Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 05]

by The Governess Wears Scarlet

  Lord Steele’s face hardened, but Abigail couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t as impervious as he wanted to appear. A sadness had entered his dark gaze, and his shoulders seemed to drop as if weighted down.

  “Who was that?” Abigail couldn’t help but ask.

  “Lady Blankett.”

  “Why does she dislike you so?”

  Steele shifted on the bench. “I arrested one of her friends for murder.”

  “Well, you had to have good reason, didn’t you?”

  “I thought I did…” He looked up at the trees. “I’m coming to the unfortunate conclusion that sometimes I’m a little…eager when it comes to seeing justice done.”

  Abigail shifted slightly, praying that Lord Steele never learned of her brother and his brushes with the law. “Was the friend guilty?”

  “No.”

  “So she’s free now?”

  His gaze was lost to the memory. “Completely exonerated, thanks to Heath Bartlett.”

  “Who?”

  “A man who works for me.”

  Abigail lifted a shoulder, feeling inclined to give Lord Steele the benefit of the doubt. “So…ultimately you helped her.”

  Steele’s smile was tight. “He did it behind my back, and I probably wouldn’t have let him get away with it had I known.”

  “Why wouldn’t you have allowed him to do it?”

  “Because the law needs to be respected.”

  Abigail’s heart began to race a bit faster. Blast, if Lord Steele only knew that she’d stabbed a man a few weeks ago! Granted he was trying to rob and rape her, but still…Lord Steele was the arm of the law! But what really worried her was Reggie. If he was involved with Lucifer Laverty and the circuit—well, that meant that he and Lord Steele were on opposite sides of the law.

  “I took an oath,” he continued, almost speaking to himself. “I have to uphold the law. Help the system work its justice…” His voice trailed off, and he seemed lost in thought.

  She swallowed, vowing never to let her increasing regard for Lord Steele tempt her to confide in him. It would put him in a terrible fix, and heaven only knew how he would deal with her and Reggie. Clearing her throat, she endeavored to change the topic. “Lady Blankett was alone.”

  Steele started as if pulled from some weighty musings. “Yes.”

  She prattled on, “I hear that though it’s not proper for a lady to be seen alone at many establishments, it’s perfectly acceptable for her to be seen at Gunter’s.”

  Steele nodded. “So it is.”

  “I envy you that.”

  Steele turned to her. “What?”

  “The ability to go where you want when you want. I confess, I often find it quite inconvenient being female.”

  Instead of making a snide comment or making light, Lord Steele shook his head. “It is a terrible shame.” Watching Felix climb a tree, Steele remarked, “I do believe that through our own prejudices, we are leaving waste some of the best talent in our society.”

  Abigail felt her brows lifting to almost her hairline. “You do?”

  “There are some ladies who are so…keen-minded, and often have a sense of time and place that surpasses many men. Yet they are stymied by the restraints laid upon them by society and are only relegated to limited roles.”

  “I had no idea that you were such a progressive-thinking man.”

  “I have not always held these beliefs and seem to be coming to them late in my life. But certain ladies of my acquaintance are convincing me that the fair sex has much to offer, if we are only willing to accept their talents.” Shaking his head, he waved a hand. “Mrs. Catherine Dunn comes to mind. Do you know her from your days at Andersen Hall? She runs the orphanage quite admirably these days.”

  Abigail swallowed. Since returning to London she’d stayed away from the orphanage, unwilling to face the place without the man who had steered the helm for so many years. Additionally, she didn’t want to see anyone who might connect her with Reggie. “Ah…I can’t recall…”

  The viscount raised a slender finger. “She’s a woman like that. One who can stand on her own two feet against terrible odds.”

  Abigail was impressed. “Do you know Mrs. Dunn from your work on the board of trustees of the orphanage?”

  “Her husband and I…well, we’ve known each other for a long time.”

  Abigail had heard that Major Dunn was a war hero now. A long way from the mischievous headmaster’s son who was the most daring of pranksters.

  “Mayhap you and the boys and I will visit there one afternoon,” Steele offered. “I’m sure the Dunns would be glad to see you once more.”

  Abigail swallowed, looking away. “I think it might be painful for the boys to be reminded so explicitly that they are orphans. So soon, anyway.”

  “You believe so? I thought they might benefit from knowing that they are not alone in their circumstance.”

  “It may be too soon…I don’t know when the time is right…but I would hate to put them through any more…”

  “You haven’t been back there, have you?”

  She shook her head.

  Reaching out, Lord Steele grasped her hand in a comforting squeeze. “I’m sure it must be very hard.” The compassion in his voice warmed her heart. Staying away from Andersen Hall had been hard for her.

  His skin was smooth and warm, and she was mesmerized by the long, elegant fingers encircling her own. His hand was so much larger than hers, enveloping hers, making her feel connected and secure. She knew that she shouldn’t, but she relished that touch, savoring the sweet contact, knowing that it was only for a moment before he became the aloof, stylish viscount once more and she the frumpish governess.

  But for the time, she soaked in the comforting contact, needing it so badly, she yearned for the moment to stretch on forever.

  But after a lingering moment, he released her hand, careful to be a few inches away from her.

