Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack (7 page)

Or so Frances assumed. She couldn’t know for certain; she’d never seen
her
father.

Shakespeare leapt up and barked enthusiastically.

“Sit, sir,” Jack said, and the dog plopped his bottom back onto the seat, his tail thrashing back and forth. He was ready to jump down into the crowd the moment he was given permission.

“Milord, Milord Jack!” the girls called.

“Look, Milord Jack’s got a doggie,” a girl with blond braids said. She looked at Frances. “And another boy.” This was not said with the same enthusiasm.

“Girls,
please
,” the woman in the gray frock said when she caught up. “Lord Jack wants to see your best manners.”

“No, he don’t, Miss Bea.” A chubby girl with a mop of bouncing black curls frowned up at the woman. “He don’t want to see our best manners; he wants to see
us
.”

“
Doesn’t
, Jenny. He doesn’t want to see your best manners.” The woman laughed, her face softening so that she looked quite beautiful. “Oh dear, you are managing to twist me up.” She must be the girls’ teacher. She looked to be about Frances’s age.

“But you are both correct,” Jack said. “I do like to see the girls’ best manners, but I most want to see them.”

Oh. For some reason a lancing pain twisted in her heart. If only her father . . .

Stupid!
She was a grown woman. She didn’t need a father. She had done very well without one for her twenty-four years.

“Milord.” The stout man finally reached them. He was puffing with effort and his face was red. “We didn’t”—he gasped for a breath—“expect you.” He took hold of the horses.

“I didn’t expect to come, Joseph.” Jack climbed down, and the little girls immediately latched onto him, hugging whatever part of his person they could reach. “Hey now,” he said, laughing, “I was just here last week.” He picked up what looked to be the smallest child, a girl of perhaps three. “How are you, Anna?”

Anna smiled around the thumb stuck in her mouth and laid her head on Jack’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry to disturb your lessons, Miss Weatherby.” He smiled at the teacher, and the woman blushed. Of course she did. Jack was looking at her as if he really saw her, his smile warm and personal, not the perfunctory expression of a lord to a servant.

Hmm. The woman was likely far more than a teacher to Jack.

Frances suddenly felt extremely out of sorts.

“Would you take the baby from Francis, Miss Weatherby?” Jack asked. Thank God Bea had come out. All his teachers were good, but not all of them were good with babies. Bea was, not that she could help this infant with what he most needed at the moment. “And tell Mrs. Understadt we’ll want a wet nurse immediately.”

“Baby?” Bea looked at the blanket in Francis’s arms. “Oh dear.” She hurried over to take the infant and then frowned at the excited, chattering bevy of little girls bouncing around him. “I . . .”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take charge of your pupils.”

“Thank you, milord.” She gave him one of her fleeting smiles and hurried away to find the capable woman who ran the home for him.

It had been a good day when he’d met Bea at the Blue Maiden, one of the better brothels. Ned’s wife and son had just died, and he’d been in the deep dismals. Bea had been exactly what he’d needed—quiet and restful. Unfortunately, most men did not value those traits in a bedmate. Three months after their first meeting, just after he’d purchased this house, he stopped by the Blue Maiden as Madam Celestine was throwing Bea out into the street.

Fortunately, Bea was a much better teacher than whore.

“Did you bring us sweets, Milord Jack?” Jenny asked, tugging on his breeches to get his attention.

“Not this time, Jenny. I’m afraid I came out in a bit of a rush.”

Jenny, dressed in her favorite blue, smiled up at him. She was six, with dark hair, blue eyes, and an indomitable will, thank God. Her spirit—and her strong lungs—had saved her. A year ago, he’d heard her screaming when Lord Botsley, rumored throughout the
ton
to like little girls far too much, was forcing her into his carriage. She’d even bitten the bastard’s hand hard enough to draw blood.

Botsley hadn’t wanted to give up his prize, but Jack had persuaded him—with his fists. He’d knocked him unconscious into the muck of a London gutter. Damn, that had felt good.

Botsley had been forced to flee to the Continent a few weeks later, after he’d touched a peer’s daughter instead of a whore’s, but rumor was he was back in Town. Could he be the Silent Slasher? He’d never killed as far as Jack knew, but his heart was certainly black enough.

Someone—little Eliza—tugged on his other leg. “Can I pet the doggie?”

He glanced back at the curricle. Shakespeare was still sitting on the seat. Francis, now free of the baby, was risking fleas by wrapping an arm around him to keep him from jumping down. He barked and tried to get up when he saw Jack looking at him.

