To Ruin a Rake Read online

  He had never said outright he loved her, but in truth he hadn’t needed to say it. Theirs was an understanding of like souls, one that did not require such words. When asking for her hand, he’d told her he held her in the very highest regard and she was one of the finest people in his acquaintance. Never had she been paid a higher compliment. She held it close to her heart, revisiting it whenever she felt low.

  Sitting down at the desk, she went through the various items left on her to-do list. The orders for the new beds, supplies, and labor to start the new construction were first. She dated the letters she’d already written and sealed them to be sent out immediately. The rest of the paperwork she sorted into stacks of varying importance. Those could be dealt with later.

  When the clock on the mantel struck four, she was forced to set aside her work. If she did not leave soon, she would have to pay for a cab in order to get home before nightfall. She didn’t want Papa knowing she had walked—another money-saving tactic. Every shilling counted.

  Rising, she stretched her legs and back. There was just enough time to pay a visit to her favorite charge. A short walk to the east wing brought her to young Jamie’s room. “Hello, my dear,” she whispered as she peeked around the door at a small boy tucked in bed.

  His face lit at the sight of her. “I didn’t think you would come today.”

  “I couldn’t leave without knowing whether or not you enjoyed the cake, now could I?” He looked better today, less wan and a bit more plump about the face. The poor mite had come to her starved and suffering injuries from the sort of hard labor no child should ever endure. He would grow now, at least, but his legs would never be straight. She came and touched his cheeks to be sure their high color wasn’t due to fever. He was warm, but not hot. Good. “I told Mrs. Tolbert to make sure you were given an extra fat slice.”

  “Aye, she did. It was enough to feed a giant, ma’am!”

  His gap-toothed grin was the most charming thing she’d ever seen. Her heart ached with the quiet joy of seeing him happy. “Wonderful! Now, I’ve spoken with the nurse and she is of the opinion that you are sufficiently recovered to begin attending studies with the other children.” His face fell, and she held up a finger to forestall objections. “You must, Jamie. I promised your father you would receive an education while you are with us.”

  “But he’ll need me,” he said, his face scrunching. “Now I’m well again, I can help like before.”

  She hated to do it, but there was no other choice. “Your father has gone, Jamie. He found work in another village—he would not tell me where—and he has taken your brother with him. A woman there offered to watch him during the day along with her own child so your father could work.”

  The story was partly true; he had left for work in another village. But she could not tell Jamie his baby brother had died of privation and their father had brought him here to prevent him suffering the same fate. She could not bring herself to say he had then vanished without a trace.

  Jamie’s eyes began to well, and she reached out to smooth his soft, brown hair. Damn. He is not quite five. So young... “Without the income from your mother’s needlework, you and your brother were starving. Your father could not stop working to nurse you in your illness, and he could not afford to have someone else care for you. He loved you enough to do what was best for you by bringing you here. You would most certainly have died had he not done so.”

  “But what’s to become of me when I’m well again, ma’am? Will he not come back for me?”

  “No, Jamie,” she said gently. “He will not. He wants better for you than his life of hardship. We will care for you here until you are able to travel. You’ll like Newcastle. There, you will be taught how to read, write, and do arithmetic with other boys your age. And when you leave, you will be able to earn a decent living.”

  “Read, ma’am?” His face was full of doubt. “But I’ve never read a word in me life.”

  She smiled. “We will soon remedy that.”

  His bottom lip trembled, and his eyes took on the hollow look of one who has just realized he is all alone in the world. It was a look she’d seen countless times since coming here. It was one of the reasons she kept coming back. Inside her lived a desperate need to drive that look out of a child’s eyes and see it replaced by trust and confidence. She folded him in her arms, as much to ease the ache in her own heart as his.

