The Pursuits of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

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The Pursuits of Lord Kit Cavanaugh Page 16

by Stephanie Laurens


  “It’s not that I’ve anything against the school itself, mind,” Johnson conceded, his mind plainly following a track much trodden. “All of the people there seem nice, not that I’ve spoken to them, but you can tell—the kids all like them and are happy at the school. But in my case—in Ned’s case—that’s not the problem.” Johnson raised his gaze to Kit’s face. “Once Ned learns a trade, he won’t want anything more to do with me—I’ll just be his out-of-work, layabout father. Cora’s already hinted that I shouldn’t come around to her house too often, that Ned would be better off being left to make his own way...”

  Johnson choked and looked down. After a moment, in a remarkably small voice for such a mountain of a man, he whispered, “But he’s all I have.”

  Kit was suddenly beyond certain that he wanted to help—that he would help Johnson and his Ned.

  After a second of rapid thought, he said, “Buck up, Johnson. I think I can see a way around this.”

  Blinking, Johnson looked up. “You can?” As yet, there was no sign of hope in his eyes.

  Slowly, Kit nodded. “I can.” Reminded of Mulligan’s warning about Johnson’s pride, Kit said, “I’m willing to make a deal with you, one I believe will solve all your troubles and get you back to where you want to be—by which I mean living in your own place with Ned. Am I right in thinking that’s what you want?”

  Now hope flared in Johnson’s eyes, but was swiftly reined back by native shrewdness. “Yes. But how?” He swallowed and asked, “What deal?”

  “I’ll explain in a moment, but first, I want you to clarify something for me.” Kit hadn’t missed the reference to the people at the school. “Have you been watching the school?”

  Johnson’s expression turned wary, but he nodded. “At times. I just wanted to see Ned, but I didn’t want to go up to him while he was with his friends, so I just looked from out there”—he tipped his head, indicating outside the workshop—“and now the school’s moved, from the Abbey gardens at the end of the street or from down on the Butts.”

  “Have you ever seen Miss Buckleberry—the lady who runs the school?”

  Johnson nodded. “Nice-looking lady—what does she want with running a school?”

  Kit hid a wry grin and said, “She’s a clergyman’s daughter.”

  As he’d expected, that made perfect sense to Johnson, who mouthed an “Oh,” and nodded.

  “On the days you saw Miss Buckleberry,” Kit said, “did you ever follow her?”

  Johnson looked sheepish as he met Kit’s eyes. “I did once or twice. Well, several times. I was trying to get up the courage to speak to her about Ned, but...well, I couldn’t. I don’t rightly know how to speak with ladies.”

  Satisfied—and significantly relieved at the thought that it had most likely been Johnson, who was no threat to anyone, who Sylvia had sensed watching her—Kit nodded and swung his thoughts to how best to manage the big man; he had no wish to see a good man, a good worker and potentially good father, lost. “So now, here’s my deal. First, how old is Ned?”

  “Eleven,” Johnson said.

  That would work. “I want Ned to remain at school, and after you hear me out, I think you will, too. What I propose is this—I’ll take you on here as a general hand to help the carpenters. Mulligan recommended you, and as he pointed out, we need a strong back and an experienced pair of hands in this work, and as yet, we haven’t hired anyone in that role.” Kit paused, his gaze on Johnson’s face, then went on, “My one condition is that you allow Ned to continue with his schooling. If you agree to that, then after your first two weeks on the job, I’m prepared to stand guarantor for you to rent a suitable home—one you and Ned can live in together. No charity—it’ll be some place you can afford to rent, but after being out of work, you’ll need someone to guarantee that your position is ongoing.”

  Johnson looked stunned. “You’d do that? For me?”

  “For you and Ned,” Kit replied. “And there’s one more thing—I think it would be a good idea if, after school each day, Ned came here, to the workshop, to see where you work and what goes on here, then he can walk home with you. That’s not only a suggestion to help Ned understand the work you do. We have another lad working here—Jack Deaver.”

  Johnson blinked. “Jack the Lad?”