“Not until I know if he has good manners, Eliza. I found him only an hour or two ago in Hart Street.”

“Oh.” Eliza nodded. He’d found her in Hart Street, too, when she’d been about three. None of the women in Covent Garden had seen the little red-haired girl before, so they’d speculated her mother had abandoned her there after being unable to get her admitted to the London Foundling Hospital. Perhaps Eliza’s mother had heard that children left in Hart Street disappeared, and that was all she’d wanted.

He looked down at Eliza’s upturned face with its sprinkling of freckles and wondered for the hundredth—the thousandth—time how a mother or a father could abandon their child, especially a child as sweet as Eliza.

“Who’s the boy with the doggie?” Jenny asked.

“That’s Francis.” He looked back up at the lad. “Climb down and come into the house with us, Francis. You must be hungry—we’ll have some nuncheon before we head back to Town.”

The boy looked reluctant to leave his seat. “What about Shakespeare?”

“He can stay out here with the carriage. Mr. Understadt will keep an eye on him, won’t you, Joseph?”

“Of course, milord. Shall I get one of the lads to walk the horses?”

“Yes, if you would. I’m afraid we can stay only half an hour—an hour at the outside—so there’s no point in stabling them.” He turned back to the crowd of little girls. “And now, ladies, you must be cold, and in any event, Miss Weatherby will have my head if I don’t shepherd you all inside, so do come along.”

Frances watched the tall man move off with the crowd of skipping, chatting, laughing little girls. The small one he was carrying—Anna, he’d called her—patted his cheek with her tiny hand, the one not attached to the thumb firmly lodged in her mouth, before putting her head back down on his shoulder.

Was at least one of the little girls his? Anna, perhaps?

“Ye best get down, lad,” Mr. Understadt said. “And here, Miss Eliza has stayed behind to see you safely inside.”

Sure enough, the little girl with the red hair and freckles was waiting for her.

Frances climbed slowly down from the curricle. Shakespeare jumped down after her and sat at her feet.

“He looks like a very smart doggie,” Eliza said. “Does he do any tricks?”

“I don’t know. As Lord Jack said, we just met him.” Frances looked down at the dog, too—anything to avoid Eliza’s far-too-direct gaze.

Why had the little girl stayed behind? Children were unpredictable; they made her nervous. She’d always had trouble talking to them. Unlike Jack. He made dealing with the girls look so natural and effortless.

She frowned. But then perhaps a rake could charm females of any age.

“You’d best be going inside, Miss Eliza,” Mr. Understadt said. “You don’t want milord to have to come back for you.”

“But I’m taking Mr. Francis in.” Eliza smiled at Shakespeare and held out her hand. “Do you shake hands, doggie?”

Before Frances could snatch the little girl’s fingers back, Shakespeare had put his paw in her grasp.

Eliza squealed with glee. “He
does
do tricks, Mr. Francis! We’ll have to show everyone.” She patted Shakespeare’s head. “Good doggie.”

“I’m still not sure Lord Jack will want the dog to come inside, Eliza.” Frances looked to Mr. Understadt for confirmation. “I could stay out here with him.”

She’d much rather stay out here. It had been hard enough to pretend to be a boy when she’d had only Jack to fool. The incident with the whores had been a nightmare, but at least it had been brief. But if she went into the house, she’d be surrounded by any number of children and their teachers. She’d be discovered in a matter of moments.

Mr. Understadt shrugged. “Seems like the dog’s no danger. You go on. If he follows you inside, then that’s what he does.”

“I don’t know. I—” She glanced down, startled. A small hand had snuck into hers.

“Come on, Mr. Francis,” Eliza said, tugging her toward the house. “We don’t want to miss nuncheon.”

Frances gave up and allowed Eliza to pull her along. She would just have to do her best to maintain her charade. Perhaps she could blend into the wainscoting.

Odd. It felt rather pleasant to have Eliza’s hand in hers. The little girl was not like other children. She was very well behaved, almost preternaturally mature. And even though Frances knew it was extremely silly, she felt a sort of kinship with her just because Eliza had red hair and freckles like she did.

“Did Milord Jack find you on the street, too?” Eliza asked, looking up at Frances. “That’s where he found me.”

Dear God, the poor child. “Ah no. I was at an inn on my way to London.”

Eliza nodded. “Lots of the big boys and girls go to London to be ’prenticed to someone. Were you on your way to be ’prenticed?”

“No, I was going to visit my brother.”

“Oh.” She gave a little hop. “Jenny wants to be ’prenticed to a dressmaker. I don’t know what I want yet. I’m only four.” She skipped a few steps. “’Course, I don’t know how old I am for sure. Milord Jack guesses I’m four.” She looked up at Frances. “How old are you?”

