Lady Dearing's Masquerade (10 page)

Then he slept.

Chapter 7

Mist curled around the quaint red conical roof of one of the distinctive oasthouses that dotted the Weald of Kent.

Jeremy guided Samson along the narrow lane near Cherrydean, the nearest village to Rosemead Park. Despite the comfortable room he’d hired at the Hare and Hounds, he’d awoken early, restless and deplorably eager to keep his appointment with Lady Dearing and the foundlings. Now even the Kentish countryside beguiled him. Though his native Hampshire was lovely and fertile, he’d never seen such hop vines, such orchards laden with blossoms.

Samson snorted. Hoofbeats sounded around the bend, and a moment later Lady Dearing rode out of the shifting mists on a gray hack. A patch of sunlight glimmered on golden curls peeking from the hat that matched her blue riding habit.

“Good morning,” he called out, more eagerly perhaps than he should have.

She looked startled for a moment, then rode forward to greet him. A smile lit her face, but all too quickly her expression faded to a polite mask.

“You are not lost, are you, Sir Jeremy? Rosemead is quite the opposite way.”

“Thank you for your solicitude, but I am not lost,” he said, turning his gaze between his horse’s ears. “I promise you I shan’t be late for our appointment.”

“I am just returning,” she said in a friendly tone. “I am going to take Galahad for a gallop across the Park, then join the children for breakfast. You may come along if you wish. We have much to discuss.”

He nodded and turned Samson alongside her horse, steadied by her direct, businesslike manner. At the same time he couldn’t help but enjoy the brightness of her eyes, the healthy color in her cheeks. The alluring curve of her hip over the cantle of her sidesaddle.

“Do you make a habit of riding out this early?” he asked on impulse.

“Yes, or I take a brisk walk around the Park. I like having a bit of quiet time before the children are up.”

Early rising, breakfast with the children . . . None of it fit with the debauched life gossip credited her to lead.

“I have spoken to the children about their behavior last Thursday,” she continued. “Mary is still reluctant to reveal why she fears a return to the Hospital, and the rest of them merely acted out of loyalty. I must beg you to be patient.”

“It is not my intention to coerce information out of Mary.”

“I did not imply you would,” she said softly. “Perhaps you will allow me to tell you what I have planned.”

“Of course.”

“I think it would be best if each week you concentrated your efforts on just one child, spending as much time as possible with him or her alone.”

“But they do not trust me.”

“Exactly. As long as Miss Burton and I are present, the children will expect us to shield them from you. Only if you are alone together will they realize they have nothing to fear. They will also look to you to help them with any difficulties that arise, and may learn that they can rely on you to help.”

It sounded reasonable. If daunting.

“Will you do it?”

She flashed him a challenging look.

Almost as if
he
were being inspected, or—came the sudden thought—tested to see if he was suited to the role of fatherhood. Well, he’d spoken to dukes, bankers and even the Prince Regent on behalf of the Foundling Hospital; he could not admit to misgivings about dealing with four children.

“Of course. It sounds an excellent plan.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I am glad you think so. I have planned for each child to spend some time showing you something in which he or she is interested. Asking questions will help draw them out.”

“I will remember that.”

“Good. Then you shall begin with Robbie.”

“The youngest? Do you think it wise?”

A hint of amusement lurked in her eyes. “It is because he is the youngest that Robbie is the most trusting.”

“Is he not the one who tried to run away to his wet nurse?”

“Do you think that signifies a timid nature?” Her smile broadened. “Robbie is the most redoubtable character. He knew what he wanted, and he did all he could to achieve his goal.”

“An interesting interpretation of his actions.”

“Did you know that he tried to stow away in my carriage?” she continued, a dimple appearing in her cheek.

“No, I did not.”

“I was visiting the Hospital, and when he asked me from whence I came, I told him it was Kent. I’d no idea why it gave him such delight, until I found him under my carriage blanket and he admitted that his wet nurse lived in Kent. It quite broke my heart to return him to the nurse in charge of the little ones. Later I asked Lord Bromhurst if I could take him home with me.”

“Was that not condoning Robbie’s misdeed?”

“I see it as understanding a small child’s desire to be near the only mother he ever knew. All the little ones cry when they come to the Hospital from their wet nurses. How can they help it? They are but three or four years old!”

