Lady Dearing's Masquerade (6 page)

An hour later, Livvy joined the children and Jane Burton, their governess, for dinner in the schoolroom. The children, hungry from their long walk, devoured their lamb and rice pudding in silence. Meanwhile she gazed at the faces surrounding the worn oak table.

Philippa, the first child she’d brought home from the Foundling Hospital. Clever, opinionated and fiercely affectionate, she’d exhausted the patience of the teachers there. Tall for her eleven years, with piercing green eyes in a thin face framed by an unruly mass of dark hair, Philippa was at an awkward stage, but someday she would be a striking, intelligent woman, one who might find her way even in a society dominated by men who thought they knew best.

Ben, dark-haired, brown-eyed, big for his age, whose face had worn a sullen expression for weeks after his arrival, who had come so far in overcoming his tendency to stutter. Who’d once set a fire at the Foundling Hospital but now could coax the most tender of plants to grow. He was nine now . . . goodness, it was two years since she’d brought him home!

Four-year-old Robbie, with sparkling hazel eyes, ears that stuck slightly out from his head, tousled red-brown hair that stubbornly resisted all attempts at taming it. The scamp whose adventurous spirit could lead him into trouble—and did at times—but who made her laugh every day.

Her gaze fell on the most recent addition to her family: ten-year-old Mary, angelic in appearance with her pale blond hair and blue eyes. Angelic in behavior as well.
Too
subdued, Livvy thought, contrasting her with the others. But Mary was beginning to unfurl a few petals; Livvy had great hopes that they would soon reach a better understanding.

If only they would be given that time.

When they had reached the jam tarts that ended the meal, Livvy decided to prepare them for Sir Jeremy’s upcoming visit.

“Children, Miss Burton,” she said, addressing Jane formally as she always did in the presence of the children. “We had a visitor today.”

“We saw him riding in as we were leaving,” said Robbie excitedly. “Coo! What a prime horse he rides!”

“Who was it?” asked Philippa.

“Sir Jeremy Fairhill, one of the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.”

All of the children sobered, except for Robbie, who continued to shovel jam tart into his mouth.

“Why did he come?” asked Philippa, her voice echoing the strain in the faces of all the older children.

Livvy took a breath. She’d already decided not to tell them about his plans regarding Mary; hopefully Sir Jeremy would see wisdom and not force the issue. The upcoming inspection was another matter. She had to prepare them somehow.

“As a representative of the Hospital, Sir Jeremy wishes to know that all of you are thriving here,” she explained.

“B-but we
are
,” said Ben, his stutter giving evidence of his anxiety.

“Sir Jeremy has all your interests very much at heart,” she said gently. “I have invited him to visit again tomorrow so he may become better acquainted with us. I expect you all to show him how well we get on here.”

“Will he take us away if he’s not pleased with what he sees?” asked Philippa.

Livvy gazed around at the children for a moment. All looked grave; Mary’s face had paled. It was no use dissembling to them. “He might. But you must not be worrying that that will happen. It is quite a routine thing, you know. The Governors make periodic inspections of the wet nurses who keep baby foundlings in the country, and they sometimes visit older children who are serving apprenticeships to make sure they are being treated properly. This is not much different.”

Philippa nodded solemnly. Livvy could count on her help now. Glancing around the table, she saw the same resolution echoed in the other children’s faces.

 “I know you will all make me proud of you,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “Everything will be well.”

* * *

Jane echoed Livvy’s hope later that evening, when they sat together in the library sharing tea.

Livvy agreed, then took a bite of a macaroon. The children had washed, said their prayers and were safely tucked into bed for the night. Usually this was a quiet, relaxing time for her and Jane, but tonight anxiety preyed on both of them.

“I do not know what Sir Jeremy will think,” Jane continued, faint worry lines creasing her smooth forehead. “We have deviated so much from the course of study the children used to follow at the Foundling Hospital.”

“I can only hope that once he meets the children he will understand. But that is not our only problem.”

Jane tipped her head slightly to the side.

“He wants to take Mary as his ward.”

