Chapter Thirteen

Graham blinked.

Then he blinked again.

The boy before him was still there, though, like he’d stepped out of a window to the past. Graham had gone to school with a boy who looked exactly like the one standing in front of him. Exactly. Right down to the slightly uneven ears and the hitch in the left eyebrow.

“Wow,” he murmured.

The tension that filled the room was as thick and obvious as the rain outside. The boy looked from one adult to another, fidgeting and curling his shoulders in. Graham knew he was making the boy uncomfortable, staring like he was, but he couldn’t quite rip his gaze away.

He felt a body step closer to his. Kit, probably. “Yes,” she said, confirming her identity. “I’ll note it in the log. The pail should take care of it for now, but keep an eye on it and let me know if anything changes.”

The boy nodded and sent Graham another questioning glance before leaving the room.

He couldn’t have nearly as many questions as Graham did.

His disappearance gave back Graham’s ability to move, though, and he immediately looked at Kit and at Daphne, who’d moved to stand a few feet behind her friend and looked very much as if she might cry.

On the other hand, Kit looked ready for war. Her face was set in tense lines and a bright slash of color rode her perfect cheekbones.

Daphne sniffled. “I’ll—” She cut off as her voice trembled. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’ll go help Jess with breakfast, shall I?”

Kit’s mouth pressed together tighter as her gaze followed the other woman out of the room. Then she smoothed her hands over her skirts, pasted a hard curve onto her lips that was probably supposed to be a smile but looked more lethal than the frown it replaced, and turned to face Graham. “Breakfast will be served in the dining room in an hour. Simply go through the main hall and past the staircases. You can’t miss it.”

“I know. I saw it.” Graham took a few steps closer, stalking her almost like he’d stalked the children a few moments ago.

He had questions, had been gathering them ever since meeting this woman. Until that moment, though, they’d been vague, undefined. More like a prodding curiosity. But now they were shifting. Pieces of information were aligning until very small, very specific holes remained. Hazy ideas and suspicions were forming, but he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what he seemed to be learning. “I have to ask, Kit, where are the children from?”

She lifted her chin but didn’t say anything.

Graham stalked a half step closer. “They’re not yours. They don’t look anything like you. Or Jess or Daphne either.”

But he knew who one of them looked like. And it was enough to give him a theory about the rest of them. But if he was right, what in the world were they doing in the middle of nowhere?

Kit stood her ground, and Graham felt a flicker of admiration for her courage. It didn’t weaken his resolve, though. While he knew his notion that the solicitor was hiding Priscilla out in these woods was incorrect—after all, she was no longer a child—the fact that Mr. Banfield was somehow involved in whatever was going on here worried Graham. Perhaps the timing of the contract and Priscilla’s disappearance were a coincidence, but it was obvious that Oliver’s father had entered into an agreement with a man who had his hands in some very interesting pies.

And Graham wanted answers.

Kit took a deep breath, set her shoulders, and clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “The children were born in different villages in the area. Their parents aren’t—weren’t—in a position to be able to provide for them. Our choice was either to help them or leave them to a life that was little more than an early death sentence.”

Graham gaped at her. A death sentence? That seemed a bit of an extreme declaration. After seeing the boy, an idea had formed in his head, one that made sense the more he thought about it. Marlborough was a popular stopping place for England’s elite, some of whom weren’t very discretionary about how they took their entertainments. He’d never understood that. He’d kissed a girl or two and had enjoyed it immensely but hadn’t particularly liked the idea that she might have kissed one of his friends the night before. It had stopped him from sowing the same wild oats other men had bragged about.

But he knew it happened, knew that it could result in illegitimate children. Illegitimate children who would then have to be cared for somehow.

His gaze shifted to the door where the boy had disappeared. He’d looked exactly like Lord Kettlewell. Graham had gone to Harrow with him, had admired him, though their connection had always been rather superficial. He’d never seemed the type to leave offspring littered around England, though he wouldn’t be the first man to make mistakes in his youth that he would never make as an adult. And Graham hadn’t seen Kettlewell much during their university days. Graham had gone to Cambridge while Kettlewell had attended Oxford.