  He lay against her and let loose the tears he’d been holding back since his arrival two weeks prior. He’d been so brave. She tightened her arms a bit. It seemed she was made to hold people while they cried. Once he finally stopped, she took out her handkerchief and mopped his eyes and nose. “There now, you’ll see that everything has worked out for the best. You’ll have a bright future thanks to your father’s selfless act.”

  “Will I ever see him again, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Jamie,” she replied honestly. “Perhaps one day. But until then, I want you to look upon this as a gift from him. He wanted you to live and to have better than he could provide.”

  He sniffled a little, and then took a deep breath. Even after two weeks in a warm room with plenty to eat, it still rattled. He would never survive if he had to work out in the cold. “I’ll do me best to make him proud, ma’am.”

  “Good. Now it is almost time for your evening meal, and I must return home.” Rising, she gathered her cloak and satchel. “I shall return in the morning to look in on you, and I want to hear good things from the nurse. No more wandering about at night, is that understood? If you are hungry, you may ask for food and it will be brought to you. There is no need to prowl the kitchens.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” mumbled the boy, looking guilty. “Ma’am?”

  She stopped. “Yes?”

  “If you do see him, I’d like to know. So I can send him some of me wages, once I’m able to earn me keep.”

  Smiling, she made the promise. “I will, Jamie.” She waved goodbye and closed the door. It would never happen. In all her time here, not a single child brought through these doors had ever been reclaimed.

  The sun was low in the sky as she let herself out. She’d stayed longer than intended, and now the shadows were long. Setting a rapid pace, she made certain to squarely meet the eyes of all who crossed her path. By the time she reached her street, her feet ached mightily. Slowing her steps, she put on a cheerful face before entering the house.

  “At last,” burst Cat the instant the door closed. “I’ve been waiting for ages.”

  “I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped. He signed the papers and there was so much to be done. I couldn’t afford to wait.”

  She moved toward the stairs, but Cat stopped her. “Papa is waiting for you in the sitting room. He said he wanted to speak with you the moment you returned.”

  Oh, no. “Did he say why?”

  “If he had, don’t you think I’d tell you? Now go,” urged Cat. “Before he finds you in here nattering away with me and we both get into trouble.”

  Reluctantly, Harriett did as she bade and marched to the drawing room. It would have been nice to change and trade her boots for some comfortable slippers, but she dared not delay.

  Seated by the window, pipe in hand, was her father. “There you are. I’ve some news for you, Harriett.”

  “For me in particular or just news in general?”

  “For you specifically,” he said, knocking out the dottle and refilling his pipe. “Your sister sent word. She wishes you to attend her when the time comes. I would like for you to do so, as well, if you’re amenable. I think it will make things easier for her to have you take charge of the”—he looked to the door and lowered his voice further—“it and see it to its destination. But I leave it to you to decide. I won’t force you to go if you do not wish it.”

  “Of course I’ll go,” she said at once. “I would never trust anyone outside our family with such a task.”

  “Then it is settled. You’ll need to plan ahead and have your nuptial
arrangements in order before you leave, so you’d best make it a quick courtship.”

  She refrained from making any smart comments about the preferred order of carts and horses as he lit his pipe and drew upon it. The bowl came alive with a faint orange glow.

  “I have spoken with Oxenden,” he said in a flat voice, smoke puffing from the corner of his mouth. “He has, as I anticipated, refused to have anything to do with the situation. We are on our own.”

  Biting her tongue, she said nothing. To open her mouth now would be to uncork a flood of invective that would earn her father’s stern disapproval—despite the fact that he likely shared the sentiment.

  “Now, why are you so late getting home?” he went on, switching from one unpleasant topic to another. “It is past five.”

  “I am sorry, Papa.” She was bloody tired of apologizing to everyone and having to make excuses. “One of the children needed looking after, and it took me longer than I thought it would to extricate myself.”

  “Mm,” he grumbled, glaring. “I cannot in good conscience forbid you from your charitable acts, but even you must admit you spend an inordinate amount of time at the place. You should be concentrating on finding a husband, not playing nursemaid to a bunch of sickly, fatherless brats.”

