Lord Whitsnow and the Seven Orphans

by Em Taylor

  “Or you may be mine soon. It could go either way, Lucy, if the speed of your breathing is any indication to your state of arousal. Come, to your bed… chamber.” With a wicked grin he stepped back and offered her his sleeve. Lucy swallowed hard, doing her utmost to pretend he’d had no effect on her whatsoever. That said, it was just as well she was clinging to his sleeve because her knees seemed to be made of water as she climbed the stairs. Lord Whitsnow however behaved like the perfect gentleman and left her outside her bedchamber door.

  Chapter 7

  Miss Lucy Butterworth was very concerned. She had agreed to allow Lord Whitsnow to use her given name. Only when they were alone, of course. Perhaps he could make sure they were never alone. A young lady and a gentleman should never be alone anyway. It had not been well-done of her to allow it to happen earlier even though the door had been open. She sat on the patio watching the cricket match on the back lawn, as she bit her lip and contemplated all of this.

  “Are you quite well, Lucy?” Susan asked.

  “Hmm? Oh yes. I am fine. Very well indeed.”

  “I am afraid you shall bite a hole in your face if you worry your lip any more. Should I have left you with Lord Whitsnow earlier? He did not try to ravish you, did he?”

  Lucy laughed. “Good Lord, no. Where would you get such a notion, Susan?”

  “The gentlemen in my books are always ravishing the ladies. Though they do not sit and bite their lips afterwards. They always seem rather pleased with the result.”

  “Yes, well that is fiction and the real world is quite different. These young ladies would be ostracised from society if they were ravished.”

  “But the gentlemen always marry the ladies to save them from scandal.”

  Lucy sighed. “Oh Susan, look around you. We have seven living, breathing pieces of proof that the gentleman is not always honourable. Look at these children. Of course, sometimes he is honourable, but matters are outwith his control. However, you are much better to wait until you have a ring on your finger and you have said your vows in front of the vicar. A moment of pleasure is not worth a lifetime of shame.”

  “You really are a worrier.”

  “Better to err on the side of caution than to throw it to the wind.”

  “Mayhap, but I do look forward to my Edward Ferrars coming along.”

  “Edward Ferrars. Dear me. I would hope for at least Colonel Brandon.”

  “But Edward loves Eleanor.”

  “So much that he is going to marry someone else.”

  “He is confused about his feelings.”

  “Brandon is not. He is devoted to Marianne.”

  “He is old though.”

  “Better old than flighty. Honestly, Susan, there is more to life than whether someone is a bit older than one. Are they steadfast, faithful, loyal, dutiful, honest and decent.”

  “Do they have money?”

  “Mayhap that is important if one is to live comfortably but one does not need pots of money.”

  “Does one not?” Lucy turned to see Lord Whitsnow coming out of the French doors onto the terrace. He looked over the grass at the children. “Cricket?”

  “Of a fashion.”

  “Did you ask if there were any cricket stumps and a decent bat?”

  “Of course not. We do not need…”

  “Miss Butterworth, I was not chastising. Please, let me ask a servant. While no doubt the children are having a wonderful time, I am sure they would like the proper equipment and I would be delighted to supply it. Would you mind if I joined them?”

  “Uh, no. That would be wonderful.” Her heart that was already hammering in her chest seemed to want to escape its confines when he bestowed a broad smile on her. His face lit up and his dark eyes twinkled.

  “I shall fetch Lang.”

  He disappeared back into the mansion.

  “I do not know why you said he is a brute, Lucy. He seems perfectly nice to me.”

  “Shh! He shall hear. He is… complicated and he can be brutish in his behaviour when he wants something.”

  “And he wants you?”

  “It appears so and for no apparent reason.”

  “Hmm. You do have quite a large bosom. Men like that.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “Men like Lord Whitsnow do not like women because of the size of their bosoms.”

