by Amelia Grey
“And you rejected every one,” Adeline offered as fact.
“Of course.” Brina smiled contentedly. “You two seem to be the only people who understand I have no interest in ever remarrying. But enough about us for now. I want to know if all the girls are here.”
Adeline looked back at the school and laughed. “Yes, every one of them. Mrs. Tallon came over earlier and told me all nine are accounted for and waiting to meet us, so let’s go.”
Julia and Brina walked under the trellis and into the small schoolyard with Adeline. They stopped to stare at the name above the door.
“It sounds very quiet in there.”
“I’m thinking the same thing, Brina,” Julia agreed. “I would have thought with almost a dozen girls gathered in one place there would be a little noise.”
“I’m sure it’s because they are getting settled into their new home,” Adeline said, feeling a rare moment of trepidation herself. “Leaving their families must have been traumatic for them.”
“I didn’t want it to be,” Brina said compassionately.
“None of us did,” Julia answered softly.
“They need time to adjust to what is now going to be their normal lives,” Adeline offered. “We knew that. And they will. It’s best they are quiet for now and get to know each other.”
“I think part of my queasy feeling inside is that it isn’t just a dream any longer. It’s real now and the weight of knowing the girls are here because of us. Even though we won’t actually be taking care of them or teaching them, they are our responsibility. Before it was just an idea, planning and talking about them. Now we are going to put faces to their names.”
“But we all agreed this would be best for their futures,” Adeline added cheerfully, hoping to mitigate the concerns all of them were having now that the girls were on the property. “Many children go to boarding schools—mostly boys—and they do exceptionally well and so will these girls. Learning to read, write, and sew will be invaluable to them when they are old enough to earn a wage, which they will need to do one day, unless they are fortunate enough to marry a shopkeeper, silversmith, or some other tradesman who can take care of them.”
Both friends nodded.
“Besides, we aren’t forcing them to live here,” Adeline reminded her friends. “Their families made this choice for them. If any of them want to return to home they can. Mr. Clements assured me every family he contacted was grateful for this opportunity.”
“It’s just that I know how the mothers must feel about their daughters leaving home and living elsewhere,” Julia said wistfully. “They’ll miss them terribly.”
Adeline knew Julia had feelings and thoughts she and Brina couldn’t yet comprehend with any depth. Julia was a mother. She’d been awaiting the birth of her first child when the Salty Dove sank and took her husband’s life. Her son’s grandfather, the Duke of Sprogsfield, was constantly threatening to take responsibility for little Chatwyn away from her if she dared to stir up gossip about herself. They all knew the duke was powerful enough to do it, so Julia had to rein in her free spirit and acquiesce to the duke’s demands that she behave prudently at all times.
“Well,” Brina said in a softly dismissive tone. “We won’t think about any of the sad reasons for this school. Only the good ones. And whenever these girls leave, they will have more knowledge than they can possibly have reasons to use it. And the skills to be a superb seamstress.”
“Speaking of which,” Julia said, looking a little oddly at Adeline. “I wanted to tell you I went to see Mrs. Le Roe yesterday, and she was in a dither. She asked me twice if I had received a box of fabrics from her. She was quite fretful, saying that a disgruntled employee might have intentionally had some intimate samples delivered to the wrong clients in hopes of ruining her reputation.”
The earl came as easily to Adeline’s mind as slipping a linen chemise over her head and down her body. She had forgotten him for a few minutes while she talked with her friends, but the infamous box that had contained the crimson stays soared him and all that he made her feel back to the forefront of her thoughts.
“What’s wrong, Adeline?” Julia asked.
“Nothing,” she answered softly.
“I’m not believing you,” her discerning friend stated. “There’s something you’re not telling us. I can sense it.”
“No,” Adeline said absently, thinking she should have returned the fabrics to Mrs. Le Roe. But really, how could she after she’d—after he’d—
“Adeline, what are you trying to hide from us,” Brina said. “Something’s bothering you and there’s no reason to keep it a secret from us.”
