A Dream of Redemption

by Bronwen Evans

  “I’m sure they know someone will be coming, but what day and what time will be keeping them on their toes. Word has got around that Her Grace visits every acquisition so they will be expecting us. I’ve purposely left it a few days since Her Grace purchased the orphanage so they have been kept guessing.”

  She sat looking at him, utterly out of her depth. His words implied that he wanted to catch the orphanage employees unawares. She assumed that would show them the true state of the place.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  As if he understood her quandary, Clary picked up a file. “Would you like to go over the papers we have on the orphanage?”

  She beamed a thankful smile at him but as usual got nothing in reply. Did the man ever smile?

  On the first page she read the names of the staff and then the list of children. Many had lines through them. “What do the lines indicate?”

  “That the children are no longer at the orphanage.”

  She pondered that for one moment. “Why would they leave? Did you find them homes?”

  Mr. Homeward’s eyes grew cold. “That is what I wish to find out.”

  He began pacing the room, his long curls, more like ringlets, bouncing with each step. She wondered what it would feel like to wind her finger in one and pull it straight. She suspected his hair would come down past his shoulders if it was not so curly.

  She stopped staring at his beauty and instead reread the file. “But some of the children that have lines through their names are only eleven or twelve. Some are younger still. Some are babies…” Suddenly she understood. “Oh, they have died.” She wiped away the tears that welled in her eyes.

  “The mortality rate seems high even for an orphanage.” He stopped pacing at her stifled sob. “Are you sure you are strong enough for this? I’m certain you have never had to confront the sad realities of life and I fully understand if you would prefer I went on my own.”

  His soft and tender words almost made her say, “You’re right. I can’t do this.” But then she reminded herself she wanted to help. Why should she stay safe and ignorant of life’s realities?

  “I may not be as blasé of life’s tragedies as you but I can help.”

  She saw his hands form into fists by his sides and his eyes flared with anger. “Blasé? Do not think to know me, my lady. You have no idea of how I—” He stopped talking and swung away, presenting his back to her.

  Helen bit her bottom lip and silently cursed her insensitivity. “I do apologize. You are correct. I don’t know anything about you, but I do know you care about these children and I have faith that you will help me do my sister proud.” He did not respond so she stood to take her leave. “I shall take the file and read it so that I have a sense of what I will be facing. I shall be ready tomorrow morning and you can answer any questions I may have on our drive to Southwark.”

  * * *

  —

  The door shut softly behind her as his angel took her leave. Clary could not believe he’d let her words upset him to the point he’d almost shared his sordid past with her.

  He turned back to face the room. Her scent drifted in the stuffy air. He knew that come tomorrow her view on life would be changed forever, and he wished he could protect her from that reality.

  He thought back many years to his first few weeks of living on the streets with Simon. He’d had to hide Simon in a crate in a back alley while he tried to find food for them both. At first he’d managed to beg a few scraps but the longer he was seen on the streets in the same place the more charity began to dry up.

  Then he’d begun stealing what food he could from stalls, open windows, anywhere.

  Then due to the lack of food, and the beginning of the winter chill, Simon got sick. He became so ill with fever and a hacking cough that Clary thought he’d lose his little brother. He was carrying him, trying to find a warm place and some hot broth to feed Simon, when he collapsed in the street. He lay exhausted, scared and cold, as he watched a snowflake fall and thought they would both perish if it accumulated.

  Then a man with the face of an angel stopped his carriage and ordered his tiger to help them.

  He took them to a house that had furnishings of such quality Clary was too scared to touch anything. The man’s name was Angelo, and he got a doctor and medicine for Simon and gave them a warm, dry room with a roaring fire and freshly made bed so soft they sunk into their dreams.

  Clary hadn’t realized that such kindness existed. Simon thrived and got well. Soon Angelo began to teach them how to read and write, how to speak with a refined accent, and how to be perfect young gentlemen. Life was full of luxury and kindness. He thanked Angelo every day for his kindness.

  Exactly eight months to the day Clary learned that there was no such thing as something given out of the goodness of one’s heart.

  He learned that everything one received came at a price. A terrible, soul-destroying, high price.

  Clary pushed the degrading memories away and sat down at his desk. He still could not believe how lucky he and Simon had been since Her Grace came into his life. Five years ago Clary had helped His Grace fight his enemy, he’d helped save Her Grace, and he’d been rewarded. He’d been given this job and Simon had been sent to school, and now Simon was clerking for a solicitor and if he worked hard, Mr. Henley might one day help to train Simon to be a solicitor. All organized by Her Grace. Each day he walked into this house expecting this dream to be taken away from him—from Simon. Then they would find themselves out on the street again. The key, always a reminder, bumped against his hip, safe in his pocket.

  Happiness came at a cost. Clary knew that. He poured himself a brandy and prayed working with Lady Helen—every day—didn’t cost him everything he’d strived to achieve for himself and Simon both.

  He would die before he let anyone make Simon go back to that life.

