Four

The orphans were not so different from newly enlisted soldiers. They were brash and bold on the outside, but inside they wanted direction and the comfort of having someone to tell them what to do.

Neil still thought a few hours in the stocks would have done several of them a world of good.

Neil dealt with the paltry resistance the boys put up when he told them to clean the kitchen. The younger ones followed the older boys, so when the first older boy, the tall one with shaggy, brown hair in his eyes who had been fighting, folded his arms and refused to pick up the broom, calling it woman’s work, Neil got an apron and told the boy to put it on.

The lad folded his arms. “I won’t!”

“Then you don’t eat.” Neil looked at all of the boys, meeting each one’s gaze in turn. “Let me explain to you how life works. You either earn your keep or you have none. If you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“You can’t keep us from eating,” another of the boys, this one with straight, brown hair and freckles, said.

He would have had any soldier who challenged him thus whipped. Instead, he gave the boy a dark look. “Can’t I?” Neil asked, leaning close. “Would you like to test me?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide and he stepped back.

“Since Lady Juliana has not yet hired a cook,” Neil continued, “I will be providing dinner. Baked pies like you had earlier.”

Some of the younger boys cheered. Neil ignored them.

“If you want a pie, you work. If you don’t work, you make your own dinner.” That was more than generous. He would have let grown men go hungry.

Neil leaned back against the wall and waited. If there was one thing he knew, it was men’s—and boys’—stomachs. In about three heartbeats, every boy was sweeping, mopping, or washing dishes. Even the fighter with the hair in his eyes. Neil pointed to him. “You over there.”

The one who liked to count—Lady Juliana had called him Michael—cleared his throat. “That’s Walter, sir.”

Walter scowled at Michael and did his best to ignore Neil.

“Master Walter,” Neil said. “You said this is woman’s work. So put on the apron.”

“But—”

Neil raised a brow.

With a scowl, the boy yanked it over his head and went back to sweeping.

Neil heard a few sniggers. “First boy I catch laughing at him has to wear an apron too.”

The laughter ceased immediately. Then one of the little boys, a lad who couldn’t have been more than four and who was attempting to sweep with his thumb in his mouth, toddled over. He tugged on Neil’s coat. Neil almost bent down, but he resisted the urge. “What?”

The boy pulled his thumb from his mouth. “What if we want to wear an apron?” He blinked large, brown eyes up at Neil. Neil steeled his heart. He would not allow these children to worm their way into his affections. He was here to do a duty, nothing more. Once Lady Juliana was safe, he would be gone.

“What’s your name?” Neil asked against his better judgment. It was better if he didn’t know the children’s names, but he couldn’t go around pointing and saying you there for the next few days. And he’d seen enough of the orphanage to know he would be here for several more days to come.

“Sharee,” the boy said, thumb back in his mouth.

Neil plucked the thumb from the mouth, dismayed to feel saliva on his fingers. “Say again?”

“Charlie,” came the reply in the high voice.

“You want to wear an apron, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded fervently.

“Anyone else?” Neil asked.

Two more little boys who couldn’t have been much older than Charlie jumped up and down and shouted, “Me! Me!”

Neil could only find one more apron so he fashioned aprons out of dish towels for the other two, whose names he discovered were Chester and Jimmy. Michael, eight-year-old fount of information that he was, informed him Charlie was four and a baby, Chester was five and his mother was a harlot, and Jimmy was five too and not really an orphan. His parents were in debtor’s prison.

“What’s a harlot?” Chester asked when Neil had the dish towel secured around his waist.

“A harlot is—”

Neil gave Michael a quelling look. “Don’t worry about it.” Neil handed Chester a clean towel. “Wipe the table.”

Neil stood back and surveyed his troops. They had done a decent enough job. He’d send half upstairs to clean the dormitory and keep the rest with him to finish down here. Lady Juliana hadn’t eaten, and that had to be rectified as well.

“Michael,” Neil said.

Michael straightened immediately. “Yes, sir!”

“Who is the oldest among you?”

“Robbie, sir!”

“Who’s Robbie?”

A lad with freckles and straight, brown hair came forward. “I am. I’m probably eleven.”

Neil nodded. “I need you to do a job for me, Robbie. Pick five men and go upstairs to straighten the dormitory.”

Robbie frowned at him. “But there aren’t any men here, save you, sir.”

Neil stifled a sigh. “Pick five boys and straighten the dormitory. You are in charge, Robbie. I want beds made, clothes put away, and the entire place ready for inspection. So pick your boys carefully.”

Robbie glanced at the other orphans. “I’ll take Michael.”

Robbie was no fool, Neil thought. Michael would probably annoy every single one of them, but he’d do his job. “And? Four more.”