“Ah . . .” She did not want to lie to the little girl, but she couldn’t tell the truth. Eliza might let it slip when she saw Jack. “Older than four.”

Eliza accepted that, moving on to a new topic. “We get to pick a birthday. I picked July first because I like summer. When’s your birthday?”

“April fourth.” She’d never considered someone might not know his birth date, but of course the baby they’d found today would never know it.

And there was no need for him to know. A birthday was just like any other day. No one had ever made a fuss about Frances’s and Frederick’s birthday. Still, it seemed somehow wrong not to know such a basic fact about oneself.

When they reached the house, Eliza pulled her through the door and across the entrance hall. It was a surprisingly large, airy place, much pleasanter than Frances had expected.

She heard the scrabbling of nails behind her and glanced over her shoulder. Shakespeare was still following them. Well, if Mr. Understadt wasn’t concerned about the dog’s presence in the house, she wouldn’t be either. Lord Jack could certainly evict the animal if he wanted to.

Eliza brought her to a big, noisy room. There were four large round tables with about ten children and a teacher at each—two tables of girls and two of boys. Eliza ran off to join the little girls sitting with Miss Weatherby, leaving Frances to stand awkwardly in the middle of the floor. The baby was nowhere in sight—Miss Weatherby must have successfully handed him off to Mrs. Understadt. Where was Jack?

“Francis!” Jack called. “Over here!”

He was sitting with the older boys and their tutor, a man about her age. Oh damn. The boys were still children—the oldest looked to be at most twelve—but they had sharp eyes, and their tutor was obviously an expert in dealing with young males. If she wasn’t very, very careful, her masquerade would come to a very public, very embarrassing end.

She would keep her eyes on her plate. At least Lord Jack had saved her the place next to him.

“Look! He’s got a dog!” one of the boys called.

All the children turned to stare, and some stood up to get a better look, until their teachers bade them take their seats again. But at least they ignored her. She slipped into her seat.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said. “Shakespeare followed me, and Mr. Understadt said it would be all right if he came inside.”

“Well, I’m afraid he’s causing a bit of a commotion. Sit, Shakespeare, and behave.”

Shakespeare sat down and looked from Jack to Frances and back, his brows tented, his eyes sorrowful.

“I think he’s hungry,” the boy on the other side of Jack said.

Shakespeare’s ears twitched and his tail beat a hopeful tattoo.

Did the boy have Jack’s eyes?

No, of course not. He had to be close to twelve, which would have put Jack at fourteen when . . .

She glanced at Jack, and then took a bite of her nuncheon. Was it physically possible for fourteen-year-old boys to become fathers?

She took another bite. The food was excellent—far better than what she was used to at Landsford. If this were a planned visit, she’d think the cook had taken special pains with the meal, but Jack’s presence had been completely unexpected.

It would appear Jack was a surprisingly generous benefactor.

“Can he beg for his food?” the boy next to Frances asked.

“I don’t kno—”

The boy didn’t wait for her to finish. He picked up a bit of meat and showed it to Shakespeare. The dog immediately held up his front paws.

“I guess he can,” she said.

The boy gave Shakespeare the treat, which he devoured in two bites. Then he lowered his head as if he was bowing.

Jack laughed. “He
was
an actor’s animal. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Dutton earned a shilling or two from Shakespeare’s performances.”

“Can he beg for me?”

“No, for me!”

The boys were leaping out of their seats in excitement. She’d never seen Frederick behave this way when he was a boy.

Of course she hadn’t. Viola would have sharply told him to mind his manners—but he never was at meals with them anyway. He was always out in the fields looking at weeds.

These boys had come out of the stews, likely all the children of prostitutes. They seemed very healthy and happy.

Their tutor raised his hand for quiet. “Boys, the poor dog will explode if you all feed him.”

“Yes, Mr. Pedley,” the boys said in a rather dispirited tone.

“But perhaps he does some other tricks, my lord?” Mr. Pedley asked.

“Not that I know of. Does he do any other tricks, Francis?”

“He shakes hands.” Jack was at ease with the boys, too. And they were at ease with him. He must come here frequently.

Visiting a place like this seemed an odd activity for a rake, even if some of the children were his. Her father certainly had never bothered to visit
his
children.

“Splendid.” Lord Jack grinned and beckoned a thin girl of about ten over. “Mary, would you like to meet Shakespeare?”

Mary solemnly took Shakespeare’s offered paw.