The Patricia Kiyono Christmas Collection

by Patricia Kiyono

  “Townley?”

  Robert blinked. Phillip, Duke of Bartlett, stood before him, eyeing him curiously. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “I’m ready for my cravat.”

  The duke’s cravat. Where had he put it? He did a pirouette, wondering where he’d placed it.

  “In your left hand.”

  Good grief, where has my mind gone? “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

  Forcing his mind to the present, he tied the cloth around the duke’s neck, expertly arranging the front knot under his chin. He breathed a sigh of relief when his employer nodded in satisfaction.

  “Thank you, Townley. The duchess tells me this might be the day our son or daughter arrives. I want to be ready.”

  Robert envied the duke. Surely his child would be received with love and treated with care. For years the duke had struggled to revive the shambles of the estate his father had left him, but even in his darkest days, he’d never treated anyone with anything but respect. It was too bad they couldn’t bring Andy to the rented house. In a few months, when the duke was finished with his duties at Parliament and the doctor had proclaimed it safe for the babe to travel, the family would return to the Bartlett estate in Lincolnshire. There would be lots of room and fresh air for the young boy to run about safely, and plenty of food in the kitchen.

  It was really too bad…

  “Townley, the duchess and I thought it might be a good idea to allow each child to bring one or two adults along to the Christmas party. It occurred to me that if my young child received an invitation to a party in another part of the city, I certainly wouldn’t send him alone. These parents deserve to come along and see what their children are doing, especially those who attend the lessons each night.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. If we seat the parent to the right of each child, that would make it easier for the serving platters to be passed along.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right. Would you please inform the children and their parents tonight?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Excellent. Now I suppose I’d better make an appearance at Parliament. Sometimes it’s a blessing that I can’t hear all the babbling that goes on. If I don’t want to hear their arguments, I don’t have to look at them.” He chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day when I regarded that shooting accident as a blessing.” He looked up at Robert. “You remember how I was. Angry at the entire world and certain I would never know happiness. I was wrong. Thanks for staying with me, friend.” He patted Robert on the shoulder and left.

  ~~~~

  A few hours later, Phillip returned, having been hastily summoned. The newest Peartree was about to make his or her appearance. Phillip burst into the house and raced to his wife’s side. Defying convention, he refused to leave, even when the midwife tried to shoo him out.

  Like the rest of the staff, Robert awaited the news. Through the day and into the night, he kept himself as busy as he could in his master’s chambers, checking and rechecking the duke’s wardrobe. The duke’s evening clothes hadn’t been used, so Robert put them away and laid out his nightclothes. Every article of clothing had been checked and re-checked. It was evident the duke had no intention of leaving the house until his heir made an appearance. Feeling helpless and at a loss, Robert wandered toward the duchess’ bedchamber, scattering the handful of maids who crowded around the door waiting for news.

  Now what? He didn’t dare knock or enter. He settled for pacing in front of the doorway. Finally, the door opened and a weary Jeanne stepped out. Most of her hair had escaped the pins and her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, but he knew he’d never beheld a more beautiful woman.

  “Has the child arrived?”

  The edges of her mouth curved upward, and her eyes shone, reflecting her happiness on the rest of her face. “Yes. A son. He’s beautiful.”

  Phillip came to the door then. “Townley,” he called. “I thought I heard your voice out here. Come in. You must see him. He’s a little miracle.”

  Come in? The duchess has just given birth, for heaven’s sake. Is he daft? “I-I really shouldn’t—”

  “Come, come.” The duke, it appeared, had no such qualms. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Robert lagged behind Phillip, not wanting to see anything… inappropriate. His unease settled as he got to the bedside and heard Amelia’s voice.

  “Robert, it’s quite all right for you to be here. Everything messy has been cleared away, and I am covered now.”

  He breathed easier and looked up. Amelia’s hair was in disarray, and she looked somewhat pale, but her face shone with an ethereal glow. In her arms lay a tiny bundle no larger than a loaf of bread, and if that loaf hadn’t blinked its eyes he wouldn’t have recognized it as a tiny human being.

  He didn’t know how long he stared, but the tiny creature seemed to understand he was being scrutinized and stared back. Dark eyes, almost black, held his gaze. A solemn stare. All-knowing.

  “Isn’t it wondrous, Townley?” Phillip asked. The duke sat on the other side of the bed. He reached out and gently caressed the baby’s cheek. Robert noted tears in Phillip’s eyes and felt his own throat close up. Was this how his parents had felt when he was born? He vowed to protect the little Peartree as fiercely as he had his father.

  “Wondrous, indeed,” he whispered.

  “Robert?” Amelia’s voice lingered on the edge of his notice.

  “Mmm?”

  “Would you mind… letting the staff know?”

  Let the staff know. The staff, of which he was a member. Remember your place, Robert. His father’s words hit him like a douse of cold water and brought him out of his musing.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Grace. Right away.” He turned on his heel and left. He would deliver his message and then search out a certain lady’s maid.

  The duke and duchess had found their happiness. It was time for Robert Townley to pursue his.

  Jeanne came back up the stairs, carrying a pile of fresh linens. She blessed him with a smile. “Have you seen the little one?”

  “I have,” he replied. “And I realize it is high time I secure a family of my own. I feel we would suit. Would you grant me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Despite his years of training at Jackson’s Saloon, he wasn’t prepared for the blow Jeanne delivered to his mid-section. Blast. What had he done now?

  Chapter Ten

  Robert made his way down the dingy street, searching for the thin, flimsy doorway where he’d left Andy and his mother. He knew it was close by. It had been nearly a week, and he’d finally arranged a half-day off. The street and its inhabitants looked even shabbier in the light of day. Could he be on the wrong street? It seemed the hovel Andrew and his mother lived in was right about here…

  “Mister, are you lost? I kin ‘elp ye find whatever ye like, fer only tuppence.”

  Robert stared at the child. He was dressed in a ragged coat two sizes too small and trousers too large, and deep-set eyes gave his face an aged look, as though he’d known more heartache than one his age should. Robert reached in his pocket, pulled out a coin, and tossed it to the boy.

  “There was a little boy named Andy and his mother living near here. Do you know where they are?”

  “Andy? ’Ow old were ’e?”

  “Eight, perhaps ten.”

  “Right. A little scamp. I think they were ’ere, but when ’is mum died ’e went away.”

  “She died? Where did Andy go? Is someone else caring for him?”

  The boy shrugged, but a little girl sidled up beside him. “’E was cryin’ and cryin’ for days, ’e was. Didn’t want ta leave ’is mum. But the men came with a big wagon and took ’em away.”

  “Took… both of them?”

  “I think they took Andy up there, after they dumped off his mum.” She pointed to the opposite end of the street where the tall spires of the Bishopsgate Workhouse could be seen.

  Robert shuddered.
The poor lad had not only lost his mother, he’d had to see her body “dumped off” like garbage. And now he was to be brought up in the workhouse.

  He’d heard about those places. They took in the homeless, children as well as adults. The residents were fed and trained for work. But it wasn’t a life he’d want for himself or any child of his.

  Disheartened, he made his way back to the townhouse.