Robbie’s eyes passed directly over Walter. Again, Neil approved. Better to leave Walter with him. Robbie might be older, but he wouldn’t be able to control Walter. Robbie pointed to the chubby boy with the blond curls. “I’ll take George, Angus, James, and Billy.”

Neil noted them each in turn. Angus was five or six with red hair. James was blond and small enough to be the same age as Charlie. Billy was quiet and kept to himself. He was the tallest boy, though, and probably as old as Robbie.

“Dismissed,” Neil said. “I want that dormitory in perfect order in one hour.”

“Yes, sir!” Michael said with a backward salute.

Neil thought about smiling. Instead, he looked at his remaining troops. He had Walter, a.k.a. Trouble; Charlie, thumb in mouth; Chester, what’s-a-harlot; Jimmy, only about five as well; and two other boys who had been more or less pretending to be industrious.

“Who here can cook?”

Charlie’s thumb came out of his mouth as he raised his hand high. Neil rolled his eyes. “Charlie, you can be the assistant. Walter, can you cook?”

Walter didn’t look up from the spot he’d been sweeping for the past five minutes. “No.”

“That’s ‘no, sir.’ Get over here.”

Walter glared at him. “I just said I can’t cook.”

Neil glared back.

“Sir,” Walter added.

“Then this will be a lesson for you. Chester?”

The little boy looked up.

“You work with that one to wash the towels and dishes. What’s your name, lad?” Neil asked the boy with a black eye and shorn, brown hair.

“Ralph,” he snarled.

“Ralph, you and Chester wash.”

Ralph made a growling sound.

“Jimmy, you and…”

“I’m Sean, sir,” said the last boy, with a touch of Irish in his speech.

“Sean, you and Jimmy finish sweeping and mopping. Put all the dust and dirt in the rubbish bin.” Sean flashed him a smile, and Neil decided he liked Sean. Sean reminded him a bit of his friend Rafe Beaumont, who could charm any woman, and almost any man as well, with his smile.

“Now, Chef Walter and Assistant Charlie, we will be preparing tea and toast for Lady Juliana.” It wasn’t fancy, but Neil figured he and the boys could manage it. “First, find the kettle and fill it with water…”

A half hour and two burned pieces of toast later, Neil carried a tray of hot tea and perfectly browned and buttered toast to the parlor. The door was closed, and he balanced the tray on one arm before tapping lightly.

No answer. Neil didn’t wait and knock again. Between the miscreant he’d seen earlier, the missing manservant, and the lack of any real locks on the building, he feared the worst. He burst into the parlor then stopped short.

Lady Juliana was alone in the cold room, for the fire in the hearth had not been lit. She sat in what had once been a chair with rich blue upholstery at a small writing desk. Her head rested on the writing desk, one cheek pressed to several sheets of paper. One hand was thrown over the top of the desk and the other was tucked in her lap. The woman was breathing deeply, obviously sound asleep.

Neil placed the tray on the table set in the center of a small grouping of chairs and looked down at Lady Juliana. Her red-gold hair covered the papers she’d been looking at, papers filled with numbers. The orphanage’s accounts?

Oh, how Neil wished he could go back to the early hours of the morning and pretend he’d never received his father’s summons. If he’d known the sort of woman he would be dealing with, he would have found a way out of this mission. “Just take the gel home,” his father had said. Clearly, his father had not known Lady Juliana either.

He’d have to find another way to convince her to leave. Neil liked plans. He was the one who generally made them, and he told himself all he needed now was a very good plan.

And a little willpower.

Because with her eyes closed and her mouth relaxed, Lady Juliana looked perfectly lovely. He had the sudden desire to caress one pale-pink cheek, smooth that tousled hair off her forehead, and run his hands down her back.

And if he did any of that, she’d wake up and slap him. She was an earl’s daughter, and despite her current living situation, she was a lady. No lady wanted anything to do with a bastard. No, they married dukes, sons of viscounts, and foreign princes. They didn’t look at bastards, even those whose fathers were marquesses.

And somehow knowing his father’s station made the circumstances of Neil’s birth worse. Why couldn’t he have grown up the adopted son of a merchant or a farmer? He would never have had a glimpse into the world of the ton. He would never have had all the glittering wealth and beauty dangled before him only to be snatched away whenever anyone realized he was that son.

His father was a good man, but all that goodness hadn’t done Neil any favors.

He cleared his throat in an effort to wake Lady Juliana without touching her. When that didn’t work, he lifted the tray and set it down, rattling the teacup. She didn’t even move. Had the woman had any sleep of late? She was obviously exhausted.

Finally, he leaned close. “Lady Juliana?” he said.

