Earl of Shefford: Noble Hearts Series: Book Three (Wicked Earls Book 28)

by St. Claire, Anna

  The state of annoyance kept her more alert and distant. Yet, despite her wariness, his unabashed honesty negated her efforts.

  “Yes, I plan to start with simple painting techniques to see who has a talent for the subject. As a society, we expect girls to love art and endeavor to gain a certain skill. My own observations do not support that contention. Famous painters are usually men. We intend to give all the children a good basic education in reading, writing, and arithmetic. In addition, I think some tuition in the arts, and perhaps music, would give them an advantage in the world. My mother always told me that art encourages the finer ability to discern and read your surroundings. I feel the skill would be helpful to the children.”

  “You are sure it is wise?” His voice drifted off towards the end of the question.

  Nora started to snap a retort, but sensed his comment seemed a more discarded thought than a proper question. The Earl had busied himself perusing the supplies, picking up the aprons, the papers, and looking at the table easels.

  “I am heartened by your effort.” As he spoke, his eyes remained focused on the children’s efforts. “All the same, I fear you will need more paint and brushes. I shall have them delivered—paper, too. As I think about it, your reasoning makes sense. Children need to be alert to their environment, perhaps these children more than most, and if painting can aid that, so be it. You mentioned music.” He paused and turned his head. “Do you have an instructor for that?”

  Nora opened her mouth to respond and closed it before finally answering, “Eventually, my lord, I might do some rudimentary teaching using an older pianoforte. T’would be nice to have one in the parlor for small recitals, that is an aspiration only. There is so much more we need. Painting is our first endeavor.” She still had much on her mind. Perhaps his wish to observe would, after all, not be too obtrusive. While a physical attraction between them felt more and more obvious to her, their ability to become contentious still existed, and she had no wish to have an argument in front of the children.

  “Is my uncle in trouble?” she blurted out. Drat. She had meant to ask that with more propriety.

  “I beg your pardon?” Colin’s face wore a sudden formidable look. “Has something happened? Has he been here?”

  “Your questions… and that look,” she said, her skin prickling with alarm. “I feel there is something I do not know, yet I should. What might that be?”

  The mention of Uncle’s name appeared to create some level of concern, because Colin paused for a long moment before answering.

  “Your uncle tried to kill me after losing this property to me.”

  She gasped.

  “My friends and I have an idea where he is staying.”

  “Does my grandmother know?”

  “She does.” His voice was emotionless.

  “I saw him.” She instantly regretted her words, fearing his reaction to her gift.

  He raised a brow. Nora was not sure how much to reveal, not wanting to be ridiculed. She enjoyed laughter, but not at her expense.

  “I am prone to forewarnings, and his face flashed across my mind at the strangest of times this morning. I make it a habit not to think about my uncle, so I found it most odd.” I trust him with my feelings. She discerned in that instant that her heart had begun to rule her head.

  Showing only surprise, he did not laugh.

  “I am interested in what you saw,” he said, his voice softening. “My own mother has spoken of such presentiments. She has sworn many times that the fairer sex oft possesses the ability, and it should never be taken lightly.”

  “It was nothing more than that. ’Tis wholly unusual for me to even think about him. He has never been pleasant to my family, especially to my mother, his own sister.”

  Colin casually pulled up a brush from its holder and fingered it while he studied her.

  “Your uncle has a… female companion… who lives in the East End, and we think he is staying with her,” Colin informed her.

  “A ladybird? I cannot imagine why she would ally herself with him, beyond the lure of his money.” She heard herself disclose. She immediately regarded him. Had she shocked him? His expression remained calm.

  “Uncle has never been pleasant to my mother or myself, and my grandmother does not mention him. In fact, he is tight-fisted,” she added. Really, I must learn to guard my tongue. Whatever possessed me to tell him that, and in front of the children, for heaven’s sake? I should know by now to keep my family business to myself.

  “Her name is Jenny Maven, and she is employed by the gambling establishment on the hill.” He seemed nonplussed by her disclosure. She was unsure how she felt about that.

  “Do you refer to Lattimore Hill?” There was little doubt what Uncle had been doing there, yet Nora wondered about Colin’s presence at such a place. She wanted to ask, but a lady was supposed to know nothing of such establishments. Good sense this time kept her tongue in check. It was one more reason that she detested the ton. They went to places like East End and Seven Dials to mix with low company and visit the gin shops. It was not enough that the social classes were so abruptly dissimilar. Although the upper classes were aware of the needs of the poor, most turned a blind eye, their only concerns being to satisfy their own needs, their own vices. Was there another attraction for him in the East End beyond gambling? “Do you intend to have him arrested?” Would it be too harsh to hope the answer to this was yes?

  “Indeed. That is my plan. Still, I am pursuing some additional information before having him arrested. He has already bribed an official, for his release on the night of the incident, and is not aware we know where he is. Attempting to kill a peer is a very serious offense.” He looked at her, his gaze holding hers.

  To her surprise, she felt both pity and relief. The prospect of Uncle getting his comeuppance should thrill her considering how disagreeable he has been.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked in a solicitous tone.