“Mary? But why?” Jane pushed a light brown strand of hair back into place.

“He says it is because it was his wife’s dying wish. I do not know . . . It is a strange tale.”

“You do not think? . . .” Jane’s eyes widened.

“That he is her father? I don’t know. Perhaps what he said
is
true. There was something about how he spoke of his wife . . . as if he bears a wound he would rather not have touched,” she mused, half to herself. “Moreover, if he is the one who sent Mary to the Foundling Hospital with the hundred pounds, why would he claim her now?”

“Perhaps he and Mary’s mother were cruelly parted. Perhaps she died, and it has taken him all this time to find Mary.”

“You
are
a romantic, Jane!”

“Well, it might be true,” said Jane with a stubborn tilt to her chin.

“It is no stranger than his own story,” Livvy conceded.

“Perhaps he plans to take a new wife and thinks she will be a mother to Mary.”

Was he thinking of remarrying? A chill crept over her heart. Sir Jeremy had not the demeanor of a man in love, but he might be contemplating some very proper alliance. Livvy reflected that it would be a rare gentlewoman who would tolerate a foundling—possibly her husband’s illegitimate daughter—in her household.

She shook her head, baffled. “Regardless of his reasons, I hope we can persuade him to allow us to keep Mary, at least a while longer. That is, if he decides I am a suitable person to have charge of
any
of them.”

“You don’t think he truly would take them all away?”

“It is possible. If you had seen the way he looked at me—well, I can tell he would not hesitate to remove the children if he thought I was doing them any harm.”

“Surely that won’t happen!”

“In any case, you will have a home with me, dear,” Livvy replied, seeing the alarm in her friend’s eyes. “But it won’t happen. We
will
find a way to deal with Sir Jeremy.”

“Livvy, you must tell me if there is any way I can help you tomorrow,” said Jane, after a little pause.

“We must go on as we always do, Jane. There is no sense in trying to deceive Sir Jeremy about what we have done for the children. We can only try to convince him that we have acted rightly.”

And, she added silently, one deception was quite enough for her to manage.

* * *

Jeremy turned in to the gates in the brick wall that encircled Rosemead Park, his horse’s hooves squelching through the damp earth and gravel of the drive. He’d arisen early to find that the night’s rains had given way to a perfect spring day.

“Steady lad, one would think you were two years old again,” he admonished Samson, as his mount playfully shied away from a swaying, bud-laden rhododendron bush.

But he himself was far too eager to be riding up that winding drive, watching the elegant, symmetrical building of rosy brick emerge from its secluded position in the wooded vale.

He thought he had talked himself into a more proper frame of mind. Yesterday he had allowed Lady Dearing to surprise him into rudeness. He’d not expected her to be so lovely and youthful. And her odd manner, bursting into the entrance hall to greet him, and responding so strangely to the things he’d told her about Cecilia—perhaps she
was
rather eccentric.

He reined in at the stables, going back over the questions he’d mentally rehearsed. They would help him concentrate on what was most important. Having left Samson with a groom, he returned to the entrance, where he was once again admitted by the grandfatherly-looking butler, Thurlow. The clock on the mantel showed he was a quarter of an hour early.

“Her ladyship is in the library, sir, doing her accounts,” said Thurlow, taking Jeremy’s overcoat and hat. “However, I am certain she would wish me to take you to her.”

Jeremy followed the man down the hallway and into a cozy, book-lined room carpeted in a practical drugget. The furniture was scrupulously polished and dusted, but like the carpet, showed small signs of wear. He wondered if the children played here sometimes. Twittering sounds emanated from one corner, where he saw several goldfinches housed in an enormous birdcage carved to resemble a Chinese pagoda. The French doors, matching the ones in the drawing room, were partially open, admitting spring-scented air into the room.

Lady Dearing sat at a desk leaning over an open ledger, a pair of spectacles sliding down her nose. As Jeremy entered, she looked up and pushed them back with a beautifully manicured hand. He wondered if she had donned the spectacles in order to look older. It was not working.