“I think it has to do with a box from Mrs. Le Roe,” Julia declared. “Your demeanor completely changed when I mentioned her name. Has she done something to you or someone else?”
“What? No. That’s preposterous.”
Brina quickly removed one of her gloves and placed her palm against Adeline’s forehead. “How long have you been standing here in the sun waiting for us?”
“Not long,” she answered defensively, leaning away from her friend’s touch and willing the evocative images of Lord Lyonwood to fade completely away. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Really.” She paused. “It’s just that—” And then suddenly the words came tumbling out like a waterfall before she could stop them. “Oh, all right, I might as well tell you. I was mistaken for the madam of a brothel, but other than that, I’m fine.”
Adeline watched shock flare in her friends’ expressions.
Oh, dear.
Brina jerked her hands to her hips. “You can’t be serious.”
“She is,” Julia said.
“Yes, it’s true.” Adeline inhaled a deep sighing breath. “In your wildest dreams, would you have ever imagined anyone thinking I was a madam and opening an underground house of pleasure rather than a boarding school?”
“Who are you talking about?” Brina whispered on a broken gasp.
“What are you talking about?” Julia demanded. “Who would dare be so vulgar as to assume such an outrageous thing about you?”
“A tall handsome man with the most intriguing gray eyes I’ve ever seen. My neighbor. The Earl of Lyonwood.”
Brina shook her head in disbelief. “How could he? I remember him. We chatted a few times. He’s always seemed a gentleman.”
“What I want to know is why he would think such a scandalous thing?” Julia asked.
“Apparently it had something to do with the amount of beds being delivered to the school.”
“What did you say to him?” Julia asked.
“I really didn’t know what to say,” Adeline admitted.
“Of course you didn’t,” Brina consoled. “I wouldn’t either. But what did you say? I know you. You wouldn’t have had a fit of the vapors or rushed above stairs to hide from him.”
“You couldn’t have stayed silent either.”
“No, of course I didn’t. I had my say about his actions and words.”
Adeline supposed she’d have to tell them about the incident. Most of it anyway. Not even to Julia and Brina could she admit that the earl had openly looked her over so thoroughly she’d shivered. She couldn’t tell them how he’d made her long for kisses and caresses, or that in a desperate attempt to absolve her guilt over her wayward feelings she’d slapped him. No, she couldn’t tell them any of that. But donning the stays—they would understand.
She began the story by saying, “They were crimson.”
Several gasps, ahs, and sighs later, Adeline concluded her story. “Lyon believed me without question, but not without a bit of rancor because of his mistake I’m sure. You both know earls and dukes well. They think they have the right to do and say what they please to whomever they want.”
“What an absolutely fascinating story,” Julia whispered, still clinging to every word.
“I always thought him a gentleman, but I’ve changed my mind. He’s a beast!” Brina exclaimed.
&
nbsp; Just what Adeline had thought.
Julia crossed her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t so sure of that and said, “I know Lyon. He is a handsome devil, but what I want to know is did you keep the stays?”
“What?” Adeline shook her head. “No. I threw them into the fire as soon as I could rip them off. The gold bow, too.”
Brina and Julia looked at each other, and then back to Adeline.
“What gold bow?” Julia asked.
“Oh,” Adeline whispered. “Didn’t I mention the tulle?”
“No.” The edges of Julia’s lips lifted with a smile. “Exactly where were you wearing it?”
Suddenly the three friends started laughing. It felt wonderful to feel something other than anguish over the incident. Adeline filled them in on the strip of fabric she’d tied around her waist before saying, “As you can imagine it was an awkward meeting for both of us once our identities were made known.”
“Have you seen him since the night it happened?” Julia asked.
“Once,” she admitted honestly but decided not to tell them it was only a few minutes ago. “Over the garden wall, and we were tolerant of each other.”
