To Ruin a Rake

by Liana Lefey

  From behind a closed door a chorus of high voices recited the alphabet. A moment later he heard a woman’s voice command those within to line up, followed by the scraping of chairs. A moment later, the door opened and a line of small children walked past him. He guessed them to be around four years of age. One paused to glance up at him—and smiled.

  The idea that an orphan would have anything to smile about was still shocking. He didn’t even think to smile back before the child was gone. Their keeper, a cheery, apple-cheeked woman, nodded pleasantly at him as she passed.

  From the other end of the hall, Harriett’s voice rose above the din. “Walk, Mary! Don’t run or you’ll scrape your knees again!”

  Not yet ready to confront her again, Roland ducked inside the empty classroom. When the hall was silent, he ventured out, memory leading him back to the place where he’d first encountered her. The same door beckoned, again left open just a bit. Peeking in, he saw the little boy she’d been spoon-feeding broth to that day. The child’s face appeared much less gaunt now.

  The boy looked up and saw him before he could back away out of sight. Caught, Roland eased the door open the rest of the way. “Hello there.”

  “Hello, sir.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked, discomfited. He was unused to talking to children and didn’t have the faintest idea what to say.

  “Jack, sir,” piped the boy. “What’s yours?”

  “Roland.” It just didn’t seem appropriate to rattle off his full name and title to a child this small.

  The boy smiled. “Same as me granddad. He’s dead,” he added in a matter-of-fact manner. “Are you here to take me away with you?”

  The question caught Roland by surprise. “No. No, I’m not.”

  Jack’s bright eyes dimmed a little. “Oh. Lady Harriett said a man was coming today to take me to a place called Newcastle. I thought you was him. Are you a doctor, then?”

  “No. I’m one of the governors of this”—he’d been about to say facility—“house,” he finished. It was strange to acknowledge it, even to a child. The mantle of ownership that settled over his shoulders at the admission, however, wasn’t nearly as heavy or onerous as he’d expected. “Are you happy here?”

  The boy’s brow puckered as though he could hardly understand why he was being asked such a question. “It’s a lot better than where I come from,” he said, shrugging. “It’s warm, I get plenty to eat, and there ain’t no rats or snatchers.”

  Roland stared at the sunny-faced child. “Good, good,” he murmured, nodding. “Well, I shall leave you, then. Is...is there anything you require?”

  The boy shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve just had me breakfast—more than I could eat, which is saying something.” He chortled, patting the faint bulge at his middle with evident satisfaction. “Nurse Hayes says I’m supposed to sleep now until she comes for me.”

  “Very well. Then I shall bid you good day,” said Roland, nodding and turning toward the door.

  “Sir?” piped the little voice.

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “If you see Lady Harriett, tell her I said thank you for the boat.” He pulled a tiny wooden boat from beneath the blankets and held it up proudly.

  “I’ll do that,” he promised. Turning again, he let himself out. Thoughts flitted about in his head like startled birds as he meandered down the hall, letting his feet take him where they would. He climbed the stairs and went into the nursery. The woman sitting vigil with the infants nodded and smiled, recognizing him from his last visit. He returned her silent greeting with a nod and went to the window.

  There in the courtyard below, which was now enclosed by the new walls, he saw children running to and fro, playing. The faint, high sounds of children at play bled through the glass. A flash of white caught his eye—and there was Harriett in her apron, chasing a little girl who scampered away from her while squealing in delight.

  Harriett’s entire face was lit with joy as she pursued the child, at the last second allowing her to escape. Their peals of laughter were like music. Back and forth they went until the child stopped running and reached up to her. Bending, Harriett picked her up and showered her plump little face with kisses.

  A sensation very similar to the pain he’d experienced last night again exploded in Roland’s chest.

  He’d never known his mother. She’d died giving birth to him. His brother had often spoken of her. According to him, she’d been a warm, caring, gentle woman. He’d also described their father as a very different man while she was alive; a man who’d smiled readily and laughed a great deal. William said that when she died, it was as though she’d taken all of their father’s joy with her. Without her, he’d become the hard-bitten, critical man Roland had grown up knowing.

  He stared at Harriett. For all that he’d thought her argumentative, confrontational, and difficult in general, she seemed to carry a light inside herself. It permeated the very walls here and was reflected in the faces of everyone around him. He’d been to other orphanages with William many years ago when his brother had first started having altruistic ideas. They’d been dreary buildings full of nothing but want and despair.

  William might have begun this charity, but Harriett was the reason for its success. She was the reason it was a happy place.

  Frozen to the spot, he watched her, confused and unsure of his feelings. He’d wanted to help her find a husband so that he could go with a clear conscience back to the life he’d known. But that life now seemed empty and pointless. The selfish part of him wanted to keep her here in the hope that she would somehow infect him with the same light and joy he saw all around him.

  But that was impossible—wasn’t it? She was right. Up until now, there had been nothing but conflict between them. Could it ever be different? He’d pondered it before, but only as a passing fancy—could he ever become someone she would like, perhaps even admire?

