by Merry Farmer
The conversation lagged. Stephen couldn’t think of anything else to say, and David seemed more interested in watching the throng of dancing couples. As soon as the waltz ended, the orchestra struck up another song. There was a burst of activity as partners were traded and new ones were sought out. Stephen grinned like an idiot when Max let go of Lionel and headed straight toward him.
“Our time has come,” he said, mischief in his eyes, reaching for Stephen.
“I don’t know how to dance,” Stephen protested as Max grabbed his hand and drew him out toward the dance floor. “That is, I don’t know how to dance this way.”
“Then I’ll teach you,” Max said with a flicker of his dark brows. He shifted in such a way that Stephen was naturally whisked into his arms, then grabbed Stephen’s right hand and positioned his left on his shoulder. “Like this. One, two, three, one, two, three.”
Shivers of excitement bounced through Stephen, even though he was doing something simple. Max held him closer as he caught the rhythm of the steps, which sent his pulse soaring. Strangest of all was the complete acceptance of the way they moved together, enjoying the dance and the chance to be so close. It was a degree of acceptance that Stephen had never felt before, one that spun his head more than the circles he and Max turned. He never would have imagined that he could find acceptance quite like that.
“Perhaps it is a good idea to let the girls perform at the concert after all,” he said as the waltz ended, another began, and Max showed no signs of letting Stephen go.
Max laughed. “We’re dancing away the night, enjoying each other’s company, and you’re thinking about the Bardess concert?”
Stephen shrugged, slipping his arm farther around Max’s shoulders. “I’m suddenly filled with confidence. I feel as though I could do anything.”
“Anything?” Max arched one eyebrow, his eyes sparkling.
“I feel as though I could lead the girls on a charge to storm the ramparts of Bardess Mansion, much less let them sing for their supper there,” he said with a smile. “In fact, I might even be brave enough to ask Everett Jewel for his support as well.”
“You’re too late there,” Max said with a grin. “He left with a few friends two songs ago.”
Stephen stood straighter, glancing around in surprise. How long had he been dancing with Max anyhow? It didn’t feel as though it mattered that he might have lost his chance to enlist the patronage of the scintillating Everett Jewel as long as he could keep Max in his arms.
“What a pity,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I suppose we’ll just have to keep dancing.”
“How fortunate,” Max said, his expression heating. “Because I don’t have any intention of letting go.”
Chapter 8
In the end, there was only one choice. Stephen would have been a fool if he didn’t take advantage of every opportunity to raise funds for the orphanage. But he wasn’t entirely pleased with his decision.
“We will all be on our best behavior, won’t we?” he asked his girls as they lined up in two rows in the front hallway of the orphanage.
Various responses of “Yes, Sir!” “We will!” and “Only if Jane stops pulling my hair,” resounded in the wake of his question.
Stephen smiled in spite of his misgivings. It wasn’t his girls who gave him pause. They were absolutely lovely, every one of them. His heart swelled with pride as he walked down the hall, checking each cherubic face for smudges and making sure hair ribbons and ruffles were all in place and buttons were done up correctly. He loved every one of the mischievous little imps as though they were his own, which was quite a family. And until a few, short weeks ago, he would have insisted that he had been blessed with more than enough love in his life.
The truth about love, how much he had, how much he needed, and from whom, wrapped itself around him in the unlikeliest of forms when he reached Jane at the end of the row. She glanced hopefully up at him and asked, “Will Max be at the concert?”
Stephen’s smile widened in spite of himself, and his heart danced a jig in his chest. “He most certainly will,” he told Jane, unable to hide his excitement, resting a hand on her shoulder. “But you should call him Lord Hillsboro.”
Jane snorted. “He told me I could call him Max. He’s my friend.”
“He’s my friend too,” Stephen confided in her with a wink. Though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping for much more. He was hoping that Max was as devoted to the girls as he was, which would mean he could let his heart go without losing sight of his responsibilities.