  Chapter 3

  Clary tried not to stare at Lady Helen as they journeyed to Southwark, so instead he looked out the window at the streets he’d grown up in. He briefly closed his eyes and yet that did not block out her image. He didn’t need to turn his head to know she looked a picture of innocence wrapped in sin. His body thrummed with tension. Each time she smiled at something the other ladies in the carriage said, his stomach clenched with a longing so strong he thought his insides would rip apart. Why did she have to look like this on the one day her view on life would become tainted forever?

  It would take them almost an hour to arrive at the orphanage, an hour of smelling her delicate lilac scent. An hour of hearing her velvet voice. An hour of looking at her beauty.

  An hour of wishing he had been born good enough for her.

  Thankfully, at the moment, Lady Helen was engrossed in conversation with her lady’s maid, Mary, and Lady Antonia, His Grace’s young stepsister, about their gowns for some ball tonight. God knew why Lady Helen had allowed Lady Antonia to come. It was not the time or place to be introducing two young ladies to the sad realities of life. He watched Mary’s hands flit restlessly in her skirts. When he glanced at Mary they shared a look that said Antonia should never have been allowed to accompany them. They both knew how awkward this visit was likely to become.

  He wished he could have told Lady Helen not to bring Lady Antonia but it was not his place. Lady Helen was standing in for Her Grace. Who was he to think he could tell her what to do.

  You should have told her.

  For some reason he was concerned about what they would find at this orphanage. Mr. Brown, the overseer of one of their most successful and well-run orphanages out near Richmond, had originally brought the Southwark orphanage to Her Grace’s attention. Mr. Brown had heard rumors of the mortality rate and when Clary had read that register…Even Lady Helen had noticed.

  “Mr. Homeward, how did this orphanage come to my sister’s attention?”

  He turned from the window and studied the two ladies across from him. Lady Helen looked nervous while Lady Antonia seemed to think this
was an exciting outing. Lady Antonia would be in for a shock.

  “Mr. Brown suggested we should acquire it.”

  He watched Lady Helen’s lips firm and her brow wrinkle in determination. He knew what her next question would be.

  “Why?”

  To hell with it. She wanted to know, so he’d tell her. Pretty soon she’d see how awful the orphanage was anyway.

  “He heard that the overseer was pocketing money and that the children were not well kept.”

  “Not well kept? Is that why so many of the children’s names had lines through them? The orphanage has a very high mortality rate, it would seem.” He watched her hands grip together as if that would keep the awful truth at bay.

  “It would seem” being the operative words here. Clary had his suspicions about what was happening to those missing children but he would reserve judgment until he inspected the place.

  “What will you do if we find the orphanage is an absolute mess?”

  He expected to find the orphanage an absolute mess.

  “Mr. Brown already has some men and women trained that can step in and take over if we need. From previous experience, I have also preordered fresh clothing and bedding and mattresses. I shall send a missive as soon as we arrive and they will be delivered.”

  Lady Helen rested her head against the back of the squab. “You are already sure it’s going to be my worst nightmare.”

  “You read the report?”

  Lady Helen nodded. “I notice that our tiger and the two grooms you brought with you are armed. Do you expect trouble?”

  “Let’s just say I like to be ready for any outcome.”

  Clary was certain there was going to be trouble. If his suspicions rang true, Dan Glover, the overseer, was not going to be happy at being shown the door. Clary had a horrible suspicion he knew exactly what was happening with the missing children. He suspected that Glover had a good little sideline going on.

  Lady Helen shot Lady Antonia a worried look. It was too late for regrets now. They didn’t have enough time to turn the carriage around. Except they could. But it would mean a chance that Glover would learn of the visit by the time they’d come back. Their surprise would be lost.

  On a sigh he said, “Should I turn the carriage around?”

  Lady Antonia’s head jerked up to look at him. “Please don’t on my account.” Her eyes portrayed that perhaps she had a more adult view of life than he’d thought. “I can be strong. I can help you.”

  Clary frowned at the words “help you.” It wasn’t he that needed help but the children would.

  Lady Helen asked, “Since we still have a way to go, why don’t you tell us the story of how you came to work for my sister?”

  Even though Clary knew that question was coming it still made his innards curdle. Three sets of eyes swiveled his way.

  “There is not much to tell.” Liar.

  “You are being modest. I heard you helped save Marisa.”

  “I wish I could have done more.” Five years ago, he had not been able to stop Victoria, His Grace’s enemy, from kidnapping the duchess. The resulting carriage accident meant she could no longer have children, and His Grace would never have a son that could inherit his title. The dukedom would revert to the Crown, as he had no living male relatives. Clary often wondered whether he would have this job if Her Grace had been able to have children of her own.

  “So,” Lady Antonia probed. “Where did you meet Marisa?”

  Lady Antonia looked at him with hero worship in her eyes. Lately she had begun finding excuses to seek him out. He wondered if this was why she had decided to come. Lady Antonia had never wished to accompany them before; besides, Her Grace had refused to allow it.

  He tried to answer her question. “In the course of my business.”

  All three ladies looked disappointed at his answer.

  “And what business was that?” Lady Helen finally asked with a bite to her words, as if she knew he was deliberately being evasive.

  “Being a man of business,” he said. “How do you think I got this job working for Her Grace?” Not a lie entirely, he had been a man of business, just not the business he alluded to. He had simply turned the question on the women, letting them form their own opinions.