  A fissure of contentment shot through her. Colin cared about her opinion. “You are in earnest? I would like to see him punished just enough to allow him to feel how he has made others feel,” she ventured finally. The clamor of feet and the sounds of giggles sounded from the stairs. “Perhaps we should continue this later this morning, when we are in the carriage. The children are… coming… and here they are,” she said brightly as the smaller children rounded the door-case and began eyeing the assembled art supplies. Amy and Alice made straight for her. “Sweetings, you recall Uncle Colin, do you not?” She caught his expression of amusement from the corner of her eye. The energy she felt when in his presence was addictive.

  “Good ’ay, Uncle Colin,” Alice said. The little girl gripped Amy’s hand in hers. “Amy says good ’ay, too.”

  He chuckled. “I understand that you children are all going to turn your hands to painting today. I would very much like to watch, if that would be acceptable to you.”

  Nora and Colin looked about the schoolroom at nodding faces. “Well, it seems the children have spoken,” she said—and even she could hear the smile in her voice. “Children, before we start, please find an overall. The girls have the smocks and boys wear the aprons. Here are some for you younger children.” She held out a few that would fit the smaller girls. There were no grumbles—not that she had expected any. She was fairly certain this was the first time most of these children had even seen supplies such as these, much less use them. “Everyone listen carefully, and I will show you how to begin. I want you to draw something that you like—anything you like,” she told them clearly. Repressing a smile at the open mouths before her, Nora looked about the room and noticed Colin squatting down, talking to Becca. The little girl appeared to be drawing during their exchange.

  Nora opened her mouth to say something, but chose instead to instruct the rest of the children so they might start. When she finished, she noticed Colin was still watching Becca draw, with few words being spoken. Satisfied that everyone could put something on the pa
per, she put down her brush and wiped her hands on her apron. Carefully edging nearer, she could hear their conversation.

  “Is that a picture of your last home?” Colin’s voice was gentle but laced with concern.

  “Yes,” she mumbled. “I lived with my aunt when my momma left.”

  “Who is that with you in the drawing?” he asked.

  “It’s my aunt and her friend.”

  Nora had heard enough. Coupled with the recent conversation she had had with Alice, it overwhelmed her curiosity. She quietly moved behind Colin and peered at the drawing taking shape in front of her. The dark-haired little girl was no stranger to paper and charcoal. Even though they were primitive, the faces held more detail than one might have expected from a child of seven. Nora recalled that there had been very little information about Becca and wished to know more. She noticed the drawing of a man with black hair and a moustache. Curious, she had to ask.

  “Becca, my child, who is the man?” Nora inquired gently.

  “Aunt Sarah said he was a friend.” What a curious statement, Nora thought.

  Becca looked up, her little face grimacing with concentration. “He said he was Aunt Sarah’s beau.”

  “Do you recall his name?” She could not help persisting. Can he be the same man? Impossible! You are grasping at straws, Honoria Mason.

  “She called him Tom when he was nice to her. He was mostly mean and caused her to cry a lot. When he was horrid, she would tell me to hide and not make a sound unless she called me. I heard someone call him Mr. Sneed. I am not sure, though.” She looked back at her work. She had drawn a room with the three people standing side by side. The child had drawn herself looking away from Mr. Sneed.

  Nora smiled and nodded. “That is a very good drawing, Becca. You have so much detail. Have you drawn before?”

  “A little,” she said quietly.

  “Did your mother or your aunt show you how?” She noticed that the expression on Mr. Sneed’s face was one of anger. He stood on the other side of what must have been her aunt. It was hard to miss the dark smudge on her aunt’s arm. Is that supposed to be blood? She itched to ask, nonetheless resisted the urge, deciding not to stir a potentially painful memory.

  “Aunt Sarah drawed a lot, and I watched her. Sometimes she would give me a piece of paper and a block of charcoal to draw with,” she responded casually. “I had to put it in the woodpile when I finished.”

  Colin stood up and gave Nora a quick glance before returning his attention to Becca’s drawing.

  “May I ask what happened to your Aunt Sarah?”

  “She died. Somebody found her floating in the river and said I had to leave before Mr. Sneed came for me. That’s when they brought me here.”

  Nora gulped. Afraid to ask anything more about the picture, she changed the subject. “’Tis a perfect first effort, Becca.” She looked around the room at the rest of the children working at their easels, some with more success than others. This morning’s exercise had certainly been enlightening. Giving a hurried nod towards the door, she said, “Perhaps such a big effort deserves a surprise.” As if on cue, Mrs. Simpkins entered, carrying a tray of small sandwiches, biscuits, and a pitcher of milk.

  Chapter 14

  Colin found himself both amused and alarmed by various things he learned during his time with the children. The process made him more beguiled with Nora. His head swirled with thoughts of both her and the children. The drawings had been informative, and it had been joyous to watch them. Becca’s drawing had been thought-provoking and sad. It had gripped his heart. Now he was standing next to a small, thin, blond boy who was drawing what looked like a chimney. Curious, he bent slightly over him to take a closer look.