  He doesn’t want me to get any ideas, she told herself, respecting his efforts.

  Raising his fist to his mouth, Lord Steele coughed uncomfortably. “I really should be getting back to work. I have some matters that require my attention.” Checking his watch, he stood.

  She was reluctant for the intimacy and joy of the afternoon to end. But all good things did. “I’ll collect the boys.”

  One of the footmen, Zachariah, ran off to call for the coach while the remainder of the party clustered near the edge of the park toward the street.

  “That was glorious.” Felix sighed. “Thank you.”

  Lord Steele nodded. “You’re very welcome.”

  “When can we come back?” Seth wailed.

  Patting his shoulder, Abigail made a stern face. “Let us be grateful we came this once.”

  Lord Steele leaned down and whispered in Seth’s ear. “We may just have to return tomorrow.”

  “Yippee!” Seth screamed.

  Lord Steele smiled, then his gaze was captured by something over Abigail’s shoulder. His eyes narrowed and his body stilled, like a fox who had caught a scent.

  Abigail turned. A black coach was tearing down the avenue at a breakneck pace.

  “There are children about!” Abigail cried, shocked. “He needs to slow down!”

  The ground rumbled with the pounding clatter of the horses’ hooves as the driver cracked a whip, urging the horses even faster.

  Suddenly Lord Steele grabbed Abigail’s arm and swung her and the children behind him with his back facing the crazed coach.

  “Ow!” Seth complained as they were squeezed in a cocoon of shelter created by her and Steele’s bodies.

  “What’s happening?” Felix demanded. “Why are you hugging us?”

  Lord Steele’s body jerked. “Ooof!”

  “What happened?” Abigail cried, alarmed by the distress in his features.

  “Nothing,” he bit out, his face a mask of anger and pain.

  The carriage wheeled away, followed by the cries of alarm and anger f
rom the people along the avenue.

  Abigail anxiously scanned his features, her heart racing, fear tight in her throat. “Are you all right?”

  “Is it gone?” Steele asked, his teeth gritted as if he were in pain.

  “Yes. Thank the heavens. He was a madman!”

  “Are you all right, Your Lordship?” Foster cried, running closer. He’d been about ten paces away, awaiting the carriage.

  “Where’s my coach?” Steele demanded.

  “Right here, Your Lordship!” Zachariah jumped off the carriage as it rolled to a stop by the curb.

  “Open the door, man! Now!”

  Quickly Zachariah opened the door.

  Steele released her arm, opening the shelter she and he had provided for the children. “Get inside the coach, now!”

  For once Seth and Felix immediately did as they were told without argument. After ensuring that they were quickly settled, Abigail sat in the coach, anxiety and confusion coursing through her. She hugged the boys close, comforted by her need to protect them.

  Looking around, Lord Steele rolled his shoulder and winced as if it pained him.

  Zachariah stepped closer. “It was a rock. It hit you hard. How bad are you hurt?”

  Steele waved him off, his eyes searching the nearby ground.

  Leaning down, he picked up an object the size of a small melon.

  A crowd had gathered on this side of the park, their murmurings and anxious faces clearly evidencing that they had witnessed the attack.

  A note encased the rock, held together with twine. Steele deftly unwrapped the note and read it silently.

  “Death awaits you!” a wiry gentleman dandy read aloud over Steele’s shoulder.

  Steele turned as if surprised by the proximity of the man.

  “Who wants to see you dead, Lord Steele?” the dandy asked.

  “Dead!” A heavyset matron with a purple turban dropped to the ground like a sack of flour, her turban sliding off her head.

  A lady nearby hissed.

  Chaos erupted as people gathered to the fallen matron and exclaimed among themselves.

  Clutching the note, Steele jumped into the carriage and slammed the door closed behind him. “Make away!”

  The driver cracked the whip, and the carriage quickly rolled off.

  Chapter 27

  After the incident in the park, Abigail tried to distract the boys, reading stories, playing games, and doing puzzles. It was difficult keeping them inside the house on such a lovely day, but Abigail wanted them near and in a place where she could feel safe.

  She knew not to believe anything at face value, but someone was trying to kill Lord Steele? Fear gripped her heart every time she even considered the possibility, and her anxiety wasn’t calmed by all the comings and goings in the house. Lord Steele was closeted inside his study, and he seemed to be sending footmen to and fro on a host of errands. But she pushed aside her anxiety, instead focusing on the boys.

  Finally it was time to help the boys prepare for bed. They complained about it, but she could tell they were as ready as she for the day to near its end. The sun had faded to dusk; the creatures of the night had begun their nighttime chant.

  Standing over the boys as they lay in their beds and relaxed into sleep, Abigail envied the easy way their eyes fluttered closed and they released the day into their dreams. She, on the other hand, could not stop thinking about the attack on Lord Steele and all its implications.

  Gathering her courage, she decided that she could not rest until she knew more about the events of the day and how Lord Steele was faring.

  Her feet invariably took her to his study door, where he was closeted within. But once there, she stood still, her hand poised to knock…yet she hesitated.

  She didn’t want to presume an intimacy in their relationship that allowed her to check up on him. Would her concern be unwelcome?