  “Oh, I assure you, we do, Miss Butterworth. That and their beautiful green eyes.” Lord Whitsnow seemed very light on his feet as he trotted down the stairs of the terrace towards the children. It was as if even his feet were laughing at his little comment.

  From that moment on, every time he looked up at the terrace, Lucy was sure her cheeks burned scarlet. Lord Whitsnow was taking it in turns to tutor the children to bat and to bowl—sometimes even to catch. He even helped Eleanor, who looked up at him, her big eyes full of wonder. Apart from Lucy’s own brother and a few men in the village, none of whom ever took much notice of girls, Eleanor had not had much contact with men.

  At one point she had lifted her fingers and rubbed them along the bristles on his chin. She had laughed silently. When Lord Whitsnow had then taken the back of her hand and rubbed it over the day beard on his cheek, she giggled silently again. He allowed the little girl to explore his face with her hands. When he pretended to snap his teeth at her, she jumped and squealed. When she saw his smile, she laughed. They did this three more times and each time Eleanor squealed then laughed aloud.

  “I need to visit the necessary,” said Lucy suddenly, standing up and taking one last lingering look at the pair.

  Lord Whitsnow looked up and caught her gaze. His look was slightly unsure as if he did not know if he had overstepped some boundary. She gave him a nod and hoped he understood that everything he had done was perfectly fine. More than fine. And then she disappeared into the house.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Robert sat in the dining room running his finger around the edge of the glass of port and making circles in the air with the smoke from his cheroot. He had no desire for either the port or the tobacco this evening. His mind was consumed with one woman. And for the first time in three days it was not with the need to bed her, though he was not averse to the idea and neither was the problem in his breeches.

  What had that nod meant? It felt like she had approved. But she had looked upset and discomposed. She looked close to tears. Had he done something wrong? He liked to goad her, but only because he thought she had the strength of character to be able to goad him back.

  He needed to get her alone. But how? Perhaps if he joined the ladies for tea, Miss Davis would need to visit the necessary or something. Or she would have to go to her room for her embroidery. He could only hope. Or if worst came to worst, perhaps he would could tell from her mood. Lucy had been quiet throughout dinner, but maybe she was quiet at dinner as a rule. Some people were.

  He stubbed out the cheroot and left the port undrunk. Sitting moping would not solve the problem. He marched through to the drawing room.

  When he opened the door, he was surprised to find only Lucy there, sitting almost in darkness except for the fire burning.

  “We have candles. They’re a miraculous invention. Made of wax with a wick. They burn slowly and give off light.”

  “Is this the wit and hilarity I can expect for the rest of our month here, My Lord?”

  “Only if you insist on sitting in the dark.”

  “I had not realised how dark it had got. It was light when we finished dinner. I was thinking.”

  He lit one candle then used it to go around the room lighting the rest. Soon the room was brighter, and she did not look so morose.

  “Tea?” she asked.

  “Please. Milk and one sugar.”

  She poured it, added the milk and sugar and handed it to him. Then poured her own. “You look concerned, My Lord.”

  “I am. You seemed upset when you left the terrace this afternoon. Did I upset you when I was with Eleanor?”

  She looked down and smi
led at her tea.

  “Quite the opposite, My Lord.”

  “Lucy, we’ve been through this. Call me Robert. So, you were not upset with me?”

  “No. Eleanor does not really know any men. You are a bit like a new species to her.”

  “What of your brother?”

  “He wants nothing to do with her. He takes no responsibility for any of the orphans. It was always a project that my great aunt and I -dealt with. But we have enjoyed it and the children are thriving.”

  “When did you start the project.”

  She waved an airy hand as if trying to remember but Robert could not help thinking her nonchalance was practiced. “Oh, perhaps around five or so years ago.”

  “I see. You school the children?”

  “I do.”

  “And Eleanor.”

  “She can read lips, as you know. We have rudimentary signs. I know there are signs used in the school in Edinburgh for deaf boys, but I cannot find any information on it. But it is no use to Eleanor anyway if no one else knows it.”

