Chapter Nine
Kencot Manor, Hampshire
“The repairs on the third house in Derbyshire have been completed, my lord. Mr. James reports that nine women and eleven children have been moved from the rookeries near Ratcliffe Highway and are now comfortably situated,” Mr. Harrison Turner, his most trusted man of affairs, reported, pushing a sheaf of papers in Richard’s direction. “All fifteen rooms in the house are occupied, with some of the younger children sharing a room. The house has been staffed with a cook, a housekeeper, three maids, two footmen, and a gardener. As you requested, the stables are being repaired and the kennels cleaned.”
Richard reached for a few of the papers, scanning the immaculate and detailed report of the most recent houses that had been purchased and staffed. “I am not seeing the names and references of the governess and tutors that will take the children under their wings.”
The report detailed the children’s background, eight girls, and three boys, all ranging between three and ten. A few were fortunate to have their mothers with them, and the others had been living in an abandoned orphanage in Camden, trying to scrape for themselves after the institution had been recently closed due to lack of funding from their former donors. He’d bought the building and the grounds, but it would take several months for it to be transformed from the dark and oppressive place it had been to a warm and inviting haven with caring staff for homeless children.
“Mr. Pickering came highly recommended as a tutor. Interviews are being conducted for a suitable governess to work alongside him. The selection was narrowed down to two women, and the young lady I found most suitable was rejected by Mr. Dobson.”
Mr. Dobson was one of Richard’s solicitors. He employed a team of people and paid them well to ensure the smooth execution of his goals. There were several people of varying backgrounds on his payroll—solicitors, barristers, stewards, investigators, some who had formerly been Bow Street runners, and a number of agents who had contacts within the criminal echelon. He commanded their loyalty and dedication in the absolute, and though he rewarded them handsomely for their relentless work, he was ruthless with those who betrayed him, especially if their defection harmed the vulnerable under his protection.
“In what way was she the most suitable?”
A flush worked itself over Harrison’s features, and he tugged at his cravat. “Miss Lydia Martin is twenty-five years of age, and she is the daughter of a baronet. Her cyphering skills are excellent, and she is fluent in French and Latin. She was also sent to finishing school and is more than capable of teaching the children the social skills and etiquette needed to mingle in polite society. They have met her, and I must say, they were quite taken with her.”
“And what was Mr. Dobson’s objection?”
A muscle jerked in Harrison’s cheek, but he schooled his expression into a neutral mask. He was not quick enough, and Richard was curious at his interest in the lady. He’d met Harrison in the war, and they had become fast friends despite the difference in their stations. Their relationship had become even stronger when he rescued him from a French enemy camp. Several months after the war ended, he’d found him on the docks, tattered clothes hanging off his gaunt frame and begging for work, despite only having one leg. The wounds inflicted from torture had seen his left leg amputated from the knee down, and England’s elite cared little for anyone outside their society, and little indeed for the disabled soldiers who had given their souls, lives, and even limbs for their country. The worst blow Harrison had suffered was to learn his wife and child had perished from cholera while he’d been fighting. Richard had hired him, and the man had worked his way into his employ to become one of the few people he trusted to have his back in any situation.
“She has a five-year-old daughter.”
“And?”
“She was never married. Her family does not recognize her and her child, and she is without references and prospects.”
“Is she your lover?”
Tension shifted through Harrison. “No.” The unstated not yet hung heavy in the air, evidenced by the possessive hunger that curled through his dark eyes before he lowered his lids. “I wouldn’t presume to court Miss Martin. She is a gentleman’s daughter.” He waved to the peg that had replaced his left foot. “I wouldn’t have much to offer her, and she is quite determined to support herself.”
“I see. And who is the second woman?”
A single sheet of paper was pushed across the polished surface of the desk. A quick scan revealed Mrs. Jennifer Watson to be forty-five, with impeccable references and moral character. Richard hardly involved himself on the smaller scale of the vast operation he was running. He held meetings such as these once a week, for the entire day, keeping abreast of everything. This decision was not his to make, yet something about the clear need Harrison felt for this Miss Lydia Martin tugged at the cold, lonely place in his heart. If Richard were smart, he would warn his foolish friend to not give over his trust and loyalty so easily, yet he hesitated, once again looking down at the draft which summed up her existence. He read between the lines, able to envision the hardship she must have endured by having a child out of wedlock. Abandoned by her family and society, how had she survived? He distantly noted he admired the fact she had kept her child against all the odds. She’d not abandoned her to a life of poverty and degradation for her own ease of comfort.