  Meanwhile, inside that very study, Steele stared at the other side of that same closed door, praying that someone would enter and give him a respite from his distress.

  His shoulder ached like the dickens. But he was more concerned about the terrible emotions roiling inside his middle than any physical pain.

  When he roamed the streets of London at night engaging the lower orders of man, Steele never tasted fear. He never hesitated out of concern for suffering bodily harm. He had an utter confidence of mind, body, and spirit. Ultimately, when it came to protecting himself, he had nothing to lose.

  Seth and Felix were a different story completely.

  They were mere boys, filled with laughter and mischievousness and innocence…They had so much to live for, so much potential. Steele could almost see the men they were to become, and he longed to help them be the best men they could be.

  He understood that from this day forth he could no longer hand the boys back to Benbrook with a handshake and a smile. At a very elemental level, he was responsible for them.

  Flat and simple: He cared.

  Today’s attack had sent a shock rippling through his body, reminding him of the impotent terror he’d suffered when he’d lost his wife. He realized that the real reason he’d never gotten close to another woman since Deidre’s death was that he couldn’t face that terrible loss again. When she’d died, it felt as if his heart had been slashed to ribbons. The pain had been so acute that he’d stayed away from anyone who might make him subject to that agony again.

  Yet somehow the boys had managed to change that. When it came to them, it wasn’t just about his heart or his hurt…He adored them, yet caring for them was wrapped in a cloak of responsibility.

  Whoever was entrusted with Seth and Felix had to be reliable, smart, and think only of the boys’ best interests. That position of influence was sacrosanct. Steele knew that he would never breach that sacred trust, yet he knew enough of his fellow man not to trust just any other to such a critical task.

  For the first time, he was humbled that his father-in-law had selected him to protect Seth and Felix. The enormity of Benbrook’s faith in him struck him like an arrow, piercing his overblown pride and shattering it into a thousand pieces.

  He was ashamed of how quickly he’d relegated the boys to the care of another. He was mortified that he’d considered the investigation as a mental challenge without fully considering the flesh-and-blood children who were at its heart.

  Steele’s blood ran cold just thinking about what might have happened today.

  The rock had struck just below Steele’s shoulder. A few inches lower and it might’ve hit Felix’s head.

  Rising, Steele walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a hearty portion of brandy. He swallowed it so fast, his throat burned in protest and his eyes blinked with unshed tears. The flames licked all the way down to his hollow belly.

  A knock resounded on the door.

  “Come,” Steele called, squaring his shoulders and wincing with the pain in his back.

  Miss West entered, her mien tentative, her golden brow pinched with concern. She dipped quickly into a curtsy, her gaze searching his face as if seeking answers.

  Her worry warmed his heart; he couldn’t recall the last time a woman had looked at him with real concern in her gaze.

  “How are you faring, my lord?” Her tone was slightly breathless, as if fearful of what he might say. Was he so standoffish that she feared rebuff?

  He raised the glass. “Just fine now. Thank you for asking.”

  Biting her lower lip, she seemed unconvinced.

  He attempted a smile. “Truly. Matters are well in hand.”

  Her keen gaze scanned his coat and her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t changed clothing since we returned to the house.”

  “So?”

  “Have you had anyone look at your injury?”

  Turning away, he poured himself another glass of brandy and swallowed a hearty gulp. He coughed, wincing. “I’m fine.”

  “Really.”

  He turned to face her only when he was sure that the pain
didn’t show in his features. “Yes.”

  She crossed her arms and a defiant gleam lit her grayish-blue eyes. “Then why do you look like you just swallowed a cat?”

  He waved a hand. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve been hurt worse before.”

  Her golden brow lifted.

  “Ahh…golf!” he fudged. “It causes the peskiest injuries.”

  She scowled, her eyes narrowing even further.

  “I’ve seen that look before,” he quipped. “On Mrs. Nagel, the housemother at Andersen Hall Orphanage.”

  “If she were here, she’d have you stripped and bandaged.”

  Hmm. He sipped his brandy, savoring the smooth smoky flavor. Naked with Miss West wasn’t such a bad idea.

  He shook his head, reminding himself that she was in his employ and he would never breach her trust in him. “Ah…pardon, what did you say?”

  “I said, please let me call for a doctor.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, his instinctive loathing of doctors making his tone sharp. He had little faith that anyone had better knowledge of his body than he. “I don’t need a doctor. It’s a silly little bump.”

  He walked over to his chair and sat. The chair squeaked in familiar protest. He leaned back, and sudden pulses of pain radiated from his shoulder in agonizing sharpness. A sweat broke out on his brow and he clenched his teeth, knowing that it would soon pass.

  Miss West was staring at him, her tongue stuck out the corner of her lips as if she was concentrating really hard. “Stupid, headstrong…man,” she muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “You heard me. I said that you’re a stupid, headstrong man.” She moved to the bellpull. “I’m calling for a doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor!” he bit out, leaning his palms against the desk to ride out the nausea threatening his composure.

  “Well, someone has to look at that injury! At least call for your manservant!”

  He clenched his teeth. “Lambert is on an errand.”

  “Someone has to have a look at it!”