  “I know a young lady who knows some of it. My best friend’s sister. Miss Joanna Rose-Reid. She was friendly with a young man who is now the Marquess of Gretell. He is deaf and attended that very school in Edinburgh of which you speak. Once we are wed, you shall meet her, and she may be able to teach you some sign language. We may even go to Edinburgh to visit the school.”

  “My Lord…”

  “Robert.”

  “Robert, you talk of marriage as though I have agreed. I shall never marry you. I cannot. You would not want me as a wife. Please be assured of that.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “I should prefer not to say. But suffice to say that if I was ever so injudicious as to tell you, then you would count yourself to have had a very lucky escape.”

  Robert’s mouth twitched as he leaned forward and placed his cup on the tea tray. But he did not sit back. Instead he leaned his elbows on his thighs and licked his lips.

  “Well, Lucy, now you have intrigued me. What are your deep, dark secrets? There is very little you could tell me that would frighten me away. Unless you have murdered someone in cold blood. Have you done so?”

  “Of course I have not.”

  “Are you a highway woman at night when all your orphans are asleep. Hiding in the bushes off the Great North Road, stealing jewels from imprudent travellers?”

  She laughed. “Hardly. Besides, we are far too distant from the Great North Road to make a nightly journey there to rob the unwary, My Lord. I also suspect there are not many travellers at night, so the pickings would be slim indeed.”

  “I can see you have given it some thought, beautiful Lucy. What of murder. Have you given that any thought?”

  “Only this last day,” she said, dimples appearing along with her impish grin. A tingle started at the base of Robert’s spine. Damn.

  “You may be an innocent, love, but you are far from sweet.” Pink stained her cheeks.

  “You need a biddable wife, My Lord.”

  “Poppycock. I think your fire is what I like best about you. We shall deal well together. Rest-assured, you have not given me cause to decide against marrying you. I am still determined to convince you to wed me.” He got up and offered her his arm. “I believe it is time for bed.”

  “Lord Whitsnow…”

  “I was not suggesting you come to my bed, Lucy. While it is an excellent idea, I am just not sure you are ready for it and it would be terribly gauche of me to suggest such a thing at this point in our courtship. I shall see you to your bedchamber… the outside of it.”

  She let out an audible sigh and laid her hand on his sleeve.

  Chapter 8

  He found the little girl in the stables the next day. He should remember to call her Eleanor. It was the child’s name after all. He was terrible with children and had to keep reminding himself they were people too. Robert was trying to remember their names. The younger boys’ names he now recalled but the three older boys all looked alike. Shaggy brown hair, gangly arms and legs and features that were too big for their faces. He must have looked that way as a youth too.

  Eleanor was patting the nose of a mare—the black mare that had been his sister’s horse before her marriage. The animal was a biddable creature. Eleanor seemed to know what she was doing.

  Robert studied her for a moment, considering how to approach her so that he did not give her a fright. Something nagged at him about her looks, but he could not put his finger upon it. Her messy ginger hair had fallen out of its braid. He saw the ribbon lying a little distance away and he scooped it up and put it in his pocket to give to Lucy later.

  He moved slowly around into her line of vision and Eleanor eventually noticed him and gave him a big smile. She pointed to the horse and then at him. He supposed she was asking if the horse was his.

  “Yes, the horse is mine. Her name is Luna.”

  Again, she gestured towards the mare then to him and made a motion as if riding.

  “No, I do not ride Luna. My sister used to ride her.”

  She pointed to herself with a look of hope in her eyes. He frowned, unsure of what to do. Luna was way too big for the little girl. She would need a pony. He probably had a pony somewhere but what would Lucy say?

  Eleanor frowned too. It seemed she was worried he was annoyed at her.