“Inform Miss Martin she has a job here if she is willing to relocate. There is a three-bedroom cottage only a mile from the main residence that would be hers. However, she has the option of living on the main estate with her daughter.”
Shock flared in Harrison’s eyes. “You would hire her…for here?”
“Do you doubt her character?”
“No,” he said quickly. “You would not regret your decision. She is…she is excellent, Richard,” he ended gruffly.
“Good. Then the matter is settled, and I will leave it to you to take my offer to her.”
He nodded and withdrew several more piles of papers showing how the estimated budgets of opening and staffing each house for the next few years compared with the initial cost. The meeting ran for another two hours before it started to wind down. A quick glance at his watch showed it to be a little after noon. His Emily would soon clomp down the stairs and barge into the library.
Richard closed the last folder and leaned back in his chair. “I think this was the last of it.”
“It is.” Harrison cleared his throat and peered at Richard over his spectacles, an imperceptible air of tension surrounding his large frame.
A warning crawled over Richard’s skin and burrowed its way under his flesh. “Is there something the matter?” he asked smoothly, leaning back in his chair, watching every nuance of his expression.
Harrison grimaced. “There was a situation at one of the houses… I was urged not to make a report to you because the matter has been handled, but I am discomfited.”
A cold knot formed in Richard’s gut, and he calmly gathered the sheaf of papers into a neat pile and set them aside. He stood, went to the mantel, and poured brandy into two glasses, handing one to Harrison. Richard sat on the edge of the desk and took a sip of his brandy, appreciating the slow burn sliding down his throat.
“Urged by whom?”
“Your lawyer in Richmond, Mr. Clearwater. One of the young ladies was revealed to be with child, four months along, I believe. She was given a sum of two hundred pounds, a fortune I am sure she has never seen, but she was denied a place in the manor there. I did not believe she was a poor example to the others there, but my counsel was ignored.”
A cold surge of fury lit in his veins. “Who was she?”
“A Miss Imogen Green. She is sixteen, my lord, a rare beauty, and is rumored to be the bastard daughter of Lord Cofield. She has been living in Richmond these past eight months. When questioned, she was tight-lipped about the identity of her seducer. Mr. Clearwater thought he had little choice but to turn her from the house.”
Richard was almost muted with rage. “That goddamned blackguard. Why would he turn away a child to flounder on her own? Our houses are to be safe,” he snapped. “How was she seduced? Was an investigation done into the matter?”
“No. Mr. Clearwater simply gave her the money and allowed her to pack her belongings.”
“When was this?”
Harrison flushed in evident discomfort. “It has been two weeks.”
“I charge you to find her, Harrison. Open an investigation. I want the name of the man who put the babe in her belly. By God, he’ll do right by her. You have the full use of my men and name to complete this task and keep me abreast with daily reports. I will deal with Clearwater.”
There was a thump on the door, and then it was pushed open. A head peeked around, and golden eyes scanned the room. They skimmed over Harrison, and when they landed on Richard, his heart jerked. It never failed to amaze him the manner in which her entire face transformed whenever she saw him. There was always a relief, as if she was not sure if he would be there, then trust, as if all in her world was now safe, and then a blinding happiness he would never want to see replaced by fear or hurt again.
“You are late, Papa. I’ve been waiting for five full minutes.” Without waiting for an invitation, she skipped into the library, leaving the door ajar. Her dark hair was mussed and loosed from its simple chignon, a suspicious dark spot marred her cheeks, and her dress had grass stains…and she had bare feet. At least she had on stockings, very dirty stockings.
“Good day, Mr. Harrison,” she said with a quick curtsy that was really a bob of her head and an indifferent dip of her shoulder. She was quite petite for her age in comparison to other seven-year-olds he had seen, but she had a large personality.
The man stood, understanding their meeting was over. “Miss Emily, a pleasant good day to you. I was about to take my leave. I will have a report of the situation by tomorrow, my lord.”
Richard nodded, downed the rest of his brandy, and set the glass on the table. He grabbed Emily and swung her into his arms. As was her usual way, she twisted, climbing his shoulders to settle atop them comfortably.