  ~~~~

  From her seat at the servants’ table, Jeanne watched as Robert ate, seemingly lost in thought. It was unlike him. Normally, he did everything with a purpose.

  Like asking me to marry him.

  The way he’d proposed still rankled. But she didn’t like seeing him looking so somber, either. He’d had the morning off. What had happened? Perhaps he was apprehensive about tonight’s lesson at the Cathedral.

  She finished her meal and rose to make her way back upstairs.

  “Miss Brown.” Robert’s quiet voice stilled her. Something was amiss. She turned a questioning gaze to him.

  Robert rose. “I went to visit Andy this morning. I’d forgotten until today that I’d promised to bring him food and blankets.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad. Is his mother improved?”

  He shook his head. “She’s dead.”

  Jeanne’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh dear. What will become of Andy?”

  “According to one of the neighbors, he’s been taken to the Bishopsgate Workhouse.”

  A chill went up Jeanne’s spine. The workhouse! She’d listened in horror as one of the maids described her time there after arriving in London. The conditions had been deplorable for her as an adult. But for a child — unthinkable.

  “What about Andy’s father? It seems he should be charged with murder.”

  “I don’t know. I doubt he will face charges. But he certainly isn’t fit to raise his son.”

  “I agree. Still, I don’t like the idea of Andy all alone in that place.” She could identify with loneliness. Had her brother, too, been sent to a workhouse? Perhaps she should have gone there personally to look for Pierre. But she hadn’t. Would the workhouse keep records of where they sent the children who’d lived there?

  She would worry about that later. “I’ve got to find Andy,” she blurted.

  “What can you do?”

  “I don’t know… perhaps I can adopt him.”

  “Adopt — but how would you care for him? You wouldn’t be able to remain here.”

  “I know that, but I can’t let him stay there. He’s just a baby. I’ll have to go there and find him.”

  “Jeanne — er, Miss Brown, we aren’t certain he’s there. And if it’s that horrible, you mustn’t go alone.”

  “But I must.”

  “Then allow me to go with you.”

  She stared at him then. “You would do that?”

  “I — yes. I don’t wish to see you come to any harm. If you go, please tell me when you’re going so that I can arrange to accompany you.”

  “My next morning off is Sunday.”

  “Then I will arrange to be available. Remember — do not go without me or one of the footmen.”

  She nodded.