Which was less than forty miles from Marlborough.

And the resemblance was undeniable.

“How old is he?” Graham asked quietly.

He thought for a moment that Kit wasn’t going to answer him, even though she’d taken a deep breath at his question, obviously having expected him to say something else.

But Graham knew how to play this game. He didn’t know much about children, but one didn’t get very far in society without knowing how to talk about something without actually talking about it.

“Twelve,” Kit finally said. “He’ll be thirteen soon.”

Twelve. Kettlewell would definitely have been in the area. “Why isn’t he in school, then?”

Kit’s eyes widened as she dropped back a step, and her mouth gaped slightly. Yet again he’d asked something she hadn’t expected. Although, truthfully, he hadn’t expected to ask it either. Saying his musings out loud was letting him see her reactions, which were more informative than any sort of interrogation would be.

Her surprise dissipated quickly, though, and she was soon bristling with anger again. “Not everyone has the means or opportunity to spend years advancing his mind only to use it in pursuit of pleasure and politics. Some people have to make their way in the world.”

The attack wasn’t anything Graham hadn’t heard before. He’d been in public houses and inns on his travels where the aristocracy weren’t always welcomed with open arms. Still, had the woman seen where she was living? “You mean to tell me that a family that can afford this house and these lands—no matter their dismal upkeep—is unable to find the funds to send that boy to school?”

Her chin lifted a notch as her gaze slid away from his. “School is not the best place for everyone. We’ve decided the limited funds allotted to his future would be better spent on an apprenticeship.”

It was Graham’s turn to blink. “Is he stupid?”

“What? No!” Her arm flinched as if she’d considered slapping him for the insult laid on one of her brood, but Graham couldn’t think of another reason to deny him an education.

Unless, of course, the unlikely and nearly impossible was actually true. Could Graham’s memory be wrong? Had time muddled his knowledge of the boy he’d gone to school with? Kettlewell had always been a good but quiet sort. He’d never tried to make Aaron’s life miserable like so many of the other boys did.

Graham glanced at Kit’s hard expression. Maybe it was time he changed the direction of this conversation so she didn’t completely shut him out. “What is he going to apprentice in?”

She blinked. Froze. Swallowed. Her voice was little more than a whisper when she said, “Woodworking.”

“Is he any good?”

Her laugh was captivating as she looked around the room at the many toys and games scattered about. She scooped up a doll from a nearby basket and tossed it to him. Graham looked at the face, features finely carved to the point that he could easily recognize that the doll was meant to be Kit. He nudged the arms and legs, surprised when they moved like real arms and legs, not just dowels held to the doll’s body by string.

“Yes,” Kit said with a smile. “He’s very good.”

Then she walked out, leaving Graham holding the doll, his mind swimming with more questions than ever.

For the second meal in a row, there was a tense, unnatural silence at the dining table.

This one wasn’t going to be as easily broken, though, because everyone from Pheobe to Benedict to Jess, Kit, and Daphne were all too aware that there was something different this morning.

There was a man at the table.

Even when Nash or one of the other men came from town, they didn’t stay for meals. But today, sitting at the end of the table where Jess normally sat, was a man. A grown man. A handsome man. A man who asked too many questions and made Kit more nervous than she’d been when she faced Lord Charles Tromboll’s mercenary thugs in the park.

It was obvious he was thinking, questioning, trying to understand what was going on at Haven Manor, and there was only so much redirection she could do. If he had to spend days here, logic would lead him down the correct path and he’d know who these children were.

Jess’s plan to keep him away from the children wasn’t going to work, not after this morning. How long had he played with them? If she suddenly put up barriers between him and the children, it would only make him more curious. The children would ask questions, too.