  He’d never be William; that much was certain. But looking down on Harriett Dunhaven’s sunlit face, he had to know whether or not it was possible to change things between them.

  The first step would be learning how to run this place properly. Wrenching himself away from the window, he left the nursery.

  ~ * ~

  A prickle ran down Harriett’s back. He was watching her. She dare not look, but she knew. Mary had tired herself out and was ready for a nap, so she carried the toddler in and gave her to one of the nurses, then stopped by to check on Jamie. It was the last time she would see him before he went to Newcastle. The priest was coming later today to pick him up, along with Jack and several others.

  When she arrived at Jamie’s room, however, she was surprised to see he already had a visitor. Manchester was with him—and he was talking to the boy.

  “She says I’ll be able to learn more there,” Jamie was saying, “but I’d rather stay here.”

  “Why?” asked Manchester

  “I don’t know what it’ll be like there.”

  “Don’t you trust Lady Harriett to send you to a place that is good?”

  Harriett’s stomach clenched. What was he about, asking questions like that of the boy?

  “Well of course I do, but it’s just that I like it here,” said Jamie.

  “I’m sure you’ll like it there, too,” said Manchester, his voice remarkably gentle.

  “As am I,” Harriett said, coming in. Ignoring Manchester, she gave Jamie an encouraging smile. “Are you all packed and ready?”

  He nodded.

  “Excellent. Reverend Thomas should be here soon.” She sat down next to the boy. “I’ve written to the vicar all about you and the others, so it’ll be like you already know each other. Now Jamie, I want to ask you to do something for me.”

  Jamie’s brow wrinkled as he shifted to face her, all seriousness. “Anything, ma’am.”

  “There is another boy named Jack who will be going with you to Newcastle. He’s been here only a short time and doesn’t know any of the others yet. It would
mean a great deal to me to know he had someone looking after him. Can you do that for me?”

  “I’ll be glad to, ma’am,” said Jamie at once, his voice sounding suspiciously thick.

  She ruffled his hair. “Then it is settled. Now, if you will excuse Lord Manchester and me, we have some business to discuss.” She rose, but before she could reach the door, Jamie came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She turned and knelt, hugging him to herself. “It’ll be all right, Jamie. I promise. I shall expect to hear from you as soon as you’ve learned your letters, right?” He nodded against her shoulder. “There’s a good lad. Now off with you before you make me cry,” she said with a little laugh.

  He pulled away, sniffling a little—but not crying. “I’ll not forget you, ma’am. I will write, I promise. And I’ll make you proud.”

  “I know you will, Jamie. You’re a young man of your word. Now make sure you haven’t forgotten anything. I’ll send Brigitte for you when it is time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your Grace?” she said, looking at Manchester.

  He rose. “Goodbye, Jamie. And thank you.”

  The boy smiled and ducked his head as she turned and swept from the room with Manchester in tow. They traversed the hall in silence until she reached the doors to the administrative offices.

  “Why were you questioning him?” she asked, doing her best not to sound accusatory.

  “I was curious. If I intend to be involved, there are things I need to know.”

  “You have but to ask, and I will be happy to tell you whatever you wish to know.”

  A faint smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, and she knew he’d understood. Moving ahead, he opened the door and held it for her. “Managing the finances of this place is well within my capabilities, but there are other considerations. I know what a child needs in order to survive and thrive physically, but I know nothing of how to deal with children on a personal level.”

  “You seemed to be doing well enough with young Jamie,” she said, slipping past as quickly as possible.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I am too imposing a figure. He was quite nervous until he saw you. You know how to talk to children, how to put them at ease. If I am to be around them, I shall need such skills. I have no desire to be looked upon as the bogeyman every time I appear in the halls.”

  She would have laughed had he not appeared so perfectly serious. “You do realize that, with the occasional exception of inspecting the premises, you never actually have to set foot beyond your office?”

  “Yes, but that is not how William conducted business here, is it?”

  Harriett blinked in surprise. Since when was he concerned with what his brother had done?

  “I’ve heard the others,” continued Manchester. “Nurse Hayes speaks of how my brother ‘made the rounds’ and visited the children every day when he was here. I’ll never be William,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “But I can be taught to be more like him.”

  “Why?” she blurted before thinking better of it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

  “Yes, you should,” he insisted. “You and my brother began this charity for the right reasons. I never mentioned it, but when he first had the idea for this place, William took me with him to see several of the other orphanages here in London. They are nothing like this.”

  How well she knew it. Having been to visit others in an effort to forge partnerships, she’d seen what they were like—and she’d determined that the Foundling Hospital would be different.

  “I run my estates well enough,” he continued, “but my ways are not yours and this place is not an estate. I would out of sheer ignorance destroy what you’ve built here. I understand that now. There are complex systems in place here, systems that are working well. I’ve no wish to upset them.”

  It took great effort not to gape at him in openmouthed astonishment.

