Twenty-one

Life went on without Neil Wraxall. She hadn’t thought it would. She’d thought she’d wither and close herself off from the world like Harriett had when Lainesborough had finally shown his true colors.

But Julia wasn’t Harriett. Or perhaps she’d learned from her sister. Or perhaps she just had too much to do to take the time to indulge her broken heart. She had workers on the roof to oversee, boys to feed, wages to pay, and the riffraff of Spitalfields to fend off.

Neil might have gone, but Billy had stayed. The tall, quiet boy still kept to himself, but once in a while, he would sit beside her. He might make a face when she tried to hug him, but he didn’t push her away. Billy and Robbie had declared a truce of sorts, and the two of them had worked with Walter to build a racetrack for Matthew, Mark, and Luke. All the children and Mrs. Dunwitty had gathered in the parlor to watch the rats race. Although Julia had firmly outlawed any wagering, she suspected a few of the boys had placed bets anyway.

“Robbie, I believe we are ready,” Julia said when all the boys had gathered around the track, jostling and nudging each other with excitement. The younger boys had climbed on chairs to see better, and Julia was pretending not to notice.

Robbie rubbed his hands together. “That’s it then, lads. Last chance to, er, find a seat.”

Julia wanted to roll her eyes. She really would have to lecture the children on the evils of gambling—but she’d pretend, just for tonight, that she didn’t know what they were up to. She knew she should have put an end to the wagering, but everyone was so excited and so happy and all together. The boys had been glum since Neil had left, and they needed something happy to bring them all together. She needed something happy because, as she looked around the room, all she could think of was Neil. He would have found Michael with his pencil and notebook and serious expression amusing and she wished he could see that Charlie had finally stopped sucking his thumb (except at bedtime, of course), and she wanted to show Neil that Billy and Robbie were almost standing beside each other.

The room and the orphanage seemed empty without him. She could wish him back for the next decade, but he’d made his choice. He didn’t want her. He wanted his life of blame, a life where his status as a bastard would mean he never truly fit in. He had fit in at Sunnybrooke. The boys had loved him, and they didn’t care about circumstances of birth or one’s past deeds as a soldier. They’d loved Neil because he’d cared for them, given them his attention, given them his time.

She’d loved him because he’d cared for the boys and because no other man she’d ever known would have done the same. She’d loved him for a thousand different reasons, not the least of which was the way he’d kissed her, the way he’d made her feel.

But in the end, he hadn’t loved her back. Or at least not enough to stay.

She caught Mrs. Dunwitty’s gaze on her from across the room, and Julia gave a watery smile. She blinked her eyes to stem the tears that threatened and focused on Robbie as he placed each rat in his starting box. Each rodent had his own lane, and the race would begin when the block sealing the rat in the box was lifted. At the end of the race were three pieces of cheese—incentives for the rats to run quickly. The first rat to make it to his cheese was the winner. Julia did not wager, but if she had, she would have put her money on Matthew. He was fleet of foot and not quite as rotund as Mark and John.

George, Ralph, and Angus each put a hand on a block, poised to lift it when Robbie said the word. Robbie raised his hand, and the room hushed. “Ready?” Robbie said.

Angus nodded slightly and George and Ralph kept their eyes on their blocks. “Steady,” Robbie cautioned. The room took a collective breath.

“And go!”

The blocks were yanked up and the room erupted in cheers. The three rats looked about in surprise, not a one showing any inclination to run.

“Do be quiet, boys,” Mrs. Dunwitty said. “All this noise will startle them.”

The boys quieted—or at least what was quiet for them—and Julia heard whispers of Should we nudge them? and Come on, Mark!

Then Luke’s nose twitched, and Charlie said, “He smells the cheese!”

He must have because Luke took a few tentative steps forward. The other rats couldn’t see Luke, but their noses seemed to twitch, or perhaps Luke sent them some sort of message only rats could decipher, because Matthew and Mark began to scurry forward.

