The Burdens of a Bachelor (Arrangements, Book 5)

by Rebecca Connolly

  The building of apartments in which she was staying looked more dank in the daylight than she recalled, but she had been so grateful for the vacancy that it hadn’t mattered. The price was something she could afford, the state of the building something she could overlook, and the smell was something she could learn to accept, she supposed. Something better would come along.

  It had to.

  She knocked at the door and was let in by the mute doorman, whose name she still had yet to learn, but he nodded at her, belched, and went back to dozing on his stool in the corner.

  Oh, but she was a long way from Pavel House.

  She removed her bonnet, wincing as the cheap straw caught at her hair, and went up the creaking stairs. The apartments were quiet, which she expected, given the hour of the day, though they had been busy enough last night. Again, she would have to adjust. Nothing would be the same, and it was time to adapt to her new state of living and being.

  She reached her apartment and fumbled for her key, sighing with a small smile. Progress had been made today, which must be appreciated.

  And she had seen Colin Gerrard.

  Her smile faded, and she swallowed. That was something she had never intended.

  But no matter. It would not happen again.

  It could not.

  The door opened before she could do so herself and her neighbor answered, her gown far more decent now than it had been when she’d left, though one shoulder was still bare. “Oh, good,” she hiccupped, though she was not drunk, “you meant it when you said not long. So many people lie these days, and I really do have to work.”

  Susannah smiled and entered. “Yes, Sasha, I meant it. And I do appreciate your helping me.”

  The woman shrugged her one bare shoulder and gave her a smile. “He’s easy enough to please. Been teaching me to read, actually. Never learned before.”

  Susannah’s smile grew and she shook her head. “I’m sure he did. How much do I owe you?”

  Sasha held up a hand. “Not a bit, Miz Hart. I’ll do it anytime, provided I don’t have a chap. I like you, and I like him. And neighbors help each other.”

  A lump rose in her throat. “Thank you.”

  Sasha wrinkled her nose in a smirk, and left, calling out, “Bye, love!” as she did so.

  Susannah sighed and turned around, hands on her hips, facing the small, curly-haired seven-year-old boy sitting in the chair before the empty fireplace, book open in his lap.

  “Good morning, Mama,” he giggled, opening his arms for a hug.

  She went to him, hugged him back, and kissed his brow. “Good morning, Freddie. What are we reading today and where did you get it from?”

  Chapter Three

  C olin paced anxiously back and forth, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “They can’t be mine,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “They can’t be. I mean, they honestly cannot be.”

  “He’s said that already,” one of the girls whispered to the other. “Do you think he’s mad?”

  “Shh!” the other scolded harshly.

  He stopped suddenly and looked down at his hands. “They can’t be mine. They aren’t mine.”

  “We know that,” said the one who’d shushed the other.

  He ignored her.

  “But Kit…” he said, beginning to pace again. “They could be Kit’s. He’s a bit of an idiot, he might have been that stupid.”

  “Here we go,” the older girl moaned, sitting down on the floor.

  The youngest just watched him pace, as she had been doing, as if it was a game she did not comprehend.

  “But he’s never been that stupid,” he reminded himself, sweeping his hands behind his back. “It seems odd for him to do something so drastically stupid and out of character, and three times, at that.”

  “We’re not Kit’s,” the oldest one announced.

  He ignored her again.

  “Letter for you, sir,” Bartlet intoned gravely from the doorway, determinedly avoiding looking at the girls.

  Colin grabbed it from him. “From Kit? I should hope so, I demand an explanation.”

  “From the foreign gentleman, sir,” Bartlet said with a shake of his head. “He said he forgot to give it to you before.”

  Colin frowned and tore open the blank seal. “Not a surprise, I don’t think his mind actually works most of the time.”

  “Indeed, sir,” Bartlet replied, leaving him.

  Colin glanced at the girls, all watching him, then back down at the letter as he opened it.

  The handwriting told him immediately that he, and Kit, were safe.

  “Oh, thank God,” he said, heaving a sigh and leaning back against the doorframe.

  It was from their father, Lord Loughton, who never communicated with them unless it was imperative, and would rather not be reminded of their existence. As the feeling was entirely mutual, they had seen no reason to alter the arrangement.

  Colin frowned suddenly as his mind leapt forward. If the letter was from Loughton, then…

  “Oh, no,” he murmured slowly, looking down at the letter and actually beginning to read it.

  “And there it is,” the impertinent one said loudly as she began to applaud.

  He again ignored her as he tried to read the words before him:

  Married a French woman some years ago. The three girls are from our relationship. Their mother has died and I have no interest in raising them. I give charge of them to the two of you for the duration of their lives. Official documents will be forthcoming, assuming I can find a lawyer here who understands British law. If funds are needed, inform me and it shall be done.

  It was signed only with the great flourishing L that they had learned to expect as a signature from him.

  There were hardly any answers in that letter at all.

  He turned it over to look at the back, just in case there was a post script.

  There wasn’t.

  “Damn,” he hissed, scanning it again.

  “He swears a lot,” the second girl whispered loudly.

  He looked at her in disbelief, which earned him a scowl from the oldest.