  He continued, his expression growing pained, “I realize it is an enormous personal imposition, but I am asking you to teach me more than the running of a charity. Which is why after you leave, I would like for you to remain available for consultation on matters pertaining to this place, should the need arise. It is my understanding there is a committee of ladies that—”

  “The Women’s Charity League of London, yes,” she said, sparing him further discomfort. “I am a member. And I shall be delighted to provide assistance whenever it is required. I’m sure my future husband will be happy to allow it,” she added deliberately.

  A queer look entered his eyes. The next instant, it was gone. “For the sake of those in our care, I hope so.”

  In our care. What a strange thing it was to realize they now had something in common besides William. “Not to be patronizing, but I think your brother would be proud.”

  He returned her tentative smile with a wry grimace. “He would no doubt say it is far too late in the coming.”

  “No, he would not. He would say it is never too late to do the right thing.”

  Seventeen

  “You look the very devil,” said Rich, frowning.

  “I probably look a lot better than I feel at the moment,” Roland replied, throwing himself into one of the armchairs in his friend’s untidy salon.

  “Well, you have all the appearance of a whipped cur,” observed the other man, levering himself up to go and pour two glasses of port. He handed Roland one. “Here, you seem as though you could use a bit of fortification.”

  Roland downed it in two gulps, ignoring the way his friend’s brows rose.

  “That bad, is it?” said Rich, taking back the empty glass and giving him the one he’d intended to drink himself.

  He drained that one too. “You have no idea.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “It’s Harriett. I—”

  “I knew it!” crowed Rich. “What has the little hell spawn done now?”

  “It’s not what she’s done; it’s what I’ve done,” Roland confessed, holding out his glass.

  Rich fetched the decanter to refill it, as well as to get another glass for himself. “Oh, do tell.”

  Roland rubbed his face with his free hand as his friend poured. “I’ve made a bloody mess of things. I’ve put myself where I don’t belong and now I cannot back out of it. I wanted to help her, but…” He watched as Rich sat to regard him with sympathetic yet undeniably eager eyes. “I thought things would be easier if I called a truce and made an alliance with her. Now I wish I’d left well enough alone.”

  “Ah, so you’ve allied yourself with the devil-woman.”

  He almost retorted that she wasn’t the devil—far from it—but what would be the point? “I did as you suggested,” he went on. “And it appears to be working. She has agreed to help me until a replacement can be found.”

  “She is leaving then? Oh, well done, man,” said Rich, clapping. “I’m impressed. And here you led me to believe she’s the sort to dig in her heels and be mulish. How did you convince her?”

  “I didn’t. She was already planning to leave at the end of the Season.”

  “Then it appears all of your problems are solved. Congratulations.”

  “Yes. Congratulations,” Roland muttered, taking another swallow of port.

  Rich peered at him. “Unless you have now decided you wish her to stay, that is.”

  Roland shot up out of the chair and began to pace. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” he said, furious. “I thought I wanted her gone, but now I cannot see the place continuing without her.”

  “You mean you can’t see you continuing without her,” corrected Rich. “You’ve grown accustomed to her, haven’t you?”

  He stopped his pacing and stared at Rich. Was that it? Was it that she’d become so familiar a fixture in his life that he didn’t wish to lose her, even if it meant this constant turmoil?

  “It would stand to reason,” continued his friend. “Then, too, she is the sole remaining connection to your brother.”

>   “No. That is not part of it,” Roland said, shaking his head. “I know that much with absolute certainty.”

  Rich’s gaze pierced him. “You realize of course that her previous engagement to him is nothing to prevent your own pursuit of her, should you so desire.”

  “Yes, of course I know that!” Roland snarled.

  “My, but she has got you in knots, hasn’t she?”

  Deflated, Roland again dropped back into his chair. “Society might not care, but she does.”

  “I’m sure you could persuade her to overcome her reticence,” said Rich, smiling into his glass.

  But Roland knew better. “I’ve tried. But every time she looks at me, I know she sees him.” How could she not? She’d loved William. Perhaps it hadn’t been a passionate sort of love, but they’d been happy, content. What could he possibly offer her that would compare with her view of perfection? “I cannot compete with a dead man—a dead saint. I’ll never be William.”

  “Perhaps you’re going about this the wrong way,” suggested Rich. “Of course you’ll never be William, but you can prove just as—”

  “I’m already attempting to do so,” Roland cut in. “I’m trying to show her I’m just as capable as he was, just as worthy. The problem is that no matter what I achieve, I’m doomed to fall short of her expectations. I faced the fact that William was the better man long ago. Nothing I can do will ever change that.”

  “What utter rubbish!” snorted Rich, earning himself a glare. “This has nothing to do with worthiness, man. If you would be so kind as to not interrupt, I had been going to say that you can prove just as appealing to her, but in a different way.”

  Confused—and not a little chagrined—Roland nodded for him to continue.

  “William was not the better man,” said his friend. “Your brother had his shortcomings, too. According to everything you’ve told me about him, he was overly pious, critical of everyone—which tells me he thought himself perfect, which in turn tells me he was an arrogant prat—and you complained constantly about how obsessive the man was. No doubt she saw those same qualities in him.”