They’d simply have to chaperone him instead. Never leave him alone with the children again. Never let them say anything they shouldn’t. They might not know everything, but they knew enough to lead Lord Wharton farther down the road of understanding.

It would only be a matter of time before he connected that to Priscilla.

There were so many people depending on her to keep Lord Wharton in the dark that she wanted to drop her head to the table and groan.

It stopped raining while they ate, the sun spearing through the dreariness and crawling across the dining table.

“Well,” Kit said with forced brightness that she could only hope sounded natural, “the sun is out. Arthur, Sophie, why don’t you help me in the garden this morning?” She kept her smile plastered in place as she looked to the man at the end of the table. “Lord Wharton, you’re welcome to join us.”

Jess choked on her toast, but when Kit glanced her way it looked like the inhalation of food had been due to sudden laughter, not surprise.

Within moments, Kit, the two young children, and Lord Wharton were walking into the walled garden. A brisk breeze ruffled their hair and plucked at the girls’ skirts and the loose sleeves of Lord Wharton’s shirt. He’d left his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat off, making him look much like the boys running about in shirtsleeves and breeches. It made him seem all too approachable. Like a country gentleman instead of a London nobleman.

They went down the rows of plants, Kit instructing the children how to tell if the vegetables were ripe enough to be picked.

Arthur didn’t speak much, rarely more than one word at a time, but he liked pulling weeds and was soon dragging Lord Wharton around the garden, showing him the plants that didn’t belong among the neat rows of vegetables.

Before long, Lord Wharton had joined right in, gleefully digging his hands about in the dirt, laughing with the boy and throwing an occasional worm at him. Sophie hid in Kit’s skirts, peeking around the folds to watch as Lord Wharton chased Arthur around the garden, a shockingly long worm in his fingers, as he threatened to drop it down the boy’s shirt.

It was on the tip of Kit’s tongue to berate the both of them, tell them they were being ridiculous, but Arthur’s laugh stopped her. The pure glee on his face had him smiling so hard his cheeks would start hurting soon. As he looked up at their visitor, there was something in his face she’d never seen before.

The look slammed through Kit. Was it possible for three women to actually raise true gentlemen? She’d never doubted it before, but watching Arthur, it was obvious Lord Wharton brought something that Kit, Daphne, and Jess did not provide. What was going to happen when these boys left the safe, secure walls of Haven Manor? When they had to make a life with boys who had grown up with worms and school?

When Lord Wharton and Arthur ran out one of the garden gates, she let them go. Arthur wasn’t about to spill secrets. That required talking. Besides, all she could hear were squeals and giggles.

As Sophie and Kit finished walking the rows, even the sound of laughter faded. Kit looped her basket over her arm and went in search of them.

They found her first, though, meeting her and Sophie at the gate and sweeping into low bows while extending bouquets of wildflowers.

Sophie melted, her little romantic heart making her cradle the flowers to her chest with wide-eyed enjoyment.

Lord Wharton extended his clutch of flowers toward her, and Kit discovered that she wasn’t immune to the charm of flowers either. She hadn’t gotten flowers in so long. Yes, the boys had brought her squashed and broken plants at various times over the years, but these were being held out by a man. A man who wanted to charm her.

She looked up into his eyes and felt her heart accelerate.

It was working.

What had made him pick flowers for Kit? One moment he’d been feeling a bit sorry for the boys living in a house so full of women, and the next he’d been discussing which flowers would make the best bouquet for those ladies.

Discussion might be a bit of a strong word. Graham talked and Arthur said, “Flowers.”

Graham and his father had always brought his mother flowers when they went on a walk. And while they’d never dug around in a garden, they’d certainly played their share of jokes on each other, including ones with worms. And while it was obvious the women were working hard to raise these children well, Graham couldn’t help but think they had to feel the lack of a father.

Of course, there were plenty of fathers they were better off not having, but Graham’s was excellent. So, for the time he was here, he’d try to mimic his own father.