She took a deep breath and continued sleeping.

“My lady?” he said a bit louder. He didn’t want to scare her, but he couldn’t let her continue to sleep. It would be time for dinner soon, and he had questions for her before he left for the night. “My lady,” he said a bit louder. He’d been surrounded by boys for the last hour, and she smelled nothing like boy. She smelled of freshly cut roses, a scent so light and pretty it reminded him of his father’s country estate on a spring morning. Perhaps it was the soap she used to clean her hair. He leaned a bit closer to sniff it, and she opened her dark eyes and looked at him.

He pulled back immediately, standing at strict attention.

“Oh!” She sat straight and blinked as though she didn’t know quite where she was. Then she lifted an arm and brushed the hair from her face. Neil could imagine her doing so when she first woke in the morning, and he had the sudden urge to be in her bed and see for himself. She’d changed out of her ball gown and now wore a muslin gown of yellow with reddish-pink flowers. The neckline was higher and the sleeves longer, so it didn’t show as much flesh.

Not that he’d been hoping to see any. He looked away and then, because she wasn’t Draven or Wellington, relaxed his posture.

“I apologize for startling you. The boys and I fixed you something to eat.”

“You… I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He moved to the side and indicated the tray. “We made you tea and toast. It’s not much, but I have limited resources.”

In fact, he wanted to speak to her about the lack of any foodstuffs in the larder. But first, she needed to eat.

She stared at the tray, and he wasn’t certain she’d heard anything he’d said. She rose slowly and stalked toward the tray as though she were a cat and it a dangerous, unidentified object. Finally, she stopped before the food and stared down at it. Then she looked up at him. “You made this?”

“Walter and Charlie made it. I supervised.”

“Walter? How did you convince Walter to do anything but sulk?” She put a hand to her heart. “What did you do to him?”

“Not what I would have done had he been about five years older.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The boys are fine. The kitchen is clean, and I am on my way to inspect the dormitories.”

“You persuaded the boys to cook and clean?” She still hadn’t so much as lifted the teacup.

“In a manner of speaking. Do you plan to drink that tea before it becomes cold?”

She looked down at the tray as though seeing it for the first time. Then she lifted the teacup and tasted it. She nodded her approval and nibbled on the toast, licking a drop of butter from her plump bottom lip. Neil gritted his teeth.

“This is very good. Thank you. I…I don’t know what to say. I am certain neither your father nor mine intended you to cook for me or play nursemaid to a dozen orphans.”

He shrugged. “I was in the army, my lady. I follow orders, and my orders were to make certain you are safe and well. If that means I feed you, so be it. I’m not helpless. I didn’t have a batman for much of my service, so I learned to take care of myself. Not only can I cook and clean, I can also do laundry.” He narrowed his eyes. “Though I’ll want more than a thank-you if I have to wash the boys’ drawers. Now, yours”—he winked—“I’ll do for free.”

Her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink, and she took a rather large sip of tea. Fortunately, it had cooled and she didn’t burn her mouth. “I have a washerwoman come once a week to wash the clothes and linens. Your services in that arena will not be required.”

* * *

She would have thought he’d look more relieved, but he merely nodded. He had a way of nodding that made her feel as though she were a soldier. In fact, everything he did was done with precision and in an orderly fashion. He stood straight and tall, hands clasped behind his back in a not-quite-relaxed stance. He didn’t so much as shift his weight as he stood. He was perfectly still, the occasional head nod or gesture done with a brusque authority.

With his sultry good looks and sea-blue eyes, had she met him on the street, she would never have guessed he was a soldier. But now she could hardly imagine him as anything else. Only that sweep of dark hair brushed back from his forehead suggested any tolerance for a lack of strictness and order.

“Did your teacher resign?” he asked, and she realized she’d been staring at him. Again! She wanted to sink onto the long, apple-green couch and wait for her wobbly knees to stop shaking. Instead, she studied her toast intently and tried to think of something besides running her hands through that thick hair. Teacher… He’d mentioned a teacher.

“Oh, Mrs. Fleming?” She glanced up at him, and he frowned.

“You had better sit down and eat more toast.”

“I’m perfectly fine. I was merely thinking of…something else.” Her lips on his temple, his eyes meting hers… She cleared her throat. “Yes, she did resign. But”—she raised a finger—“I have a plan.”

One of his thick brows rose slowly. “Do you?”

“I have written to my former governess and asked her to come and help until I can find a permanent teacher. I thought if she could keep my sister and me in line, these orphans will be easy for her.”

“I can well believe it.”

Julia opened her mouth to assure him she really had been that bad, then realized what he’d said. “Sir, you are supposed to say that I was a perfect angel as a child.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment. If you were an angel, we wouldn’t be here today. You’re obviously stubborn and willful.”