  “Yes, Papa, but William—”

  “William is dead,” he snapped. “And you are no longer invisible, Harriett. I know you’ve become accustomed to doing as you please from behind the shield of your mourning, but that time is over. You are once more under scrutiny, and people will be looking to find fault with you. I know you walked back. Wandering about London on your own will only cause talk. Under the circumstances, none of us can afford to step even so much as a toe out of line.”

  She was sick of hearing that word: afford. There was so much they could not afford—in any sense of the word—these days. Perhaps she ought to make more of an effort to catch a husband. At least as a married woman, she would be under the aegis of another family’s reputation and finances.

  “I understand, Papa,” she said, bowing her head and peeking up at him with what she hoped looked like contrition.

  “Good. Now go and change for dinner. I shall expect you downstairs within the hour.”

  Dismissed, she trudged up the stairs, her feet protesting each step as she reflected on her earlier thoughts regarding marriage. The man she married didn’t have to be Croesus, but he certainly needed to be of adequate means to ensure their family’s security. And not a gambler. She had yet to understand how anyone could logically arrive at the conclusion that it was wise to wager their limited income on any game of chance. She would not tolerate such imprudence in her husband.

  And he had to be faithful. She never wanted to have to worry about catching the pox or any of the other potentially unpleasant side effects of one’s husband keeping mistresses or visiting brothels.

  Above all, her husband must treat her with respect. She was not a mindless ninny and would never endure being treated like one.

  There were a good many things she’d decided she would never tolerate in a husband, actually. The standard to which she’d become accustomed while engaged to William was a hard one to meet, if indeed such a thing was possible. Never had they fought or even argued. There had never been cause for conflict between them. They’d shared the same beliefs, goals, and ideals. His dream had coincided with hers, and the two had blended together seamlessly. It had been most agreeable.

  Chances were she’d be forced to settle for less than perfect this time. There had to be a comfortable middle ground somewhere—a man with whom she could at least be content, if not deliriously happy.

  William’s brother’s face popped into her mind. Good heavens! Why on earth am I thinking of him? Seeing the blackguard had rattled her more than she’d thought. The Gazette had confirmed her suspicion the morning following the Twickenham ball—he had not been a hallucination. But why she should think of him just now was beyond comprehension. She blamed tiredness for the strange intrusion and dismissed it.

  Opening her door, she looked with longing at her bed and turned away. If she so much as sat down right now, she would be asleep. She picked up the bell and rang for her maid.

  As she was dressing, her rebellious thoughts again wandered to the current Lord Manchester. Frustrated, she shook herself. He would be coming to see the Hospital soon. That was why he was weighing on her mind—certainly not because of the indecent memories of their last, horrid encounter.

  Pleased with her reasoning and satisfied with her appearance, she nodded at her reflection, dismissing her maid. She’d been successful in avoiding the man for two years. She could do so again. In fact, it was imperative she did.

  Another public confrontation with him was the last thing she—or her family—needed.

  Four

  One Week Later

  Roland knew he was in a foul mood and didn’t care. He had a good excuse for his bile. This was the dreaded day, the day he was obliged to visit William’s bloody charity project and once again earn his right to the title he’d inherited. “Damned disagreeable nuisance, that’s what it is,” he muttered, knocking back another glass of sherry. He needed the fortification.

  William’s “legacy” awaited. It amazed him that despite his brother’s premature demise, everyone still expected him to conform to his mold, to somehow magically become something he wasn’t. To become him. They were in for a grand disappointment. All of them.

  Where was that blasted Blume fellow, anyway? He ought to have been here by now. He’d said one o’ clock, hadn’t he? And here it was a quarter past. He watched the clock’s slow minute hand make its way past another mark. Now it was twenty. Twenty minutes late.