  “Yes, that’s him. I want to get Jack thinking about going to school eventually—he’s bright and will do well, and will end up being able to earn substantially more. My first step’s been to make Jack an apprentice under Mulligan. Perhaps, if Ned comes here and likes what he sees of the work, in time, he might join Jack as an apprentice, and Jack might join Ned at the school.”

  When Kit fell silent and looked at Johnson, inviting his response, Johnson, who had been staring as if mesmerized, swallowed and said, “That sounds too good to be true.”

  Kit flashed him a smile. “Sometimes, in order to seize the good things in life, you just have to have faith and make a start.” He paused, his eyes on Johnson’s face as, clutching his cap tight, the big man blinked and looked back at him. Then Kit asked, “So what do you say? Come and work here and let’s see what we can manage—for Ned as well as yourself.”

  Kit knew he hadn’t entirely assuaged Johnson’s deepest fear and added, “At the end of the day, you know you’re not the sort of father who will stand in the way of his son’s future.”

  That set Johnson thinking, then he straightened in the chair, met Kit’s eyes, and nodded. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking straight.” He drew breath and, raising his chin, said, “I’d be right pleased to come and work here. I know Mulligan and some of the others—I’d fit right in.”

  Kit smiled and rose, bringing Johnson to his feet. “So they tell me.” He clapped Johnson on the shoulder, opened the office door, and steered the big man through. “Welcome to the crew of Cavanaugh Yachts.”

  Mulligan, together with the other older men, looked across at the sound of footsteps.

  Kit grinned and waved at Johnson. “We have a new recruit.” He halted with Johnson as Mulligan came up, dusting off his hands. “I’ll leave you with Mulligan. My secretary, Miss Petty, will be in later this afternoon—Mulligan will help you sign on with her, and then you’ll be one of this motley crew.”

  The other men grinned, waved, or nodded in greeting, then continued with their work.

  Mulligan nodded to Kit, then said to Johnson, “Come along, Bill. Caps and coats over here.” Mulligan led Johnson off to the rack of pegs the men had fixed along the workshop’s wall. “And then we could use your brawn right now—we’ve a lot of ribs to fix.”

  Kit retreated to Wayland’s office, a satisfied glow warming his chest. He’d done something good, something worthwhile—he felt sure Sylvia would agree when he told her of it.

  CHAPTER 10

  In the afternoon, armed with the excuse of needing to tell Sylvia about Bill Johnson having watched her over recent days as well as the news that Ned would definitely be continuing at the school, Kit left the workshop and headed to Sylvia’s office. On finding the door shut, he turned his steps toward the school.

  He found Sylvia there, overseeing the end of the school day.

  “Wednesday is Miss Meggs’s day off,” Sylvia explained, even though he hadn’t asked, “so I always come over to help Jellicoe and Cross with getting the tribe away.” Illustrating the need, she raised her voice. “Johnny, you’ve forgotten your scarf.”

  One young urchin skidded to a halt in his mad dash for the door and, swinging around, flashed her a grin. “Thank you, miss.” Then he raced back to his desk, grabbed the scarf from the seat where it had languished, and raced to catch up with his friends.

  “It’s like a stampede,” Kit said, smiling at the thunder of feet and jostling bodies.

  “They’re boys,” Sylvia countered. “They always move like that.”

  The last of the herd vanished through th
e door, leaving Jellicoe and Cross catching their breaths. They waved up the hall at Kit, then retreated to their desks along the side wall, presumably to neaten their lesson sheets and get ready for the next day.

  After returning their salutes, Kit swung to face Sylvia. “Speaking of boys, did you know one of those attending here—Ned Johnson—is living with his aunt while his father looks for work?”

  Sylvia nodded. “It’s a rather sad case. Ned’s been quieter since he had to go and stay with his aunt—I think he misses his father.”

  Kit realized he hadn’t thought of Ned feeling any other way; he blew out a short breath. “Well, that’s a relief, because I spent an hour this afternoon engineering a way for his father—Bill Johnson—to be able to rent a home in a few weeks and so have Ned live with him again.”

