by Merry Farmer
Just a Little Temptation
Merry Farmer
JUST A LITTLE TEMPTATION
Copyright ©2020 by Merry Farmer
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your digital retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)
ASIN: B085F2CZ5D
Paperback ISBN: 9798639272516
Click here for a complete list of other works by Merry Farmer.
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Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
London – April, 1890
Stephen Siddel had his hands full. More than full.
“Sir! Fanny is hogging all the biscuits!”
“I can’t find my other shoe, sir!”
“Jane dipped my braid in ink!”
“No I didn’t!”
“Sir, it isn’t fair!”
The second Stephen stepped into the great hall of his orphanage, chaos erupted. Without fail. It was no wonder. Two dozen girls between the ages of five and fifteen ran mad in the spacious room, finishing up their breakfasts, attempting to complete last-minute schoolwork, playing with ragged dolls or roughly-carved wooden animals, chattering up a storm, and generally behaving the way all spritely and contented children did. The pandemonium always made Stephen smile, in spite of the exhaustion it inevitably brought with it.
“Jane, the only things that should be dipped in ink are pens,” he said, adjusting his spectacles and walking down the center aisle between two long tables and resting a hand on the shoulder of a ten-year-old with freckles and hair that was still cropped short after an unfortunate bout of lice. “Your hair will grow back in no time, so there’s no reason to be envious.”
“Yes, sir,” the girl said with a sigh, glancing adoringly up at him.
“And Katie, let’s work on your tattling, shall we?” he grinned at the girl with the end of her braid blackened.
“She shouldn’t have done it,” Katie protested. Stephen gave her a frank look and her shoulders sagged. “Yes, sir.”
Stephen walked on, “Fanny, one biscuit only until you finish your maths.” He plucked the mostly empty bowl of biscuits from the end of the table as he reached a plump eleven-year-old and her coterie of studious friends.
“I was sharing them,” Fanny reassured him, peering up at him with moon eyes.
“I know, sweetheart.” He rested a hand on her head before carrying the bowl on to the head table.
“Sir, can you help me find my shoe?” a small girl named Ivy asked, tugging on the tails of his coat.
Stephen turned to find he’d developed a small entourage of girls. They looked to him as though he held the answers to every question in the universe in his hands. “When was the last time you had two shoes?” he asked Ivy in a kind voice.
“I don’t know.” Ivy shrugged.
Her younger sister, Lori, slipped a sticky hand into Stephen’s and leaned against him for no apparent reason. The gesture lifted his heart, making him smile in spite of the chaos that still ruled.
“Did you check under the stairs?” he asked. “I’ve no idea why, but missing things always seem to show up under the stairs.”
“We didn’t check there,” Ivy admitted, filling with energy. “Come on,” she said to her friends, turning and dashing off down the aisle between tables.
“No running,” Stephen called after them, though he might as well have been telling them not to be young.
A game of tag had popped up on one side of the room, under the windows that beamed with morning sunshine. The sun illuminated the sad state of the great hall. It was large and bright, but half the wallpaper had peeled away months ago, leaving grubby plaster exposed. The wainscoting needed a thorough scrub, and perhaps a coat of paint. The floor was scuffed and worn. It most certainly could have used a polish. The curtains that hung from the windows—or what was left of them after the moths had had their way—were in desperate need of laundering. The entire orphanage had a run-down, drab feel to it. At least, in appearance. Stephen was fiercely proud of the fact that, underneath the wear and tear, his home, the home he’d provided for the unfortunate girls who had been cast off by an uncaring society, was filled with joy and love.
Hard on the heels of that blissful thought came a sigh from Mrs. Ross, who was seated at the head table, several ledgers spread in front of her.
“It’s no use, Mr. Siddel,” she said, shaking her head and rubbing her temples. “There’s far more going out than there is coming in. At this rate, we might have to shut our doors by the end of the year.”
“We’re not going to shut our doors,” Stephen told her, still maintaining his smile. “These girls have nowhere to go and no one to care for them if not us.”
As if to emphasize his point, a thin, tow-head girl skipped over to him, silently handing him a drawing of a bird that she’d just finished. Stephen took it, adjusted his spectacles as he glanced at it, and exaggerated his delight as he studied the drawing.
“This is beautiful, Ginny,” he told her resting a hand on her head. “You’ve the makings of a brilliant artist.”
Ginny smiled up at him, her two front teeth missing, then wheeled around and darted back to her place at one of the tables.
Mrs. Ross humphed. “The way you let them waste paper is a sin. Are you aware of how much paper costs?”
“It’s a price I’m willing to pay to foster creativity,” Stephen said, placing Ginny’s drawing on the table.