  Her heart still ached for poor Andy, but she felt better knowing there was a plan.

  ~~~~

  Robert’s head spun. What had he just promised? He knew that going to Bishopsgate could be an exercise in futility. The boy might be there, and he might not. And he might be overworked or harmed by the time they found him. If Andy was to be found, they couldn’t wait until Sunday. He needed to go — or send someone who could get the information they needed.

  Someone like a Bow Street Runner. Or maybe someone else…

  He had a few hours before he would need to attend to the duke’s wardrobe for dinner. He made a fast trip to his room to change his clothes then slipped out of the townhouse and quickly made his way to Bond Street.

  He entered Jackson’s Saloon and hurried up the stairs to look for Ralph. Fortunately, his friend had just finished a training session with a client.

  “Robert, it’s good to see you again. Ready to go another round?”

  “Perhaps, but I need to talk.”

  “Strip your shirt off and talk while we’re sparring.”

  Knowing his friend meant business, he did as he was told. Between punches, he explained to his friend what he needed.

  “I think I can help you,” Ralph said. “I know one of the matrons at Bishopsgate. We were… friendly at one time.”

  Robert hid a grin. Ralph had been “friendly” with more women than he could count. But if one of them could help locate Andy, he’d kiss the woman himself.

  “Excellent. Let me know what you find out. And… I’ll pay you for your time.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. I spent the worst years of my life at that place. If you’re willing to take on responsibility for one of those poor children, we need to find him now. Tell me what I need to know and I’ll send word when I find him.”

  Half an hour later, Robert wiped his sweat away and dressed for his return to the Bartlett townhouse. The December winds had picked up and the sun had begun its descent. Daylight hours were at their fewest in mid-December, with less than eight hours of daylight. He nodded to the lamp lighter, busy with his nightly task of illuminating the streets. The aroma of a savory meal floated to him through an open kitchen window, reminding him of his duties. He quickened his steps. Whether or not the duke chose to dress for dinner, his valet should be available.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Bartlett townhouse buzzed with the excitement of Christmas preparations. Pine boughs covered the stair rails and mantles and brought a fresh scent to the air. Every surface shone. In the midst of it all, the duchess directed the preparations from her chair until little William Phillip Peartree indicated his hunger. Amelia immediately picked up the future duke and took him to the nursery, leaving Robert and Jeanne in charge of completing the decorations.

  Jeanne kept herself busy wrapping gifts for the children. The duke and duchess had begun the tradition of giving them books each Christmas as a way of encouraging them to read during the time when the school didn’t meet. This year, each child would receive a book written by the duchess — or rather, by J. P. Worthington, her pen name. She’d written a children’s story using vocabulary she knew they could read and understand and then her husband had drawn the illustrations. The author had signed the books, including a personal note for each child.

  Across the room, Robert directed the footmen engaged in rearranging the furniture in the large sitting room. After a traditional Christmas meal, the children would gather there for singing and gifts. The chairs had been pushed back so the children could sit on the floor. Robert had removed his jacket and actually assisted with the moving of the chairs and sofas, giving the silhouette of a man accustomed to hard physical labor.

  Two things occurred to Jeanne as she watched. One, Robert, despite his seemingly haughty demeanor, wasn’t afraid of hard work. Instead of simply telling the footmen what needed to be done and watching as they did it, he pitched in. Perhaps he wasn’t as uppity as she’d thought.

  Second, the man was strong. Lifting and moving furniture proved no hardship for him. She tried to imagine what those muscles looked like under his linen shirt and immediately shut the thought away.

  Once, long ago, she’d seen her father without his shirt as he worked in the fields near their home. It had been a hot summer day, and Jeanne had accompanied her mother to take lunch to Michael and the other workers. She remembered seeing her father, stripped to the waist as he guided the plow behind the oxen. Sweat had beaded his face and chest, and his broad shoulders had glistened in the sunlight. Maman had paused, and Jeanne had looked up to ask why they’d stopped.

  The expression on her mother’s face had been one she’d never forget. The hardship of being a farmer’s wife, the loneliness of being a foreigner in a strange land, the sorrow of being disowned by her father — they’d all faded aw
ay, replaced by a soft smile, and Jeanne had caught a glimpse of the beautiful young noblewoman her mother must have been. Her expression reflected love, as well as appreciation for the virile figure of her husband.

  It was the same sort of figure Mr. Townley presented right now.

  “Miss Brown?” Sarah asked.

  Jeanne blinked, bringing herself back to the present. “Yes?”

  “Are you ill? Do you need some help?”

  “Oh, no. I’m almost finished—” Looking down at her hands, she realized she’d tied a knot around one of her fingers. She cast a sheepish grin at the girl. “I just seem to be a bit clumsy today.”

  “It’s probably from watching all these men moving the furniture. I know I could spend the day staring at them,” another maid teased.

  Jeanne straightened and turned away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The maid’s grin disappeared. “Sorry, Miss Brown. Shall I put the rest of these gifts next to the duchess’ chair?”

  Jeanne started to apologize but thought better of it. Better to be seen as a cold, unfeeling woman than to admit an interest in one of the strong, good-looking men in the household. Especially Rob— er, Mr. Townley.

  “Yes, that would be fine, Laura. Thank you.”

  The girl took the wrapped packages and set them neatly in a large basket next to the padded chair where the duchess planned to read aloud to the children. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Er, no. I believe we’re ready. The duchess would like to look things over before the children come tomorrow night, but we’ve finished with everything she’s asked us to do.”

  The maid nodded. Apparently Laura hadn’t been offended by Jeanne’s harsh tone. “I’m off to bed, then. Good night, Miss Brown.”