It was probably foolish to display his emotions so openly with all his girls, Mrs. Ross, and Annie clustered around him, but none of them were paying much attention to him, as the carriages Max had hired on their behalf to take them to the Bardess mansion had just arrived. And little Jane was far too young to have the first clue what the flush that came to his face when he thought about Stephen or the way he had a hard time containing his smile or catching his breath when he remembered the way they’d danced together, or the passionate kiss they’d shared in the barn, meant. Once again, innocence and ignorance were the most effective means of protection he could possibly hope for.
“I don’t know why Lord Hillsboro insisted on spending unnecessary money to hire these hacks,” Mrs. Ross complained to Stephen as he headed back to the front of the lines. “It’s an unnecessary expense. The Bardess mansion is only a mile away. We could walk.”
Stephen answered her with a stern look. “Lord Hillsboro likely understands that it would be cruel to make twenty-five young girls walk a mile to perform a concert, then to walk home. This is a delightfully generous gesture on his part.”
“I’ll just bet it is,” Mrs. Ross said with a smirk, crossing her arms, her mouth twitching into a teasing grin.
Self-consciousness flooded Stephen. Mrs. Ross was anything but innocent or ignorant. “Lord Hillsboro is the patron of this orphanage now. He takes his responsibilities toward us seriously.”
“I’ll just bet he does.” Mrs. Ross’s grin widened.
Stephen’s face heated even more. “We should be thankful to have such an open-hearted and dedicated patron.”
“You’ll be thanking him on your knees, then?” Mrs. Ross’s eyes flashed with wickedness.
“Oh, yes, what a splendid idea,” Annie said, bouncing up to join the conversation. “We should all pray for Lord Hillsboro.”
Stephen nearly choked, his whole body going hot. “Um…er…yes.” He coughed. “We should all pray for him.”
Mrs. Ross looked as though she were having a hard time not bursting with laughter.
“I know I am certainly grateful for this fine suit he bought you,” Annie went on, her eyes shining. She stepped close to Stephen and brushed his shoulders as if clearing away dust, then ran her hands down the lapels of his jacket with a look of longing.
Stephen writhed with discomfort at the bold and possessive gesture, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine how to tell Annie her affection was misplaced. As unnerving as she could be, he did care for her. Like a sister.
“Well,” he said, awkwardly taking her hands and removing them from his person. “We’d better be on our way if we are to make it to the concert in time.”
Annie didn’t seem fussed by being put off. She grinned as though Stephen had made a thousand promises to her and proceeded to organize the girls and shoo them out to the carriages eagerly. Stephen and Mrs. Ross lingered behind, making sure all of the girls stayed in line and made it out to the carriages without dawdling or being left behind.
“You can’t avoid breaking her heart, so don’t even try,” Mrs. Ross told him in a wistful voice as they closed up the orphanage.
Stephen let out a heavy sigh. “I have an obligation of care for her as much as I do to the girls,” he said, leaning close enough so that no one would overhear.
“Yes, but you have an obligation to yourself as well,” Mrs. Ross said. When Stephen merely raised his brow in surprise, she shi
fted her stance, leaned in closer, and said, “I’ve known you these ten years and more. I’ve never seen your head turned by anyone the way it’s been turned by Lord Hillsboro. Yes, there was that dalliance with that fine piece of arse from the docks—”
“Which ended in disaster, if you remember correctly,” Stephen hissed.
Mrs. Ross blinked at him. “Disaster? I thought you simply grew tired of him.”
Stephen shook his head, having a hard time believing Mrs. Ross didn’t remember. “Alice,” he whispered.
Still, Mrs. Ross didn’t seem to have a clue.
“She landed in the situation that killed her because I was too busy dallying with Davenport to keep an eye on her,” Stephen went on.
Mrs. Ross’s mouth dropped open. “Is that what you think? Why you ended things with that fool?” When Stephen merely looked guilty, she let out a wry laugh. “Alice would have gotten herself in trouble no matter what you did, even if you’d tied her to your wrist.” She narrowed her eyes as she studied Stephen. “My boy, if you so much as think of letting that sorry incident keep you from what I’m seeing between you and Lord Hillsboro now—”
“And what are you seeing now?” he asked, afraid of the answer.