  “It is fine to ask Eleanor. Luna is too big for you and I am not sure if Miss Butterworth would let you ride a pony.” Tears filled the little girl’s big green eyes and Robert grimaced. Damn, the last thing he wanted to do was make a child cry, especially a child with as few advantages in life as this poor little creature. “We shall discuss it. But I also must ask the staff if we have a saddle for a girl your size. Do you understand?” Eleanor nodded. He could blame it on not having the correct tack if Lucy said no. He did not want the child resenting the nearest thing she had to a mother. It occurred to him that child was actually very good at lip reading. She had understood the entire conversation so far. “Come, I shall introduce you to the other horses.”

  When Lucy discovered them half an hour later, Robert was showing Eleanor his brown gelding Apollo. He had placed her to sit sideways on the beast’s back. The animal was completely biddable and knew his master well and Robert was not at all concerned for the child’s safety. Besides, he was holding on to her. Eleanor was giggling silently and bouncing up and down. Apollo was completely unperturbed.

  “My goodness, what is going on? She will scare the horse half to death and he shall throw her?” Lucy’s voice rang loud and clear in the quiet stables. A couple of stable hands who were quietly mucking out stables stopped to watch the drama.

  Robert stopped the woman in her tracks with a stare. “Miss Butterworth, while my knowledge of children is somewhat lacking, my knowledge of my own horse is unsurpassed, even by my own stable master. Apollo does not mind Eleanor being on his back. If he did, I would not be holding her up here. Please cease you feminine hysterics before you upset both child and beast.”

  Her wide eyes turned into a glare and her mouth pursed. It was almost kissable. Eleanor stopped bouncing and stared at Lucy, her eyes a mirror image of the woman in the stable.

  Something clicked.

  Robert looked from one to the other and then he knew. She was Eleanor’s aunt. She was caring for the bastard child of her brother and passing this child off as any other orphan. God, he hated his gender at times. Why could her brother not just raise the child as his own? Robert was sure if he knew of any bastards he had spawned he would do the right thing by the mothers. He was absolutely sure he was not a father. But he certainly would not have left his poor sister to clear up his mess.

  He smiled warmly at the child. “Tomorrow we shall come and see the horses again.”

  Eleanor smiled back and nodded. He put her back on her feet and she skipped past Lucy waving happily.

  “They all seem to be quite at home already. Do they have the run of your brother’s estate?�
�

  “Oh well he was seldom there to care.”

  “Why does he not want them there now?”

  “His new wife is… not keen.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Really Lucy. Are you telling me you do not know about Eleanor’s true origins or are you pretending not to know.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I…I…”

  “It is hardly your fault if your brother is a cad.”

  “What has my brother to do with anything.”

  “She is his bastard, is she not?”

  “I can assure you, My Lord, that child is not the daughter of Baron Melvin Butterworth. Please do not besmirch my brother’s name in such a way again.”

  “I assumed because well the red hair and the eyes and… well… hmm!”

  “Perhaps you would do well not to make assumptions, My Lord.”

  “Are you sure she is not his? There are a lot of similarities.”

  “Absolutely positive.”

  “Then I apologise. I do however believe you are holding something back from me. I just wish I knew what.” She looked away from him and seemed far too interested in a bale of hay in the corner.

  “I am sure I do not know what you mean, My Lord.”

  “Hmm, I shall let it rest, Miss Butterworth, but I shall get to the bottom of your fascination with orphans before this month is through.”

  “Did Jesus not say, ‘suffer the little children to come unto me?’” She had raised her little pert nose in the air. His prick twitched.

  “He did.”

  “Then perhaps you should try to emulate Our Lord and Saviour, My Lord.” There was something quite heretical about getting aroused by a woman quoting Scripture. However, Miss Butterworth…Lucy, would make a monk want to bed her with those luscious lips and those large pert breasts that were heaving in indignation. “Are you wool-gathering, Lord Whitsnow?”

  He returned his attention to her annoyed gaze.

  “Ah yes, I fear I was. I apologise.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  He started. Well he could hardly tell her the truth.”