Chapter 1

Captain Caleb Parker left his small flat on Queen Street and walked to the second corner from where he lived. As he did every morning, Vince, the hot bun vendor, had his cart set up and was doing a brisk business. Caleb could already taste the gooey bun dripping with butter and honey.

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as his tongue licked his lips in anticipation. Vince’s wife made a variety of buns for her husband to sell. Some were warm cloverleaf buns, some were caked with sugar and cinnamon, and some were small lemon-flavored cakes. But Caleb’s weakness was the honey-and-butter bun.

“Good morning to you, Cap’n,” Vince greeted as Caleb came near. “I’ll be with you in a moment. As soon as this fine lady decides what she cannot go home without.”

Caleb looked at the elderly woman who was studying Vince’s delectable display. “Take your time, ma’am,” Caleb said. “My appointment with the Queen isn’t for another hour or so.”

The lady studied Caleb for a moment, then tried to stifle a laugh but failed. So did Vince.

“The Queen,” she said, giggling.

Her laugh showed off her missing front teeth but allowed two deep dimples to dent her wrinkled cheeks. Her eyes twinkled with merriment, and Caleb thought she must have been a very pretty girl when she was young. Before the ravages of hard work and poverty had taken their toll.

“Gimme a sugar-and-cinnamon bun, luv. The biggest one, mind you.”

“Let’s see.” Vince searched through the pile of pastries. “This one, I think.”

“No, the one next to it. It’s bigger. Any fool can see.”

“Right you are, Maggie. The biggest one for you.”

Vince wrapped the bun in a paper, then handed it to the old woman. She handed him a coin in return.

“Good day, ma’am,” Caleb said as he tipped his hat. “It was a pleasure to greet the morning in your charming presence.”

“Cor blimey,” Maggie said, giving his arm a gentle nudge. “My flirtin’ days are done, young man, or I’d give you a run for your money. You’re too handsome by half.”

“And I’d let you,” Caleb said, bringing Maggie’s rough hand up to his lips.

“Enough faffin’ around,” she said with a giggle as she walked away.

“I’ve gotta tell you, Cap’n. You made old Maggie’s day, you did,” Vince said.

“I bet she was quite the ripper when she was young,” Caleb said.

“That she was. That she was.” Vince grabbed a paper. “You want the regular—a butter and honey?”

“Yes,” Caleb said, then let out an oomph. Something small and powerful knocked into his legs. Then a small hand reached out and grabbed the bun Vince was in the process of handing to him. Before Caleb could right himself, the little mite ran off with his bun.

“Hey!” Caleb took off after the little thief. He caught him before he rounded the first corner, then picked him up and tucked him under his arm.

That’s when Caleb realized how young the child was. And how small. He weighed near to nothing. Caleb took the bun from his grubby fingers and carried him back to Vince’s cart.

“You caught our little thief, huh, Cap’n?”

“I did.”

Caleb set him on the ground and got his first good look at the lad. He wasn’t sure what color the boy’s hair was beneath all the dirt and grime. Or the color of his skin. It looked between a muddy brown and a sooty black. But his eyes were big and blue.

Caleb didn’t let loose of the back of the boy’s frayed collar. He knew if he did, the lad would be gone in a shot. “What’s your name, son?”

The little mite looked up . . . then up some more, until he could see the bottom of Caleb’s chin. His mouth opened as if he intended to speak, but instead his eyes grew wider and filled with tears.

Bloody hell, Caleb thought.

“The lad’s name is Robby, Cap’n. His ma was Mary, but she died a week or more ago from gin.”

“What about his father?”

“His da was killed in the war.”

A knot clenched in Caleb’s gut. “Any brothers or sisters?”

Vince shook his head.

“Who takes care of him?”

“No one, Cap’n.”

The knot pressed painfully against his ribs. “Where does he live?”

Vince shrugged his shoulders. “On the street, most likely.”

“Who feeds him?”

“I let him steal a bun every morning. I don’t know what he eats after that. Most likely nothing.”

Unease gripped his belly. Caleb knew that between the war and poverty, there were a great many more children without anyone to care for them. But he’d never come into such close contact with one of the starving children who roamed the streets.

Like a simpleton, Caleb wanted to ask what would become of the lad, but he already knew the answer to his question. Little Robby would die from starvation or sickness or cruelty.

Caleb didn’t want to look at the lad again, but his gaze was drawn to the tyke. Tears had cleared a path down each cheek, and fear clouded his eyes. Another knot clenched in the pit of Caleb’s stomach when he held the bun out to the boy and saw the tyke’s desperation to grab it. But something held the lad back.

“Go on. Eat.”

When Robby snatched the bun back and gobbled it with impressive speed, Caleb turned to Vince to purchase another one, but the vendor shook his head. “Best not to give him more. He’s not used to eating too much, and he might get sick.”

Caleb knew what it was to be hungry. But starvation had never been his lot. He’d never gone without food day after day after day. Especially not as a child. His father had been a common laborer, a dock worker, so his family never had a lot. But they’d always had food to eat.

“I can’t leave him here,” Caleb said to the hot bun vendor. “And I can’t keep him. Is there anywhere to take him where he’ll be well looked after?”

The vendor thought for a few moments, then nodded. “There’s a place on the outskirts of London. Nice place, too. Southern Oaks. Orphanage run by the Countess of Grattling.”

“A countess?”

“Yes. Ever since her husband was killed in a carriage accident, she keeps to the country.”

“Will the boy be taken care of there?”

“If he’s lucky enough to get accepted, getting into Southern Oaks will be the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Caleb looked down at the tyke who didn’t quite reach his waist. “Come on, Robby. Let’s go find you a home.”

Robby looked up at him, alarm in his eyes. Caleb knew he was about to run so he grabbed him by the arm. The rascal twisted and fought, struggling to escape. Finally, Caleb had no choice but to pick the lad up and wrap his arm around the boy’s waist. It took nearly three blocks before the imp settled down. The struggling started again when Caleb reached the stable where he kept his horse.

“Here,” Caleb said, handing Robby to one of the stable hands. “Hold on tight. He’s a slippery one.”

Caleb saddled his horse, but when the stable hand lifted Robby up, the little tyke wrapped his arms and legs around Caleb’s torso and buried his head below Caleb’s neck.

“Is this the first time you’ve ever been on a horse?” Caleb asked as they left the yard.

The boy nodded, but he was trembling so badly, he wasn’t able to speak.

“Don’t be afraid. His name is Apollo, and he’d never throw anyone to the ground unless they squirm and wiggle.”

Robby stiffened and didn’t move again.

Caleb followed the directions Vince had given him, and an hour later they arrived at Southern Oaks.

It irked Caleb that his day had been confiscated this way. And mostly he didn’t like what had happened to his heart the moment little Robby ran into him. He didn’t like the concern he felt for someone he’d met less than two hours before. Every time the lad’s big blue eyes locked with his, Caleb experienced a tug to his heart he didn’t expect—or want—to feel.

He wasn’t father material. Never had entertained the idea of marriage. And he didn’t want to experience any of the emotions that went along with being near children.

Especially a grimy little lot like this one.