Adeline didn’t want to go into further details about that conversation where there was somewhat of a peace made between them, so she added, “I fear he will not be an easy neighbor to live beside. When I returned home yesterday from seeing Mr. Clements there were so many carriages waiting in front of his house they had clustered in front of mine as well. My driver had to let me off down the street and I walked home. Which I didn’t mind the stroll, of course.” Adeline smiled. “But I did wonder why he had so many people visiting.”
“Perhaps it was his tailor, his boot maker, and his milliner getting him ready for the Season,” Julia offered.
“Maybe even a button maker, too,” Brina added. “A beast like him needs to be buttoned up tight.”
The friends laughed again.
“Enough about Lord Lyonwood,” Adeline said, feeling better now that she’d shared the story with her friends. Most of it anyway. “We have spent enough time discussing him.”
“Very well,” Julia said. “But it does sound as if Lyon is an exciting man to be around.”
“Yes, he is,” Adeline said without thinking and then quickly added, “Let’s go meet the girls.”
At first Julia and Brina were reluctant to give up the stimulating conversation about the earl so quickly, but Adeline remained adamant that she was through with her story and they had no choice but to follow her into the school. She had told them all she was going to about her neighbor.
Adeline had personally selected Mrs. Tallon out of all the applicants for the headmistress of the school. She was a robust, stern-looking woman who was, at least, twenty-five years older than Adeline. There was a motherly appeal to her, too. She opened the door, curtsied, and then waved her hand toward the girls.
“My ladies, come inside. The girls are waiting. Girls, show the proper respect to your benefactors.”
Adeline saw the nine girls ranging in age from eight to twelve standing in a line as straight as toy soldiers until they each made their curtsy and mumbled their greeting. All were different in size, shape, and color of hair and eyes. They all wore the freshly pressed dresses Mrs. Tallon and her helpers, Miss Peat and Miss Hinson, had made for them. Two of the girls stood out from the rest. They were holding hands. She might have thought they were sisters had they looked anything alike.
One was almost as tall as Adeline and had the gangly rawboned look of a male youth. Her blue eyes were large. Slightly protruding front teeth enhanced her sharp nose and chin. A timid smile stretched across her thin lips. Her light brown hair was unusually short for a girl, barely touching her shoulders. She was introduced as Mathilda, but the girl whose hand she was holding was the one Adeline had most wanted to see.
Fanny Watson. The little girl she’d seen that day on the docks had been found. A lump grew in Adeline’s throat. Fanny was a head shorter than Mathilda with vibrant long and curly red hair. Her bright blue eyes, her nose and mouth, were small, lovely. She was stout and her rounded cheeks had more freckles than Adeline had ever seen on anyone.
That day near the docks wafted across Adeline’s thoughts once again as she looked at the girls with a feeling of awe. When her brother-in-law had seen her in tears that afternoon, he thought she was crying for the loss of her husband. But the tears had not been for him. Would never be for him. She’d lost all feeling for her husband when, after a few months of marriage, he’d yelled at her in anger that his mistress had given him child, but his wife hadn’t, and it was damn time she did.
That admission from him had been a blow she didn’t think she would ever recover from, but now she had.
There was a fleeting rush of sadness for what the girls had been through. It faded quickly and was replaced with a hopefulness. Their futures were filled with possibilities.
It would always hurt Adeline that she was barren, but now she had nine girls she was responsible for. They wouldn’t ever take the place of having a child of her own, but they would give her a purpose in life that she hadn’t had before.
She inhaled a deep breath, smiled, and said, “Good morning. Welcome to The Seafarer’s School.”
Chapter 6
Lyon’s eyes popped open.
His blurry mind couldn’t make out what had roused him. A high-pitched noise? A scream?
No, nothing, he told himself, lowering his fluttering lids, shutting out a gray slice of light that threatened to further disturb his slumber. Shaking off the intrusion, he snuggled deeper into the welcoming warmth of the comforting bed.
A squeal pierced the silence, and Lyon came instantly, fully awake. He bolted up in bed and listened. What in Hades was going on? He glanced about and listened. He was home. Not in a bawdy tavern east of Bond Street playing cards with friends and foe alike.