The closer to the cheese the rats came, the faster their feet carried them until they were running full speed and all the boys were once again yelling. Julia yelled too. She couldn’t help it. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and when Matthew and Luke reached the cheese at the same time, she cheered.

“It’s a tie!” Robbie announced. “We need another race.”

“Let them finish their cheese first,” Charlie said, always concerned for the rats’ welfare.

“We need more cheese,” James said.

“I’ll get it!” Charlie offered. But just as he ran to the door of the parlor, Mrs. Koch stepped inside. Charlie almost ran into her, but she held out a hand and grabbed his shoulder stopping him.

“Let me guess. You vant more cheese?”

“If you have any to spare, Mrs. Koch,” Julia said.

“Cheese for the rats. Vhy not? This is a strange country, yah. Very strange.” She held out a parcel wrapped in paper. “This came few minutes ago. You vere making so much noise, I could hardly hear the rap on the door.”

“What it is?” several of the boys asked.

Mrs. Koch looked at Julia for permission. She gave a slight nod. “I think in this country you call it black pudding. Yah?” She parted the paper to reveal the long black cylinder resembling a large sausage. The boys gasped in shock, as did Julia. She did not care for black pudding, but she knew it would be a treat for the boys who had grown tired of their daily diet of porridge.

“Where did it come from?” she asked.

“A man delivered it,” Mrs. Koch said. “I don’t know him, but he said it vas a gift. Vhat do you vant me to do vith it?”

“Can we eat it, my lady?” George begged. “Please, please?”

“Yes, can we cut it and eat it now?” asked Michael. “If my estimate is correct, we can slice it into about fifteen even pieces.”

“Can we give some to the rats?” Charlie asked.

Julia tapped her chin. “I don’t know if we should eat it. A gift like this—who sent it?”

“I don’t know, my lady,” Mrs. Koch said. “I asked him, but he said ‘a friend.’”

“I bet it’s from Major,” Sean said. “I bet he sent it! Please can we eat it?”

Julia did not think it was from Neil, but it might have been from someone of the upper classes trying to do a good deed. But why wouldn’t the person have left his or her name?

“Please?” James asked. “Please?”

Julia smiled. How was she to hold up against this sort of pressure? “Very well.”

The boys cheered.

“We will eat it at breakfast.”

The boys groaned.

She clapped her hands. “If we’re to have another race before bedtime, someone go with Mrs. Koch to fetch more cheese.” She almost smiled as Charlie and Jimmy both all but knocked Mrs. Koch over in their attempts to be the first to the kitchen. She would have smiled if she hadn’t seen Billy’s white face. The boy hadn’t said a word, but he had gone white as a sheet.

“Billy, what’s the matter?” she asked.

He blinked as though just remembering where he was. “Nothing, my lady. Nothing at all.”

“Are you well?”

“I… Can I go lie down? My head is pounding.”

“Of course. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I’ll be fine.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

* * *

“I didn’t think it possible, but you look even worse tonight than you did last night.” Rafe Beaumont slid into the chair opposite Neil. They were alone in the dining room of the Draven Club, although it was well beyond the time when meals were served. Neil had lost all track of time.

“In fact, you look even worse than you did the morning after that skirmish in—”

“Stubble it,” Neil said, pouring more gin.

Quick as a cat, Rafe swiped the bottle of gin and Neil’s glass, handing it to Porter, who was conveniently passing by.

“What the devil?” Neil roared, rising.

Rafe blocked Neil’s path as Porter made his escape. “If you want to hit someone, old boy, hit me. I’m to blame.”

Neil stared at Rafe, and Rafe stared right back, refusing to back down.

“I would ask that you confine your blows to the area below my face. Others have found a punch to my breadbasket quite satisfactory.”

“I ought to break your nose.”

“And face the ire of London’s female population? They’re far less forgiving than me.”

“I don’t give a damn about London’s female population,” Neil said, but he sank back into his chair.

“And with the way you look, they won’t give a damn about you.” Rafe also sat, slowly, keeping his gaze on Neil. “If it’s any consolation, Porter had considered sending for Draven. I asked him to let me have a try first.”