  Lack of punctuality in a solicitor was inexcusable. Damned if he would wait another minute for the man. “Whole thing is a monumental waste of time anyway,” he muttered, rising. “Might as well get it over with.” Blume could bloody well find him. “Have my carriage brought ‘round,” he barked to a footman.

  By the time his conveyance came to fetch him, it was half past one, he’d had another sherry, and the fuse on his temper had shortened even further. The ride was bumpy, causing him to spill some of the liquor from his flask, which served only to exacerbate his rotten mood. When he finally alighted before the front steps of the Foundling Hospital, his jacket stained and exuding vapors of brandy, he was spoiling for a fight.

  Looking up, he was stunned to see crews of men streaming in and out of the building bearing tools, lumber, and paint. To the north, he saw men in the process of installing an ironwork fence. To the south, he saw bricklayers crafting a new enclosure. He squinted at the plaque by the front door. This was indeed the Foundling Hospital. What the devil is going on here? Reaching up, he gave the bell cord a mighty yank.

  A few moments later, the door opened a crack and a curious face peered out. “Yes, sir?”

  “I wish to see Mr. R. Dun,” he announced without preamble, pushing his way in. “You may tell him that His Grace the Duke of Manchester has arrived.”

  The woman’s brows drew together. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but there is no one here by that name.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, woman—the Assistant Administrator—I wish to speak with him at once.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth hung slack as she stared up at him.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” he thundered, making her jump. “Be quick about it! I haven’t got all bloody damned day.”

  Without a word, she turned and trotted off, her heels clicking rapidly across the floor. She opened a door on the far side of the foyer and with one panicked backward glance, slipped through.

  That’s more like it. Satisfied, Roland reached into his jacket and pulled out his flask. After taking a swallow of liquid courage, he jammed the flask back into his pocket. An instant later, he realized it was upside down—and that he’d forgotten to put the cap back on. Cursing, he jerked it back out, but it was too late.

  Em
pty. Damn. And now he positively reeked. He tossed the empty flask into an umbrella stand in the corner, disgusted. Perhaps he ought to rethink this whole thing and come back tomorrow. Where was that silly woman? Why was it taking everybody so bloody long to do everything?

  The door she’d gone through beckoned, tickling his curiosity while at the same time inspiring apprehension. He was already here and didn’t fancy having to come all the way back another day.

  Before he knew it, he was turning the handle. The hallway beyond looked much the same as the foyer. Pictures hung on the walls at intervals, and thick carpets dampened the sound of his footsteps. It actually looked...nice. Like one of his own halls at home.

  Trepidation eased as he progressed. These were just offices. He recognized the names of the other governors on the doors. There was one with his name on it, as well. It was locked. Another door bore a sign that said “Consultation” and another said “Records.” The door at the end opened on another hall exactly like the one behind him, save for the warm light streaming in through the occasional window. He decided to go right.

  Peeking into one of the open doors, he saw an empty bedroom with three small beds in it. Toys and books were scattered about. Opening the wardrobe, he took out one of several bundles of gray cloth and shook it out. It was a small pair of breeches, the sort worn by every little boy. He put it back and returned to the hall. Exploring farther, he found more rooms like the first one. All were empty. It was eerie, the silence. Where were the children?

  Another door waited at the end of the corridor. He opened it and looked in on an enormous dining hall. Long tables filled the space, their surfaces worn but spotless. The smell of food cooking assailed his nostrils. Though he’d not eaten this morning and it ought to have made him salivate, his stomach roiled in protest. Hastily, he shut the door and made his way down to the opposite end of the hall. As he passed by the exit, he knew he ought to go back and wait in the foyer, but bugger it, he was curious.

  The next hallway he found was lined with what looked like classrooms. There was also a small library. He picked up the pace and strode down to the end with purpose. Another door. The place was a damned maze. Ah, a staircase. Upon ascending it, he encountered another hall lined with rooms. At the far end was yet another door. Approaching, he saw a sign bearing the words: “Sick Ward.”