  Luckily this seemed to pacify them. He turned to look back out the window at the streets he’d grown up on. Dirty, dangerous, and a place he would never go back to.

  When it became obvious he was not about to reveal more, the women went back to discussing how they would approach the job of reviewing the orphanage. On an inward sigh, he listened and his annoyance grew. They really had no idea of what they would find or face.

  The rich sat in their big homes, all warm and well fed, with fires attended and kept stoked by servants, food appearing on demand, again from servants, and they never gave a thought to those less fortunate than themselves. He tried not to let bitterness coat his thinking. He wanted to rant and rave at the fate of birth. A fate that had dictated the life he was given—not given, more like forced upon him. But he knew he could not change his past. It was his future he was focused on, his and Simon’s.

  That was why he owed Her Grace everything. She knew his background and still treated him as a friend and business partner. She’d ensured Simon would never live the life he himself had been forced to endure for many, many years until he was empty inside.

  * * *

  —

  Helen might not be very good with people, she was not as outgoing or as gregarious as Marisa, instead, she studied those around her as she would a map. Looking for the signposts of a likable personality, good character, and truthfulness. While she did not think Clary was a liar, he was not being forthcoming about his past. He must be of good character or Marisa would not have hired him. As to a likable person, he barely had any personality. He rarely smiled, or talked, or showed emotion. In fact, he showed little if any interest in anything around him—except for the orphanages. Helen could tell the children meant a lot to him.

  His passion for them likely made him very good at his job, hence why Marisa employed him and gave him such autonomy.

  The one thing that she definitely could not dispute though, was he was extraordinarily handsome. Antonia had let slip that when he was walking in the street women would stop and stare after him. Helen didn’t want to know how Antonia knew this. It would seem Antonia was as affected by Mr. Homeward as the servant girls.

  As are you. She could not lie to herself. It wasn’t just his beauty that drew her, although a woman would have to be blind not to feel a flush of heat at his blatant masculine beauty. No, it was the mystery of his quiet, dignified persona that drew her. Having grown up in a turbulent household with warring parents who did not care to hide their animosity even in public, the quietness and dignity of Mr. Homeward’s bearing appealed.

  The silent type calmed her inner anxiousness while presenting her with a challenge. She loved puzzles and mysteries, and getting to know Mr. Homeward would be both thrilling and very enjoyable to the eyes.

  Just then, Helen noticed the carriage had rolled to a stop. She turned to the window and then threw a glance at Mr. Homeward. His full lips had firmed into a stern, thin line and she noted his hands fisted on his thighs. She leaned forward and looked out.

  The soot stained, stone building in front of them looked like something out of her worst nightmare. Windows were hanging off hinges three stories up. No smoke was coming out of three of the four chimneys and it was a crisp cool day. Inside that drafty building the children must be freezing. She shivered in her cloak, and she hadn’t even stepped out of the carriage.

  Mr. Homeward alighted as if the carriage were on fire, and she heard him walk to the two men following on horseback. She suspected he was telling them to take a note to Mr. Brown’s asking for the men and women ready to come and help.

  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and took Antonia’s hand. Looking at Mary she said, “This is not likely to be pleasant, if yo
u two wish to return, take the carriage and simply send it back for me.”

  Antonia looked at the building and then shook her head. “No. I want to help and it looks like the children will need lots of attention. When my mother died, if we did not have Maitland I could have ended up in a home like this.”

  She squeezed Antonia’s hand. “Right. Come, ladies, children are waiting.”

  Walking into the Southwark Home for Orphaned Children was like walking into a foreign land. The first thing that hit her was the smell. She took a step back and had to hide her gag from Mr. Homeward, who was looking at the three ladies in concern as they stood in the entry.

  He strode forward and called out for Mr. Glover. They stood waiting for several minutes before a door opened and a man who was busy tucking his shirt into his breeches stepped forward.

  “Mr. Homeward, I presume. We were expecting you days ago.”

  This time she heard Antonia’s gasp and she too almost gagged. You could smell Mr. Glover before you could actually see his face. Helen’s heart sunk to her slippers. This was going to be a terrible day.

  A woman followed in Mr. Glover’s shadow, and she looked totally unkempt, as if she’d hurriedly just got dressed. Looking between the two of them and their state of undress, perhaps she had.

  Her anger rose like a hurricane.

  Mr. Homeward stepped forward but did not offer the man his hand. “Good morning, Mr. Glover. Her Grace has sent myself and Her Grace’s sister, Lady Helen Hawkestone, in her place to inspect her new acquisition. Perhaps you and I could have a word in your study while the ladies inspect the kitchens, the matrons’ quarters, and the children’s dormitories.”

  Helen could tell that Mr. Glover was not at all happy with that suggestion. The woman standing by his side looked alarmed, and you could almost see her shaking in her stained slippers.

  Mr. Homeward pointed toward the study, and Mr. Glover had no choice but to lead him there. Before he followed Mr. Glover into the study, he turned to Helen and said, “Start down in the kitchen and work your way up. I suggest you stay together and take Peters with you.”