  “You kind of do,” she agreed with a half of a wince.

  “Twice,” he murmured.

  “That we could hear.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Colin bellowed, “BARTLET!”

  The butler appeared as if by magic, making the girls jump more than Colin’s yell had. “Sir?

  “Wherever Kit is,” Colin said, still in a bit of a daze, “send for him. Now. And tell him it’s urgent.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bartlet said with a nod. “And… sir, what about… them?” He inclined his head only towards the girls.

  Colin looked at them as the youngest yawned without hesitation. “Prepare a room. We’ll have to make arrangements for them. They are staying with us. They… are my sisters.”

  Bartlet gaped, which was entirely unlike Bartlet, but it would be excused, given the circumstances.

  The girls, on the other hand, grinned at each other in delight.

  “That will be all, Bartlet,” Colin muttered, uncomfortable with their unfettered glee.

  Bartlet fairly scampered away.

  “What?” he barked when their smiles stayed in place.

  The oldest shrugged, still grinning. “We thought you would toss us into the streets and we’d be forced to be paupers.”

  Colin snorted at the notion and moved to sit on a sofa. “Where did you get a ridiculous idea like that?”

  “Loughton,” she said simply.

  He looked at her then, assessing her carefully. “So you call him that too?”

  She nodded, her dark curls bouncing. “It was a right sight better than calling him ‘father’.”

  “Very true.”

  Again, they stared at one another.

  And again, the youngest yawned, now curled on his carpet by the fire.

  “Is she going to fall asleep on the floor there?” he asked with a touch of
concern. He would not claim to understand children, though he had spent a little time with the children of his friends, and some various others around town, but not with enough consideration to notice much of anything.

  “Probably,” the oldest said with a sigh, shaking her head. “It’s her nap time, and we’ve been travelling for days and days, without much to eat, and sleep has been difficult.”

  “No need for dramatics,” he scolded with a wave of his hand.

  She quirked a brow like he’d seen Kit do every day of his life. “Who said I was being dramatic?”

  He was beyond surprised at this little tart-tongued new sister of his. Where in the world did she get off speaking to him that way?

  He nearly rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.

  She was his sister.

  Suddenly, he didn’t need any further proof.

  “Well,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I suppose introductions are in order.”

  The older two girls stood up and curtseyed.

  “No, no, no,” he interrupted with a shake of his head, waving his hand once more. “No formalities, although I applaud your education in manners. Your mother, I presume?”

  The oldest nodded. “She wanted us to be fine English ladies someday.”

  He grunted softly, trying not to smile at the hint of accent he heard in her voice. Well, at least one of their parents had sense.

  “Come sit down,” he told them, gesturing to the sofa opposite him.

  They did so, sitting rather close together. The youngest was now sound asleep in front of the fire, and actually looked remarkably cozy. He found himself smiling in spite of himself.

  He shook his head rapidly and looked back at the others. “You obviously know that I’m Colin.”

  They nodded as one.

  “I am the second son,” he continued. “My twin is Christopher, or Kit, and he’ll be around whenever he sees fit to come back. He tends to come and go as he pleases, you’ll get used to it. But he’s a good man, though not as amusing or handsome as I am.”

  They did not react except to blink.

  Hmm. This was going to be interesting.

  “Your turn.”

  “How old are you?” the smaller of the girls asked.

  He fought a smile. “Thirty-two. How old are you?”

  Her eyes went wide at his age. “Zut alors,” she breathed. “I’m only six.”

  Now he did smile. “Six is a very good age.”

  The oldest was finally starting to smile at him. “I’m Rose. Rose Marie Elizabeth Gerrard, but you can call me Rosie. I’m nine.”

  “Nine is also good, if I remember,” he said with a nod.

  She shrugged. “Eight was better.”

  “I remember that too.”

  Now she did smile. She indicated her sister beside her. “This is Louisa, though she goes by Bitty, I have no idea why.”

  Bitty shrugged herself and smiled at him. “I’m not very big, so the nurse called me Bitty.”

  “Makes sense,” he murmured, wishing he wasn’t so amused by them. “And who is the little Sleeping Beauty over there?”

  “That’s Genevieve,” Rosie informed him with a smile of her own, her accent much more pronounced on her sister’s name. “We call her Ginny. She’s three.”

  “Three,” he murmured, looking over at her again. “I don’t remember three at all.”

  “She’s adorable,” Rosie said with a sigh that told him she really was, but also tiresome. “She is curious about everything, a bit shy, and doesn’t know enough words to properly communicate. You’ll learn how she works fairly quickly.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” he answered drily.

  Rosie and Bitty stared at him for a long moment, as if waiting for something. Colin, for the life of him, could not think what it was.

  Then the loud, unmistakable sound of a stomach rumbling erupted from one of them, and the girls looked at each other in a mixture of horror and amusement.

  In spite of the upheaval this would cause him, in spite of the complete lack of humor involved, and in spite of the fact that he’d already had a trying morning, Colin found himself laughing.

  The girls looked at him in surprise, but he was beyond containing it.

  They soon joined him and it was quite some time before any of them could stop.