Nothing seemed out of place except for the host of young feminine shouts, shrieks, and laughter that splintered and crackled all around him. By all that was sacred, what had happened in St. James to cause such a ruckus?
“Damnation,” he whispered, realizing his head felt like an anvil being pounded with a hammer. A low hum reverberated in his ears. It had been a long time since he’d overindulged in the bottle. Those years were behind him. Or so he thought. He would be mindful not to let it happen again. His temples were throbbing.
Lyon shook the warm coverings off his legs and rose, feeling as if he’d just fallen asleep. The chilly bedchamber and icy cold floor against the bottom of his bare feet helped clear his groggy mind as he walked over to the window. He yanked the top of the draperies apart to look outside. His neighbor’s extended back grounds was swarming with girls.
“Lady Wake’s garden,” he whispered to himself. It was obviously now a play area for the boarding school she’d told him about. And these were the consequences. Toe-curling shrieks. He shouldn’t be surprised. The girls were apparently as undisciplined as the lovely, merry widow.
Some of the lasses were running together, others were all by themselves, either hopping, skipping, or jumping. He wasn’t sure which. Dressed alike, they wore gray bonnets, black gloves, and dark brown coats. And each one was making some kind of shrill noise that shuddered all the way through him. They chased, laughed, and yelled at each other. Their coattails flapped and long tresses bounced on their shoulders. Why would girls run and squeal if no one was chasing them?
The hoydens were so loud, he would have sworn to anyone they were standing in the room right beside him. Irritably, he checked to see if the window had been properly closed. It was secure. Glass panes and wood were no match for the girls’ gleeful merriment.
It wasn’t natural to be that boisterous so early in the morn. The sounds they made would have sent winces through him whether or not he’d dipped once too often in the brandy last night—and Lady Wake was probably the reason he had. He had a devil of a time keeping his mind off her and on his card games.
With an annoyed jerk, he pulled the draperies together, dragged himself back to the bed, and tumbled down. He wrapped the blanket high on his neck and around his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he planned to ignore the sounds outside and sleep for several more hours. Then get up at a reasonable, more normal time.
But the noise didn’t stop. Gaiety from next door continued. Grew louder. Girlish giggles and frolicking. Sleep continued to elude him as frustration built. It was the jubilant, youthful sounds of free spirits enjoying life. He hadn’t actually heard such happiness since he was a boy at Eton and given an occasional day to play without instructions of any kind. Perhaps he wouldn’t have minded the girls’ loud cheerfulness so much if it had been at a different time of the day.
When he wasn’t home.
Sleeping.
Lyon inched the blanket up and over his ears. He turned from one side to the other seeking relief. In desperation he rolled onto his stomach, pulled the pillow from beneath his head, and tightened it over his ears with his hands.
Nothing was going to block the sounds. Their voices could penetrate anything. Each squeal seemed to drill through his skull like a hot lance. He couldn’t drink enough brandy to make him sleep through the clamor. For the sake of his sanity and the other neighbors as well, he had to put a stop to this nonsense and not let it go on any longer. There was nothing else to be done to restore order to the neighborhood.
Shucking off the blanket and pillow, he tossed them away, hopped off the bed, and went to his shaving chest. Shaking off the chill of the morning, he splashed a double handful of frigid water onto his face. He then quickly stepped into his cold trousers and buttoned the front flap with one hand while hastily pulling his shirt over his head with the other. There was no time for collar, neckcloth, or waistcoat. Not even stockings.
Frustrated, he shoved his bare feet into his boots as he tucked the tail of his shirt beneath his waistband. In his haste, he forgot about his usual method of dressing. He grabbed his stag-colored coat on the way out the door. At the last moment he thought about his uncombed hair but decided all he needed to do was rake through it with his fingers while hurrying down the stairs. Presentable enough for a flock of young females who were disturbing the peace, he argued with himself.