  “You have?” Delight filled Sylvia’s eyes, her reaction even more of a fillip to his soul than Kit had hoped it would be.

  Drinking in her expression, he slid his hands into his pockets and nodded. “Johnson came to ask me to intercede with you to get the school to stop teaching Ned.” As Cross and Jellicoe, alerted by Sylvia’s reaction, drew closer and settled to listen, Kit explained Bill Johnson’s fear that education would lead to Ned disowning him. “It seemed the situation with Ned living with his sister-in-law had exacerbated Johnson’s understandable anxiety. He has no book learning of any sort himself.”

  Cross nodded sagely. “We run into that attitude more often than you might think.” He tipped his head at Sylvia. “Sylvia usually prevails, but we’ve lost a few along the way.”

  “Sadly, that’s true,” Sylvia confirmed. “Mr. Johnson’s belief isn’t uncommon.”

  “So how did you convince Johnson to leave Ned at school?” Jellicoe asked. “Whatever you did, we can only applaud—Ned is one of those pupils we would least like to lose.”

  With Cross and Sylvia nodding in agreement, Kit felt even more vindicated in his meddling. “The long and the short of it is that I made a deal with Johnson—he’s already started working for Cavanaugh Yachts, and in return for him allowing Ned to continue at the school, in two weeks’ time, I’ll stand guarantor for Johnson’s income so he can rent a place of his own. He’s currently living in a hostel, which is why Ned’s with his aunt.”

  “And then Ned can go back to living with his father?” Sylvia confirmed.

  Kit nodded. “That will ease one issue, but I went a few steps further.” And he wasn’t sure, now, how they would react to his scheme. “I suggested that, after school each day, Ned should come to the workshop—to see the work his father does and appreciate what he helps to create.”

  Cross and Jellicoe arched their brows, but as both thought, they slowly nodded.

  “A sound idea,” Jellicoe said.

  Relieved, Kit went on to explain about Jack the Lad and Kit’s notion of blending school attendance and apprenticeship, and was relieved anew to find the idea enthusiastically received.

  “That’s a real step forward,” Sylvia said, her expression alight. “And now you’ve inspired me to approach other businesses and see if they might be interested in similar apprentice-school partnerships.”

  Kit felt the glow he’d experienced earlier swell. “You can use my name and title, if that will help.”

  Sylvia laughed and lightly touched his arm. “Oh, it’ll help. Thank you.”

  Something in Kit froze; that was the first time she’d spontaneously touched him.

  Cross and Jellicoe, now talking excitedly, had already donned their coats. With farewell waves, they headed for the door.

  “I said I’d lock up,” Sylvia said. “Just let me get my things.”

  Kit prowled in her wake and held her coat for her, then he waited while, reticule swinging, she crossed to the back door and locked it, then came walking up the hall to where he stood by the front door.

  He watched her approach, her gaze shifting to either side as she checked this and that. Helping Bill Johnson and his Ned had left him feeling... He decided the word he was seeking was the one Wayland had earlier suggested: “uplifted.” He couldn’t recall setting out to deliberately help someone—a total stranger, someone he didn’t know—before. He suspected that was Sylvia’s influence rubbing off on him.

  The buoyant feeling was rather addictive.

  As she neared, he waved her through the door and followed, tugging the door shut behind him. He waited beside her while she locked the door and returned the key to her reticule, then—because impulse prodded and he hoped she would see the gesture as appropriate—he offered her his arm.

  She paused for only a second, then flashed him a gentle smile and set her hand on his sleeve.

  Pleased—a touch relieved—he guided her down the steps, then started them pacing in relaxed fashion along the pavement. Although they’d walked together through the city several times, this was the first time since Rand’s wedding he’d walked with her properly on his arm. The effect of having her just that bit closer feathered across his senses; her long legs set a stride that was easy for him to match, and her unconscious gracefulness captivated the more predatory part of his mind.

  With some effort, he drew his thoughts from such simple pleasures and focused on the here and now. “Are you heading to your office or your lodgings?”

  “Lodgings,” she replied, her gaze on the flagstones ahead of them. “I’ve finished all I need to do today.”