“What else can we do? Physicians advise that wet-nursing is superior to any other form of sustenance for infants. But the simple country girls available as wet nurses are not capable of educating their charges. The children must return to the Hospital or they will be unprepared to earn a living.”

“Please do not think I am criticizing. I am sure it is for the best. In a more ideal state of things, mothers would be able to nurse their own children.”

He couldn’t agree more, but her vehemence unsettled him.

“How is it that you have kept Robbie from escaping again?”

“I suggest you ask Robbie,” she said.

The dimple reappeared briefly in her cheek. A delicious little dent in her glowing skin, it reminded him of something . . . Some
one
. Nonsense. It meant nothing, just that he seemed to be partial to ladies with dimples.

They turned up a wider lane and the brick wall surrounding Rosemead appeared before them. Lady Dearing urged her horse into a trot, and a few hundred feet later they approached a small gate, presumably an alternate entrance to the Park. There she neatly maneuvered her horse along the gate, unlatched it and held it open so Jeremy and Samson could pass through. A velvety patch of green sward beckoned; Jeremy was not surprised to see Lady Dearing’s horse prance. Samson pricked up his ears.

“Ready?” she asked, smiling over her shoulder.

He nodded, gave Samson his head and followed Lady Dearing in a mad dash across the Park. Ten minutes later, still distracted by her bright eyes and wind-reddened cheeks, he accompanied her into the schoolroom. The children had already sat down to their porridge. High-pitched chatter he’d heard from the hall gave way to a nervous hush, and he knew he was the cause. He smiled and bade them good morning and they replied in polite, well-rehearsed unison. Mary avoided his gaze.

Lady Dearing gave him an encouraging smile. “Would you care for some porridge, Sir Jeremy? Coffee or tea?”

He declined breakfast but allowed her to pour him coffee before she sat down with the children.

“Robbie, when we are finished you shall show Sir Jeremy our pets,” Lady Dearing said, filling the awkward silence.

“I should like that very much,” he said, smiling at Robbie.

The boy returned his look with the wide-eyed intensity of a very young and curious child. “O’course you will. We have some—some bang-up pets!”

Miss Burton blushed, clearly embarrassed by the child’s use of cant, but Jeremy kept his countenance serene. He noticed Lady Dearing kept her eyes lowered as she brought a spoonful of porridge to her mouth. A bit of it remained on her lower lip; surreptitiously she licked it off. Jeremy wrenched his gaze from the sight of her rose-petal tongue and turned to watch the older children clear the table.

Robbie slipped eagerly out of his seat. “Now let’s go see Mr. Wiggly-nose,” he said, bouncing up and down.

Jeremy followed the boy to the other end of the schoolroom. Near the hearth sat a large, deep wooden box with several wisps of straw protruding from it. Robbie bent over the box and to Jeremy’s surprise lifted out a small, plump hedgehog.

“This is Mr. Wiggly-nose,” he announced proudly. “I named him myself.”

He lifted the creature up for Jeremy’s inspection. The hedgehog’s dark eyes glittered and its nose twitched.

“It does not hurt you to hold him?”

“No, he’s only a bit prickly. Would you—would you like to hold him?”

Aware that everyone was watching him, including Mary, Jeremy nodded and carefully took the hedgehog from Robbie. The creature curled up in his arms.

“How curious. It is no worse than the bristles of a hairbrush,” he commented.

Robbie reached up and stroked the creature, eliciting an odd snuffling, purring sound.

“However did you come to have him as a pet?”

“He—he was hungry,” Robbie answered. “Lady Dee says he was born too late and—and wasn’t fat enough to sleep all winter, like other hedgehogs do.”

“Hedgehogs born of a second litter do not always survive,” she explained. “So we brought him indoors, and—oh dear!”

Just as she broke off, Jeremy felt a warm, wet trickle down his leg. The hedgehog had relieved himself on his breeches.

“I’m so sorry!” said Lady Dearing, white-faced. “Miss Burton, fetch a wet cloth. Quickly, please!”

Miss Burton bolted from the room. Silence fell; all eyes fixed on him as if he might explode at any moment.

It was another test.

He lifted the hedgehog to face him and looked sternly at the creature.