“A try at what?” Neil muttered.

“Civilizing you for one. Sobering you up for another. How much have you drunk these past few days?”

“Who are you? My mother?”

“Oh dear God. You can’t even think of a clever retort. This is worse than I thought.”

Neil almost smiled despite himself.

Rafe leaned his elbow on the table and propped his chin in his hand. “Tell Uncle Rafe all about her.”

“Who?”

“Whoever it is that drives you to drink—never a good solution to the annoyances wrought by females, by the way. You had us all running in circles for the chit in Spitalfields. Is it she?”

“Be careful who you call ‘chit.’”

“Ah.” Rafe steepled his hands. “It is Lady Juliana. What happened? You love her, but she doesn’t return the sentiment?”

“What the deuce do you know about love?” Neil grumbled. For all his attempts to drown himself in drink tonight, he was still sober.

“I know all the symptoms,” Rafe said. “Hangdog mouth—check. Starry eyes—check. Quick temper, most likely due to sexual frustration—check.”

“Fists slamming into the face of the bloody idiot across from me”—Neil swung halfheartedly and Rafe leaned back—“check.”

“Fine. You don’t want to talk about it, then sit here and wallow, but I will say something before I leave you to it.”

Neil raised a brow. Rafe had sounded more serious than Neil could remember him sounding in a long, long time. “So you think to lecture me?”

“Pathetic state of affairs, is it not? Here’s the thing, Neil. We all lost friends and brothers-in-arms during the war. We were all part of the Draven’s troop, and we each have our cross to bear. You don’t have a corner on grief.”

Neil leaned back and crossed his arms, anger rising in his chest. “So this isn’t to be a lecture on love?”

“I’m getting to that, but you need this lecture too. We let you wallow—”

“You let me?”

“—because you were taxed with giving the orders—”

“And I don’t wallow.”

“—but we all volunteered to serve under Draven. We knew the risks, so stop blaming yourself for our losses. Blame Draven for giving the orders. Blame Napoleon for starting the war. Blame the dashed government for authorizing a suicide troop. Or”—he raised a hand—“here is an even better suggestion: forgive yourself and live your life.”

“And exactly how am I supposed to forgive myself?”

“Why don’t you begin by honoring our brothers’ memories?”

Neil reached across the table and grabbed Rafe by his perfectly tied cravat. “I honor their memories every day.”

“Of course you do,” Rafe wheezed out. “Sitting here drinking all night is quite a tribute.”

Neil let him go, none too gently.

Rafe smoothed his coat and slid a finger under his cravat. “Ask yourself what your men would have wanted. If I’d died on one of our missions, I’d sure as hell want you to be back in London doing all the things I loved doing.”

“There’s only one thing you love doing.”

“You should try it before you criticize.”

“I won’t honor anyone by fathering bastards.”

“Then marry the ch—lady in Spitalfields. I’ve always known you were the marrying sort, and you’re obviously besotted with her. What are you waiting for?”

Neil shook his head. It was one thing to talk about letting go of the past and quite another for his mind to release the memories and give him peace. “And what kind of husband would a bastard be for the daughter of an earl?”

“A damn fine one,” Rafe argued. “If I were a chit, I’d marry you.”

Neil closed his eyes. “Words I never thought I’d hear. But it’s not so sim—”

“Mr. Wraxall, sir!” Porter hobbled into the room as quickly as his wooden leg would allow him. For a moment Neil was shaken. The man always walked so smoothly, but then Neil had never seen him in this much of a frenzy.

Neil and Rafe both stood, legs braced for battle. “What is it?” Neil demanded.

“There’s a boy, sir. He’s outside the club. He said he must speak with you. It’s a matter of life and death. He looks a bit rough, and I started to turn him away, but he said something about Lady Juliana, and I thought—” His gaze slid to Rafe.

Neil didn’t wait for any further explanation. He took the steps of the main staircase two at a time and yanked the front door open.

Billy stood in the yellow lamplight.

“What happened?” Neil asked.

“It’s Slag, Major. He’s back.”