  He saw her glance across the street at the Stenshaw residence. As she looked ahead again, he said, “Incidentally, have you been troubled by that sensation of being watched today?”

  A slight frown tangled her brows; she was tall enough that he didn’t have to bend his head to see her face. “Now that you mention it, no.” She met his eyes. “Not this morning when I walked to the office, and not when I walked over here, either.”

  “Johnson admitted he’d been watching the school—trying to catch glimpses of Ned without Ned or anyone else seeing him. He also said he’d watched you over recent days, trying to get up the courage to speak to you.”

  “Oh.” Her face cleared. “That must have been what I sensed.”

  Kit tipped his head. “Possibly. But now that Johnson is working at Cavanaugh Yachts, you shouldn’t feel that odd sensation again.”

  Sylvia smiled a touch self-deprecatingly. “It’s a relief to know it was something so innocent. It must have been the aftermath of the fire that made me think there was something...malevolent in the gaze.”

  The word “malevolent” disturbed Kit; he couldn’t imagine that Johnson’s anguished but innocent staring would have triggered such a feeling, fire or not.

  They reached the Butts and turned toward the bridge. Sylvia lightly gripped his arm, refocusing his attention. “You know how things at the school are going. So tell me about your progress at the workshop.” She turned bright eyes on him. “How is work on your first boat going?”

  “Ship,” he corrected, all but instinctively. Then he tipped his head. “But more accurately, yacht.”

  The look she sent him was playfully long-suffering. “Your first yacht, then.”

  He paused to help her onto the drawbridge. As they fell into step again, he said, “Unfortunately, we suffered an unexpected setback.” He met her questioning, incipiently concerned gaze. “On Monday night or early Tuesday morning, someone broke in and sabotaged the work we’d done on our first keel.”

  “Good Lord.” She gripped his arm more tightly. Her gaze searched his face. “Was anyone hurt?”

  He shook his head. “No. The damage was all to the new work.” Hearing his own words gave him pause. He frowned.

  “Did whoever it was steal much?” Sylvia asked.

  “No.” He blinked. “Nothing at all. And yes, that strikes me as strange.”

  They stepped down off the drawbridge and, wending through knots of people, made their way into Clare Street.
Once they were pacing steadily again, Kit went on, “That said, we’ve already put the incident behind us and forged on. Our carpenters have started setting in the ribs of the hull.”

  Sylvia listened as he described the current state of the hull, struggling to mute her smile as enthusiasm flowed through his tone and lit his face. He sounded so much like the students—very much a case of “boys will be boys.”

  When they crossed into Corn Street and he reached the end of his description with a “That’s how it stands as of today,” she remarked, “I admit I’m having trouble imagining the old warehouse being such a hive of activity—it always seemed such a cavernous space.”

  “Oh, we’ve changed things—altered it to suit our needs.” He described the new offices, the gantry, and the huge tool racks.

  She stared in unfeigned amazement. “You and your men have certainly been busy.”

  He grinned at her. “We have.”

  There was a wealth of sincere satisfaction in his expression; she studied it in something close to wonder. Had anyone told her—even a month ago—that Lord Kit Cavanaugh would find this degree of pleasure and joy in such work, she would have scoffed.

  Yet hadn’t she already accepted that the man she’d believed him to be didn’t exist? That the man on whose arm she was entirely contentedly strolling was someone else entirely?

  She looked ahead. It was nearly five o’clock, and the pavements were increasingly crowded with people heading home. They reached the intersection of Small and Corn Streets and were about to turn right when someone behind them stumbled, and the resulting jostling shoved her forward.

  Kit caught her, steadied her, then, drawing her closer and linking her arm with his, using his larger frame to shield her, he quickly steered her around the corner.

  Within a few paces, the press of bodies eased. She drew in a tight breath. “Thank you.”

  He flashed her a smile—a genuine one, not the charming gesture she’d seen him deploy in ballrooms. “My pleasure.”

  She knew he meant the words, too. He honestly liked protecting people, ladies especially. She now understood that had nothing to do with his rakish reputation but was simply an expression of the sort of man he was.

 

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