“You say it as though those are bad traits.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “You’ll need both to keep this orphanage going. So far you need a new cook and a new teacher.”

She went back to her desk and lifted two letters. “I’ve written the advertisement for the cook and a letter to my former governess. I’ll post both as soon as Mr. Goring returns and can escort me.”

“Ah, the elusive Mr. Goring.” His gaze traveled to the cold hearth. “And what exactly does he do here? He obviously doesn’t cook or teach, do laundry or light fires. And considering the state of the building, he doesn’t make repairs either.”

All the warmth she’d felt for Wraxall earlier began to seep away. Who was he to challenge her? “Mr. Goring was actually quite industrious until a week or so ago. He told me his mother has been ill, and he’s had to leave to care for her. But he usually tells me when he leaves. Perhaps he told me and in all the chaos today I didn’t remember.”

Mr. Wraxall looked skeptical. “And I have a feeling I will find him in the closest gin house.”

“You don’t have much faith in people, do you?”

“Not since I came back from the war, no.” He held out his hand. “Give me the letters, and I’ll post them for you. I’ll find Goring and send him back too.”

“But I can’t ask you to do all that.”

He waved a hand. “Orders. I need you to stay where you are safe”—he looked around—“relatively safe and can keep the boys from destroying the place. I’ll be back in an hour. No more than two. I’ll bring supper.” He held out his hand, and she handed him the letters.

He started out of the parlor, and she followed him. “That’s very generous of you, sir, but I cannot possibly pay you for all you have done. I have limited resources at present.”

He didn’t even look at her as he started for the steps to the second floor. “I don’t want your blunt.”

She lifted her skirts and followed him up the steps. “So this is about following orders then?”

“For the most part.” He turned and began to ascend the next flight of stairs.

“Where are we going?”

“I told the boys I’d inspect the dormitory.”

“I can do that.”

He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. “I don’t think so.”

Her jaw dropped open as she watched his back. The man was certainly arrogant. She chased after him. “For your information, I am perfectly capable of ascertaining whether a bed is made and clothing articles put away.”

“I would be inclined to believe you, except I saw the state of the rooms earlier.”

“Yes, well, today has not been our finest. But I—”

His sharp whistle cut her off. It was so loud and shrill she actually flinched. When she opened her eyes again, he stood in the doorway of the older boys’ room. Eight of the twelve slept in here, and when she peered around Wraxall, she saw all eight scrambling to attention at the end of their beds. The room was as neat as a fresh coiffure. The beds were made, the trunks were closed and presumably full of clothing, and the floors and bedposts gleamed.

“Attention!” Wraxall ordered. Julia almost squared her shoulders. Instead, she stayed in the doorway as he marched through the center of the room. His gaze seemed to miss nothing. Not a pair of breeches forgotten under a bed, a trunk not perfectly aligned with a footboard, not the collection of dirty dishes hidden behind a curtain.

“You’ve earned your supper, lads, but not any dessert. Next time, if your work is exemplary, there will be ices.”

“Ices!” George said with a squeal. “I want ices!”

“There will be another inspection tomorrow. At ease.” And he strode out the door and right past her.

“You will be back tomorrow?” she asked, following him. Why should the prospect of seeing him again make her heart thump harder?

“It appears that way.” He stopped in front of the younger boys’ room. This time she was prepared for the whistle and plugged her ears. “Attention!”

The little boys scrambled to their places, Chester and Jimmy on one side and James and Charlie on the other. They stood at perfect attention, except Charlie who had his thumb in his mouth. Wraxall cleared his throat, and Charlie put his hand at his side.

Julia didn’t have to be in the army to see that this room would not meet Wraxall’s standards. The beds were poorly made, the trunks had items of clothing peeking out, and the dusty furniture had the occasional clean swipe as from a rag. Julia cringed. If Wraxall made these little ones cry, she would have his head.

But he moved inside, his head nodding. “Good job, men.”

“Is it good enough for a sweet?” asked little James.

“It’s good, but not that good.”

“Aw!” Chester and Jimmy groaned and sagged.

“Do you want me to show you what to do to earn a sweet tomorrow?”

“Yesth! Yesth!” Charlie jumped up and down, his thumb back in his mouth.

“We’ll start with how you make a bed. Watch very carefully, lads. You want the corners tucked under like so.”

Julia stood in the doorway for a good five minutes, watching as Wraxall showed the boys how to make beds, dust, and fold clothing. And then she had to walk away, because if she didn’t, she feared she would forget she did not like him.

On the way back to the parlor, she had two questions.

Just who was this man?

And how much had her father paid him to put on this act?