  “Apparently,” he managed when he could breathe, “one of you is hungry.”

  Bitty clamped her hands over her stomach and nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry for that?” he asked her, tilting his head. “I am usually hungry, there is no apology needed. And when you meet my friend Duncan, you will learn that some people are just always hungry and always will be.”

  Bitty grinned at him. “So… can I have something to eat?”

  He smiled back, unable to resist. “Of course, you can! We all can. Let’s go down to the kitchens and see what they have.”

  “But what about Ginny?” Rosie asked as they got up.

  Colin looked over at his smallest sister, and felt an unexpected swelling of emotion. He looked back at the other two. “I’ll get her, and then lead the way. She can sleep if she wants, and eat when she wants. We’ll sort out a schedule later.”

  He went to the fireplace and pulled the little sleeping girl into his arms. She nuzzled against him, then turned her cheek into his neck and sighed sleepily, her mouth gaping the tiniest bit.

  There was no accounting for the sudden lump in his throat, and he could not very well clear it, or he might wake her, and then she might cry, and he had no idea what to do if that happened, so he simply swallowed. It took a few times for the lump to clear, but eventually it did and he rose to his feet.

  “Come on,” he urged the other two softly, gesturing out the door. “I’ll show you where to go.”

  They passed Bartlet again, who now smiled at the girls in a sort of astonishment.

  “Bartlet,” Colin hissed, signaling him to come to him.

  “Yes, sir?” he asked with a sudden calm.

  “I will need notes to be delivered to my friends,” he murmured softly, forcing a smile.

  Bartlet nodded in understanding. “At once?”

  “Yes,” he hissed. “Have paper sent down to the kitchens, I will write them there while the girls eat. And then I think I should get a nursemaid or a governess or something. Right?”

  Bartlet appeared bewildered at being asked for his opinion. “I, uh….”

  “Send for Lady Raeburn,” Colin sighed with a look heavenward. “I have no one else to turn to.”

  “Oh, lord,” Bartlet muttered, shaking his head.

  “Indeed.” He looked down at the girls, watching him in confusion. “But do it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colin turned and led his sisters down to the kitchens, wondering what in heaven’s name his father had gotten him into.

  “All right, Colin, what is it?”

  Colin turned from the thick wooden table in surprise and looked at his twin, who strode into the kitchen with his usual purposeful strides and looked rather dapper and fresh for apparently not being in London. He made Colin look like a street peddler, and he knew it. He always did that, and it drove Colin mad.

  “So you are in London?” he replied with a bit of a sneer, knowing how Kit hated being taunted. “Amazing. Bartlet was mistaken, then. I shall have to let him down gently, he’s never been wrong before in his life.”

  Kit narrowed his eyes, which matched Colin’s to a tee, but held no laughter. He scoffed softly. “Of course, I was in London. Where else would I have been? Now what was so damn urgent?”

  Colin tsked and shook his head. “Language, Kit. There are children present.”

  Kit blinked slowly, but gave no other indication of surprise. “There are… what?”

  “Children,” Colin repeated with a smirk.

  “And a lady!” Tibby called out from the other end of the table, where she had been watching with interest.

  Kit turned
to see her and bowed very politely. “Lady Raeburn, I apologize, I did not see you.”

  Tibby inclined her regally turbaned head, where her violent red hair was barely visible beneath the shimmering blue swaths of fabric. “Christopher. Always so formal. Tibby, please.”

  One side of Kit’s mouth quirked up in an almost-smile. “Tibby. Forgive me, old habits.” He gave a quarter turn and looked at Colin again. “Children, Colin? What children?”

  Colin allowed his smirk to spread and pointed at the girls, sitting on the other side of Tibby, eyes fixed on them both. “Those children.”

  It said a great deal that Kit, after looking where he was indicating, only blinked again, though his eyes were a good deal wider than before. He swallowed twice, and then looked back at him. “What did you do?” he asked in a low, very controlled voice.

  Colin snorted and handed him the letter.

  Kit took it and his eyes raced across the page. He swallowed again, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Oh, thank God.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” Bitty asked Rosie in what she undoubtedly thought was a whisper, her own slight accent making an appearance.

  Colin snorted again and gave her a smile. “It’s just so wonderful to have sisters, Bitty. Kit is delighted, aren’t you, Kit?”

  Kit gave him a hard look, but swallowed again and smiled politely. “Yes, very delighted. Colin, would you introduce us?”

  Colin fought a grin at his twin’s obvious distress. He quickly made the introductions and respective age information, waving Bitty down when she rose to curtsey for her turn, winked at Rosie when she gave a rather impertinent tilt of her chin, and shook his head when Ginny waved and yawned at the same time.

  Kit looked as though he had swallowed marbles. “Pleasure to meet all three of you.” He turned to Colin. “I think we need to talk.”

  “Probably wise,” Colin agreed with a sage nod, as if his brother were a remarkably intelligent fellow.

  Kit turned back to Tibby, his eyes barely grazing the girls. “Tibby, would you mind… erm…” He fought for words as he looked at the girls, and really looked.

  It was not surprising that he was so taken aback. They really did look remarkably like them.