“Mr. Wiggly-nose, where are your manners?” he demanded.

The children’s eyes widened.

“I am sure your master taught you better,” he continued in the same mock-lecturing voice.

Robbie’s shoulders began to shake. “You’re silly, Sir Jeremy!” he exclaimed, and burst into giggles.

“Mr. Wiggly-nose, I must demand an apology,” he said, noting that Ben and Philippa were covering their mouths with their hands. Even Mary was watching, wide-eyed.

The creature obligingly warbled and grunted back at him.

“Ah, very well, I accept your apologies. I trust you will not behave so disgracefully again.”

The older children began to laugh. Even Lady Dearing began to chuckle softly. He drank in the delicious sound; suddenly, it occurred to him how rarely Cecilia had laughed. He looked up to see dimples puckering Lady Dearing’s cheeks. Those luscious dimples . . . Making a fool of himself was worth it, just to see them.

And to please the children, of course.

As their eyes met over the heads of the children, Lady Dearing’s smile faded.

Miss Burton rushed back into the room with a damp cloth and held it out to him, her cheeks red. He took it and scrubbed at his breeches, finding them only lightly stained.

“Well then, Robbie,” Lady Dearing said. “Once Sir Jeremy has cleaned his—himself, you may take Mr. Wiggly-nose out to the garden for his breakfast. Then you may show Sir Jeremy the kittens. I’ll meet you again in the library. You can feed Freddy and Ferdy last.”

Jeremy followed the boy out of the room, still wondering what he had done to wipe the smile from Lady Dearing’s face.

* * *

Livvy stared out through the window of her bedchamber. She’d come upstairs to change out of her riding habit, but instead of summoning Alice, she found herself watching Sir Jeremy and Robbie in the garden.

The sight of Sir Jeremy’s tall form beside Robbie’s small, bouncing one warmed her. A moment later, the hedgehog rolled down the slope to the lawn, his usual mode of traversing inclines. A captivating sound rang out: baritone laughter, mingled with Robbie’s piping giggles.

Livvy withdrew from the window, deciding not to risk being seen spying on them.

But what a surprise it had been, to see such a grave, rigidly proper gentleman abandon all dignity to reassure the children. He seemed once more like the gentle, passionate man who’d kissed her at the masquerade.

Half-consciously she touched a hand to her lips, then lowered it. No, she didn’t want to think about it; it only made her feel guilty. But having begun this deception, she could not risk everything by confessing now.

Besides, there was no point. There never would be.

* * *

Jeremy followed the chattering boy into the library. As they entered, Lady Dearing got up from her desk, now wearing the pale green gown he’d first seen her in. Jeremy watched Robbie run to her for a quick hug, saw the fond look she gave the child fade into a more guarded expression as she turned toward him.

He turned toward the birdcage, stifling a vague sense of disappointment. “So these are Freddy and Ferdy?”

“Yessir. Their real names are Frederica and Ferdinand,” said Robbie, carefully enunciating each name as he poured water he’d brought from the kitchen into one dish, then poured seeds into another.

The birds fluttered around, twittering excitedly.

“They sing very nicely,” Jeremy commented.

“If you whistle to Ferdy, he’ll whistle back,” said Robbie proudly as he closed and latched the cage door. “See?”

The boy whistled and one of the finches trilled back.

“A most intelligent bird. Thank you for introducing me.”

“I’m glad you like them. But Sir—Sir—Sir Jeremy?”

“Yes, Robbie?”

“Could you—would you—would you—”

He waited patiently for Robbie to finish his sentence.

“—would you take me up for a ride on your horse?” finished Robbie, bouncing a little in anticipation.

“Yes, of course. That is, if Lady Dearing permits,” he added, looking toward her.

She nodded.

“Thank you! Thank you!” shouted Robbie, bounding higher in that tireless way he had.

“Now you must go back to the schoolroom, dear,” said Lady Dearing. “We will talk a bit, then we will come upstairs and Sir Jeremy will help you with your letters.”

Once Robbie had gone, Lady Dearing seated herself in one of the wing chairs flanking the hearth and invited Jeremy to take the other.

“I hope you will tell me how you fared with Robbie. It went well, did it not?” Though her voice was calm, a slight tension in her posture betrayed her.