“Love,” she answered with a shrug. “And enough heat to keep us all toasty-warm through the harshest winter.”
Stephen was mortified. “I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious.”
Mrs. Ross barked a laugh. “Poppet, when the two of you are together, it makes everyone on the street randy. Have the two of you even….” She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“No,” Stephen whispered, restless and self-conscious.
“Well, why not?” she laughed.
Stephen sent her a pointed look.
“Good Lord, man. Let the past and sweet Alice rest in peace.” Her look of censure turned into a saucy grin. “You and Max are both gagging for it. Let go of your fear. Trust me. You’ll feel much better once the two of you have traded off taking it up the arse a few times.” She slapped his shoulder and marched on to the nearly-loaded carriages.
Stephen was left standing where he was, shocked to stillness, gaping at her. But he supposed that was what he got for hiring a former prostitute to run his business with him. And she did raise a vital point. Was it time to leave the past in the past and to get on with it?
He shook his head as soon as the question popped into his mind. Of all the times to contemplate the intimate joys of sodomy, right before a children’s concert was not one of them. He cleared his throat and rushed to climb aboard one of the carriages. Soon, they were all speeding toward Bardess Mansion.
Within minutes of arriving at the stately, Georgian home, all of the misgivings Stephen had had about the concert and the house itself returned in full force.
“I’m still not certain about this,” he sighed to himself as he, Mrs. Ross, and Annie shuffled the girls out of the carriages and into the cavernous front hall.
“About the concert?” Annie was by his side, as cheerful and moon-eyed as always.
Stephen met her enthusiasm with a compassionate smile. “About a great many things.”
“I think it’s a lovely idea,” Annie said, hopping forward to clasp his arm. “Isn’t it romantic? A fine, large house, everyone dressed in their best, lords and ladies coming from all over London to hear us sing.” She added a sigh to the end of her list. “It’s almost as though we were in a fairy tale.”
Stephen was afraid his smile looked more like a wince. Ignorance was one thing, but naiveté was another entirely.
He started prying Annie away from him, but was interrupted by Max approaching from a side parlor and saying, “Isn’t this the most beautiful sight I’ve seen all day.”
Stephen’s blood instantly pumped harder, and to all the wrong places. Max stared firmly at him as he spoke, but shifted his smile of appreciation to the girls in just enough time not to raise suspicion.
“You all look like a treat,” he told them.
The girls responded with wide grins, pink cheeks, and giggles. Stephen knew exactly how they felt.
“Sir told us you would be here,” Jane said, breaking from her place in line to throw herself at Max for a hug. Something else Stephen wished he could do. Max embraced her warmly, causing a ridiculous twist of jealousy in Stephen’s gut. “Sir tried to tell me I wasn’t allowed to call you Max,” Jane went on, sending Stephen an extraordinarily amusing dirty look.
“Nonsense,” Max laughed. “As I’ve told you all, you may call me whatever you’d like.” The girls giggled and beamed wider as Max stepped subtly to Stephen’s side and whispered in his ear, “Except for you. I have a few other ideas for what you can call me.”
A delicious and completely inconvenient shiver passed down Stephen’s spine. “Not now,” he hissed in return. “Remember where we are.”
Max hummed gravely, as if genuinely chastised, and stepped away. Stephen was happy to leave it at that, until he spotted Annie watching the two of them with a confused frown.
“Right, young ladies,” Stephen said, clearing his throat and jumping into action, deeply alarmed at the possibility of Annie working out the truth at an inconvenient time. “Let us all be on our best behavior and sing our hearts out.”
“Yes, Sir,” they answered, angelic and delightful, giving Stephen hope that things might just work out after all.
