investigate the food.

“I have brought a little something that might keep them both amused for a short time,” Billy offered, showing Clementine the packet. He took one out so that Clementine could see. Bel reached out a hand, saying, “Pease, pease. For Bel.”

“Yes,” Clementine agreed. “Two each, Mr. Harrington, if you would. Bel, you and Will sit on the hearth rug. Uncle Will can then give you your treat.”

The waiting nursemaids—the children had one each, working under the supervision of the nanny—came forward to lead the children to the hearth rug, where they sat and politely held out both hands.

Billy, as he put a cherry into each of the four small extended hands, could not help but compare these two treasured children of wealthy parents to the endless number of unloved mites he had known in his time on this earth.

He did not remember being eighteen months old.

Someone must have looked after him then, at least enough to see he was fed occasionally and had a place to sleep away from the rats.

It certainly wasn’t a team of clean and neatly dressed nursemaids.

He didn’t think it was his mother—Billy must have had one, but he had no memory of her, and no one he did remember from his childhood knew who she was.

That a protégée of his—especially this one—could give his children such a life!

It made him feel that his ruthless drive to the top of the dung heap had not been entirely without merit.

Little Will and Bel had a beautiful home in the country, the best of care, loving parents, adoring servants, a whole school full of older brothers, relatives, and godparents to pamper them and bring them treats—it warmed Billy’s cold heart.

They kept the conversation general while the children and their carers were in the room.

How had the weather been in London? How were the boys at the school?

How many words did Bel speak now? And Will?

Physically, Will was the most able and daring, but Bel was far more sociable and did most of the talking for both of them.

Once the children were carried away for their naps, Christopher leaned forward to say, “I hear you have sold Fortune’s Fool, Billy. And others of your businesses.”

It was not quite a question, but Billy answered it anyway.

“I’ve sold them all—mostly to the people who were managing them for me.

” Given them away, in some cases. His main goal had been to release himself from his empire while still taking care of his people.

He had more wealth than he could spend in a lifetime.

He hadn’t needed to screw every pound, shilling, and penny out of the sale.

Clementine and Christopher exchanged their look.

It was one he had become familiar with over the past couple of years, and he envied it greatly.

First and foremost, it conveyed love and understanding.

But on top of that, it communicated in a mysterious way that was visible but unintelligible to the onlooker.

In this case, it seemed they had made a mutual decision to remain silent.

Billy had used the trick himself. People loved to fill silence.

Ah well, he had come here to tell them. “I am going away for a while. I will be back, and I won’t be Billy O’Hara or William Harrington when I am next in England.

” He needed to give his enemies time to stop looking for him, to change his appearance enough to go unnoticed, to build a credible identity different enough from those he had used before so that he could remain undetected.

He didn’t bother saying that, but he did find himself explaining some of his deeper motives.

“People don’t grow old doing what I do. I find that I would like to live long enough to see William and Christabel grow up.

And I do not want my connection to you and to them to bring trouble to your door, so…

” He shrugged. “I will send you a letter from time to time. I won’t use my name, but you will know it is me.

” He took a card from his pocket and gave it to Christopher.

“If you would care to write, to let me know how you and the children are, my solicitor Richard Anderson will always know how to reach me.”