As he slid Kit’s vegetable basket from her arm and offered the bouquet of flowers in return, her mouth slacked open and she stared at the colorful blooms. It was the expression he’d craved when he met her in the ballroom, a mixture of adoration and fascination.

Graham liked it.

The children skipped ahead of them as they walked back to the house, but Graham made his pace deliberately slow. Kit matched it.

“I’m going to check the bridge,” he said. “The boys said this morning there wasn’t any way it would be usable, but I still feel like I should check.”

He hoped it wasn’t passable. He wanted to stay here, wanted to learn more about this strange place and what was going on. He’d never even heard about, much less seen, a place such as this, where everyone slept in a nice manor house but worked like servants all day long.

Hopefully, Oliver would simply assume that Graham had gone in search of more white chalk horses.

Kit frowned. “The boys are probably right.”

“I’m happy to ride Dogberry out to check it, but I’m afraid I don’t know the way.” He supposed he’d have to take someone with him and walk it, which would likely take most of the day. He didn’t want to lose that much time here. “Dogberry’s capable of carrying two people for the short time we’d be riding.”

Emotions flickered across her face so quickly that he couldn’t catch them all. He could guess what she was thinking, though. If he took a child, they might tell him things. If he took her . . . the idea of her clinging to him as they rode double through the woods made his breath a little more difficult to catch and inspired a desperate need to wipe his sweaty hands on his breeches.

“We could walk,” she said softly, as if her breath had escaped her a bit as well.

Graham wouldn’t mind walking so much if he were with her, but he liked the idea of riding a lot better. He squinted and looked toward the woods as he opened the latch on the kitchen door. “How far is it? Can you be away from the house that long?”

Daphne was in the kitchen, kneading some sort of bread dough with two of the older-looking girls, Sarah and Eugenia. When they’d thrown names at him in the large, toy-filled room this morning, he’d been grateful for the years of social training that made names and faces easy to remember.

He didn’t know much about houses or gardens, but he liked to think he was fairly good with people, and he was very good at making any situation fun, even the sometimes tediousness of long-distance travel.

Through the window he caught sight of three boys carrying buckets toward the stable.

He’d like to bring a little bit of that fun into their lives here. Starting with the woman next to him. He needed to get her on his horse.

“You’re leaving the house?” Daphne asked, her hands buried deep in the dough.

“I want to see if the bridge is passable, but I don’t know how to get back to it.” Graham set the basket of vegetables on the worktable.

“Oh.” Daphne’s eyes were wide.

Kit walked sharply across the room and pulled a clay pitcher from a shelf. “I think it will take us a little more than an hour to walk there. I can walk all the way to town in two hours and the bridge is just over halfway.”

As she dipped the pitcher in water and slid the flowers in with an almost reverent delicacy, Graham’s heart turned over. He’d met so many courtable women who wanted things from him that would be all too easy to give. A walk in the park, a dance, perhaps a flower, or a visit to her drawing room. Things they enjoyed talking about but didn’t really make much difference in their lives.

But he could make a difference in Kit’s. He could show her how to relax. What would it take to make her laugh the way he’d made Arthur laugh earlier? Right then, more than anything in the world, Graham wanted to make that happen. “We could take Dogberry and be back in less than half that time.”

The surprise slid off Daphne’s face, and she grinned. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and the smile grew until her teeth were visible. “You should do that.”

“What?” Kit gasped out, looking up from the flowers.

Daphne dropped her gaze to the bread dough. “We need you here. There are boxes to be done, and the children missed lessons several times last week.” Her sigh was exaggerated. “I’m afraid you’ll need to ride the horse.”

Sarah, the tallest, and presumably oldest, of the girls snickered and ducked her head to her shoulder to try to muffle the noise.

“I am not riding the horse,” Kit said through gritted teeth.

“I guess we should start walking, then. We wouldn’t want the children to miss their lessons.” Graham grinned at Daphne and then offered his arm to Kit, who merely glowered.

This was going to be more fun than he’d thought.