“What a pleasure to see you so early, Sir Jeremy,” she said, rising as the butler left them.

“My apologies. I rode out early to exercise my horse and was not certain of the time.”

He tried not to stare at her as he had yesterday. But she looked thoroughly fresh and appealing in a blue-striped gown, lace high to her throat, her blue eyes glowing through the spectacles.

“Did you expect to find me with a lover, perhaps?” she asked, chin tilted slightly.

It was phrased as a joke, but he knew it was a challenge. He had offended her yesterday. Or she wished him to think so.

“Of course not. I must apologize again. I realize my manner may have been a bit abrupt yesterday, but I intended no offense. It is just that you are . . . younger than I expected.”

“I am two-and-thirty,” she replied crisply. “Many women have borne four children, or even more, by my age.”

He suppressed frustration. He’d offended her again, with a statement that would have pleased most women.

“I did not say you are too young to care for the children. I was trying to apologize for my rude manner.”

A flush stole over her cheeks. “Do not trouble yourself about it. I suppose it is natural for you to be suspicious.”

“I am here to learn the truth.”

“Very well then. There are a few things I should like to discuss before we go up to the schoolroom. Will you be seated, please?”

Though her words were decisive, there was something in her demeanor . . . a taut wariness. Did she have something to hide, or was it just the natural nervousness of anyone under inspection?

Regardless, a polite and friendly manner would help him to discover the truth.

He relaxed his expression and took a seat. “What is it you wish to tell me, then?”

She clasped her hands in her lap, as she had yesterday. They were beautiful hands, bare of rings, he noticed.

“First I must tell you that I have the deepest respect for the Governors of the Foundling Hospital,” she said. “I believe that the standard of education at the Hospital is undoubtedly well suited to the needs of the vast majority of the children.”

“There is no need for flattery. What is it you wish to tell me?”

“I was trying to make clear that I intend no criticism of the Hospital or the Governors, and explain that in the case of the foundlings here at Rosemead, I have found that somewhat . . . different  . . . methods have proven efficacious.”

“Such as?”

“Their education here has been broader. I believe that allowing them to pursue individual interests has helped them improve in other things, especially in their behavior.”

She’d given him the lead to ask one of his questions.

“Yes, their behavior. May I ask how Ben Taylor is doing?”

“Very well,” she replied. “He has taken a particular interest in gardening. Every day he helps Furzeley, my head gardener, and he has come along very well.”

“Excellent. Many of the Hospital’s boys become gardeners.”

He turned his head, hearing a rustling outside the French doors. Ah. It was a potted shrub, its branches moving slightly in the breeze. He returned his gaze to Lady Dearing, to find her turning back from looking the same way.

“What I should really like to know is if there has been a recurrence of the fire-starting.”

“Not at all,” she said reassuringly. “Have you spoken to Mrs. Hill about it?”

“A little. She confided to me that he’d set it in a tin pail in a spot where there was little likelihood of its spreading. She seemed inclined to be lenient to the boy, but it is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

“Not at all. Did Mrs. Hill mention that Ben suffers from a rather severe stutter?”

“Yes, she did, and that the teachers at the Hospital quite failed to cure him of it. Are you telling me there is a connection between the stuttering and the fire?”

“One of the other boys liked to tease him. He would try to goad Ben into fighting and then lay the blame on Ben. Even though Ben is big for his age, he hates fighting. I think that since he had trouble explaining what was happening to anyone, frustration led him to set the fire.”

He frowned. “I trust the matter was dealt with properly.”

“It was. And since Ben has come here, his behavior has improved markedly, along with his stuttering.”

“You have found a way to cure him of it?” Despite himself he was impressed.

“Not entirely. We have found it helps to
not
try to correct the stuttering, but to just encourage him to speak regardless. But I am afraid you may not see the improvement. Ben still stutters when with strangers, or if he is upset.”

“I must hope then that he trusts me enough to demonstrate an improvement.”

“Perhaps he will,” she said, her hands twisting in her lap.

“Is there something else you wished to speak of?”

She nodded. “Are you still hoping to take Mary away today?”