  To his surprise, the young boy looked up at him and smiled. “Good ‘ay, Uncle Colin,” he said in acknowledgement. “I ain’t never met a fancy gentleman afore. You are a lucky cove to have yer own home.”

  Colin’s heart immediately engaged with the child. “What are you drawing with your charcoal stick?”

  “Miss Nora said to draw what we know. ’Tis a chimbley,” he said, smiling.

  “What inspires you to draw it, if I might ask,” Colin persisted.

  “I think it’s because I wanted to look at it from this angle.

  “What do you mean, this angle?” The boy and his talent intrigued Colin. The child possessed a vivacity about him that made one happy in his company.

  “’Tis so much nicer than from inside.” The child grinned.

  While he understood the darker meaning of what Benjamin had said, Colin smiled in return. The child seemed not to let his past dampen his mood.

  “I can understand that lad.” The boy’s drawing stirred his interest. “What is your name?” he asked.

  “They call me Benjamin, sir.”

  “Ah. That explains your picture more.” A sadness gripped Colin’s heart.

  “I cleaned chimbleys afore I found my way ’ere,” the small boy explained. “A lady what paid me to clean ’er chimney, tol’ me I reminded her of someone she once knew. She was a nice lady and said I should not clean chimbleys and brought me ’ere. I gave it a chance, like she asked. Truth is, chimbleys made me feel bad. I like Miss Nora.” Benjamin coughed—a dry hacking sound—almost as if it punctuated his point.

  “That cough sounds painful. How long have you had that young man?” Colin asked, concerned.

  “It comes and goes. Reckon I’ve had it fer a while, now,” he answered, coughing into his shoulder. “The lady what rescued me tried to take care of it, too.”

  “I will speak to Miss Nora about it,” Colin said, more for himself than for the boy. He would ensure a doctor saw Benjamin. That was something he could help with—and he knew the perfect doctor for these children. He should speak with Nora about it first, aware that he wanted her approval.

  Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his watch. It was almost nine o’clock. Colin looked around and realized Nora had already left the room. He had become so absorbed by Benjamin that he had failed to notice that the children had cleaned the room and prepared for their next activity. The discipline the women had instilled in these children, in such a short time, astounded him. He needed to take care of something.

  “Benjamin, I have enjoyed talking with you and I look forward to spending more time in your company on my next visit.”

  “Thank you, sir!” he said, leaning down to scoop up a brush he had dropped.

  On his way out of the orphanage, Colin saw Amos Woods. “Would you inform Miss Mason I plan to be back in an hour? And could you see that Mrs. Simpkins gets this note?” He wanted the afternoon to be perfect and felt sure the woman would help him with a few items.

  “Yes, my lord.” He heard the door click shut behind him.

  Colin strode towards the stables and met his carriage, clearly startling his coachman, who had not expected to take him anywhere until ten.

  “I wish to make a quick trip,” he explained to the man, who, with the groom, scrambled to the coach.

  “Very good, my lord. Where will we be going?” the groom asked, opening the door for him.

  “Do you know where I may buy flowers and some confectionery in a hurry?” Colin directed the question to both men before he stepped into the carriage.

  “I know just the place, my lord. ’Tis but a step from here,” Gerard, the driver, returned before climbing into his seat. The groom closed the door and climbed aboard. Colin closed his eyes and settled back against the black leather squabs. He hoped he had enough time.

  The sleek black carriage maintained a slow, yet steady pace to allow the coachman to navigate the cobble-stoned streets safely. Colin noticed the flower carts before he saw the small confectionery just beyond them.

  This spot is perfect! He raised his cane to tap on the roof, whereupon the carriage stopped.

  “My lord, I think you will find what you need here,” the coachman remarked with a grin. “’Tis my mother’s pastry shop. She makes the best marzipan in
London.”

  “Your mother? This establishment belongs to your family?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Gerard replied, tipping his hat.

  “How marvelous that you have brought me here! I have not had sweets in an age. I shall keep this confectionery in mind for future events, Gerard!”

  Fifteen minutes later Colin came out with several packages tucked under his arm and a bag. Using his free hand, he purchased a large posy of yellow roses from a sidewalk cart vendor. Colin felt pleased with his purchases and happy that he had managed them so quickly.

  “Your mother also had biscuits covered with nonpareils and taffy! I think I may have bought her entire stock. The children will be besotted with it!” He handed the flowers to his groom and arranged the packages, before reaching for the flowers.

  “Yes, my lord. It is a certainty,” his cheerful driver replied.

  It seemed the carriage had barely started again before they were back in front of the orphanage. Colin shook himself from his bemusement. Still not able to fathom the workings of Miss Mason’s mind, he hoped the flowers and confections pleased her. He wondered if any of the children had ever tasted candies or pastries. That thought weighed on him as he thought again of both Becca’s and Benjamin’s artistic efforts. That had been an easier goal before meeting some of these children. Their brief lives had been like nothing he could even imagine. Part of him was ashamed, realizing that such brief excursions into the East End as made by wealthy rakehell blades often left by-blows behind. It had been his plan to make this school into a fencing club. Sorrowfully, he wondered how many of these children had had such a beginning, considering it for the first time from a fresh perspective.