In the back of his mind, Max wondered if he should feel guilty for teasing Stephen in public. Probably, but the way Stephen’s face went red, the way his blue eyes sparkled, and the way his breath caught was too much of a delight for him to resist. He half expected Stephen’s spectacles to fog up with every flirty look or suggestive comment he made.
“We’re supposed to wait in the parlor across the hall from the conservatory,” Stephen told him as they walked, side by side, down the hall, following the footman who had been sent to fetch them.
“I hate waiting for things,” he replied, knowing full well his spirits were too high for his own good. He brushed his hand against Stephen’s making it look as casual as possible.
Stephen blushed harder. Max had a hard time resisting the urge to yank him into an unused room to snog him senseless.
“What do you mean, my presence is required in the conservatory?” The booming voice of Sister Constance dented Max’s feisty mood. “I will supervise my children in the parlor.”
Ahead of them, a pair of footmen were doing a poor job of attempting to subdue Sister Constance and the pair of nuns with her. Stephen lost his flushed, unsettled look, switched to a frown of command, and marched forward. Max followed him, glancing over his shoulder to Mrs. Ross and Annie to make sure they had a handle on the girls.
“Lady Bardess said she wishes the orphanage owners to attend to the guests in the conservatory,” one of the footmen was trying to explain.
“That’s fine,” Stephen said, stepping into the confrontation. “We can line the children up in rows at the side of the room instead of putting them in the parlor.”
Sister Constance was clearly in a towering rage. Max had a hard time not laughing as she turned that rage on Stephen, especially because he could see she liked his suggestion. “You stay on your side of the room and I’ll stay on mine,” she growled at Stephen. “I don’t want your undisciplined ruffians stealing the donations that are meant for us.”
“I can assure you, we have no intention of stealing anything,” Stephen said.
His reassurance wasn’t helped by a sudden crash that turned out to be one of his girls attempting to slip a tiny figurine into the pocket of her dress and knocking over a larger one on the table in the hall.
“None of that,” Mrs. Ross said, stepping forward to smack the girl’s hand and to put the figurine back.
Sister Constance humphed and crossed her arms as though her point had been proven.
The two footmen looked as though they were about to have hell’s fury brought down on them. “Lady Bardess insists the children be kept out
of sight in the parlor while the adults attend to her guests,” one of them said.
“Lady Bardess can have all of us in the parlor or all of us attending to her guests,” Stephen insisted with the streak of boldness that Max found irresistible. “Now if you will excuse us, I need to arrange my girls in the conservatory.”
Stephen gestured to Mrs. Ross and Annie, sending Max a look, then marched boldly past the footmen and into the conservatory. Max followed, giving Sister Constance a deliberately cheeky look as he passed her.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Sister Constance said, snapping her fingers at the two nuns with her. They shuffled her pressed and starched orphans into lines, then followed Stephen and his girls into the larger room.
A large number of guests were already assembled in the Bardess’s conservatory by the time the two choirs entered the room and lined up against opposing walls. Several conversations stopped and the high and mighty of London oohed and aahed over the sweet lines of orphans. Max knew a great many of the people there, if only by reputation. He spotted Alistair Bevan at the far end of the room, caught up in conversation with Lady Matilda Fairbanks. To his immense disgust, he also spotted his brother, George, leering into some young debutante’s décolletage. But before he could catch his brother’s eye to give him a piece of his mind, his attention was pulled elsewhere.
“Good heavens. What is the meaning of this?” Lady Bardess said, charging toward them with a scowl. “I thought I ordered these children out of sight until it is time for them to sing.”
“Wouldn’t it be a better idea for your guests to see the very children they are here to contribute to?” Stephen asked, somehow managing to look deferential, even though he was defying Lady Bardess. Perhaps it was the way he adjusted his glasses and met her ire with a smile so sweet it could attract honey bees.
Lady Bardess sniffed and tilted her nose up. “I am not accustomed to having my orders ignored, Mr. Siddel.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady.” Stephen bowed with a near reverent degree of apology…all of which Max could see was feigned.