They escorted Harrison from the house and watched as he collected his carriage and pulled away from the estate. A chin rested atop his head, and a sigh too heavy for such a small body issued from his daughter. “I believe I ate too much gingerbread, Papa.”
“Is that what is on your cheeks?”
A sweet chortle came from above. “They were dipped in chocolate icing. Are we to still play cricket today? Everyone is waiting for you on the lawns, Papa.”
Everyone being the other children who had been with her on that fateful night, plus another two. James had elected to stay with his sister Clara and was trying now to assimilate into their odd band of family. In total, he had eight children living at Kencot Manor, his main residence since he’d broken from his father.
“Then let’s get on with cricket, shall we?”
He rounded the corner, heading to the eastern side of the estate, and faltered, equal shock and pleasure freezing him in place. Evie. Predictably, her unexpected appearance had his heart jerking into a hard rhythm, and his mouth went dry. What was she doing at his estate? She’d not sent word ahead that she would travel down from town. Had something happened?
“Who is she, Papa?” his daughter asked from where she was perched atop his shoulders. God’s blood, for precious seconds he’d forgotten she was with him. Sudden apprehension scythed through his heart. He was not ready for his daughter to see him interact intimately with Evie. His little Emily was quite perceptive and very much ached for a mother. Though she was tentative with her questions, several times she queried the existence of her mother, and he was painfully aware as she grew older she would need a woman in her life.
Richard would hate for her to observe him with Evie and feel any sort of hope in relation to her. He cared little for society’s censure, but to Evie, it was the center of her existence. He could not imagine her publicly claiming his daughter as her own, suffering society’s derision for it, the loss of friends, drawing rooms being closed to her, and perhaps even estrangement from her family. It did not escape him that since a gathering at Wolverton’s estate a few months past for the duke’s twin sons’ christening, Evie had made no overture to be seen in public with his daughter and her band of undesirables. A pity that. But it told him everything he needed to know, even though he often fisted his cock and stroked himself to the image of riding Evie, pressing her deep into his mattress as he worked out the lust that had been brewing in his gut for her for six long years.
“That is Lady Evie. You’ve met before at Rosette Park.”
“She is like a princess,” his daughter said softly, evident awe in her voice. “Don’t you agree, Papa?”
He grunted, unable to form an intelligent response. Garbed in a pale pink high-waisted gown, she was truly ravishing. A few curls had escaped the confines of her bonnet and whispered becomingly against her cheek. Her gaze was drinking in his estate, and he quite liked the admiration he saw. This was one of the three manors he owned through his own hard work and had nothing to do with his father. Evie’s gaze settled on him and warmth lit her expression.
“My lord, how delightful to see you.” Pursing her lips, she tilted her head and considered his daughter. “How charming to see you again, Lady Emily,” Evie said and dipped into a deep curtsy.
His daughter giggled, the sweet sound traveling to a soft place in his heart where few people resided.
“I ain’t no lady.”
“You’re not?”
“Uh-huh. Papa says I’m a mischievous imp.”
“Mind your manners, Emily.” He gripped his daughter by the waist and lowered her to the ground. She dipped into a curtsy, then stood, fairly hopping from one foot to the other.
His Emily was staring at Evie with bright-eyed anticipation. “Delighted to see you, too,” his daughter said almost shyly.
His heart twisted at the naked hunger darkening Emily’s eyes as she stared at Evie.
“Why are you here?” he asked gruffly.
“Is that the way to greet a friend?” she asked, then softened with a smile. “How are you today, Richard?”
His mouth went dry. She’d always had the power to bring him to his knees with a smile. “Are you here alone?”
“Hmm, I could hardly indulge in lessons with a chaperone, now could I?”
His damn knees weakened, and the minx suspected, because her green orbs danced with humor, secrets, and some other emotion he couldn’t define.
God, he wanted to touch her. To kiss her, to swallow her whimpers and soft exhalations of pleasure. Better, he wanted to just sit with her beside a fire in his parlor, and talk about everything that had been going on, and ask for her direction on the projects he was uncertain about, tutors for Emily, her plans to ensnare the man who had somehow snared her heart and enticed her to marriage.
At times like this, the insatiable longing that filled his soul for something deeper with Evie couldn’t be denied. She was tantalizingly dangerous. A simple touch from her, a smile, had the ability to crack the iron defenses he had built around his heart. Ah Christ, how was he to get through the day without giving in to the temptation eating at his soul?