Mrs. Ross glanced at it with a fairly impressed look, and Mrs. Ross wasn’t generally free with her praise. She had seen more than most people in her fifty years, which was reflected in her grey hair—which she still managed to style fashionably—and the lines on her face. Stephen had been lucky to find Mrs. Ross, and her daughter, Annie, when he’d inherited the building that housed the orphanage ten years ago, at the tender age of twenty. Few people would even consider hiring a former prostitute and her illegitimate daughter, especially to run an establishment meant to care for children, but Stephen had recognized the older woman’s sharp mind and savvy business sense right from the start.
She had recognized a few key things about him as well. Things he desperately needed to keep hidden if he was to maintain his place in what passed for society in East London. She had been willing to keep his secrets right from the beginning, and he had been qui
ck to give her a secure living and a roof over her head.
“You’d better hope the concert at the Bardess Mansion next week brings in a flood of donations,” Mrs. Ross warned him. “We’re living hand-to-mouth as it is.”
“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Ross,” Stephen told her with a wink. “Something always comes along to rescue us just before we’re thrown into the fire.”
Mrs. Ross hummed doubtfully, then pulled the largest ledger closer to her. She did have a point, though. They needed to perform outstandingly at the Bardess Mansion concert so that the high and mighty of society opened their purses. The wallpaper and curtains depended on it. Although, if the concert proved to be a disappointment, Stephen had other places to turn for help. He’d already appealed to The Brotherhood and had faith that the organization would come through for him.
Until that happened, God helped those who helped themselves.
“Girls!” He clapped his hands, doing his best to snag the attention of the noisy, busy room. “Girls, it’s time for song practice.”
Several of his young charges erupted into shouts of excitement. A few raced from one end of the hall to the piano in the front corner. Fanny and her group closed up their schoolbooks, stacking them neatly on the corner of the table. Katie and Jane appeared to be bickering and hadn’t paid attention to his announcement. Stephen started toward them, dodging pigtails, skirts, and giggles as the girls made their way toward the piano, where Annie Ross already sat, playing the first notes of a simple hymn. The piano was badly out of tune, but the music of a dozen young voices breaking into song was like heaven.
That slice of heaven burst into the full glow of paradise as Stephen glanced to the doorway and spotted the most handsome gentleman he’d ever seen. He stood a little straighter and touched his spectacles to make certain he was seeing right. The man was clearly a part of the aristocracy. His clothes said as much. They were of fine fabrics and fit exquisitely, though Stephen knew he shouldn’t be studying the man’s trim waist and broad shoulders. His thoughts refused to settle as he took in the man’s dark, curly hair, sparkling, hazel eyes, and shapely lips. If he didn’t replace thought with action, he’d be in trouble before he could say “boo”.
“Can I help you?” he asked, striding up the aisle between the tables to meet the man.
“Yes, I’m looking for Mr. Stephen Siddel,” the gentleman said.
Stephen’s heart flipped in his chest. Thank you, Lord. Aloud, he said, “I’m Stephen Siddel,” and extended a hand.
The gentleman took it with a pleased grin. “Lord Maxwell Hillsboro,” he introduced himself.
“My lord.” Stephen nodded respectfully.
“Oh, none of that,” Lord Hillsboro laughed. “I’m barely a lord at all. Only by default. I’m a younger son, and it was only a stroke of luck that my father had a subsidiary title left over to give me the honorific. In truth, I’m desperate to get as far away from all that as possible.” He was rambling, and a charming flush splashed his cheeks.
“I see.” Stephen smiled in spite of the voice in his head that told him to behave. Lord Hillsboro’s hand felt strong and warm in his as they shook, which made good sense hard to hold onto. The man really did have the most fetching eyes. He hadn’t had such a strong reaction to a stranger in years. “How can I help you, Lord Hillsboro?” he managed to ask.
“Actually, I was hoping I could help you,” Lord Hillsboro said.
Stephen’s brow inched up. The music from the other side of the room grew louder as the majority of the girls gathered around the piano to practice. Stephen glanced over his shoulder, spotting Katie and Jane still squabbling at their table.
“Excuse me for just one moment, Lord Hillsboro. Then we can find a quieter place to speak.” Stephen held up a finger, then headed over to Katie and Jane. “Girls, it’s time for song practice,” he reminded them.
“My hair is turning black,” Katie said with an indignant frown.
“At least you have hair,” Jane huffed.
“Song practice,” Stephen reminded them, tapping their shoulders to get them to stand.
The two girls rose reluctantly from their bench, glaring at each other. Stephen escorted them away from the table and over to the piano. He checked on Lord Hillsboro, sending him an apologetic look as he did. But Lord Hillsboro looked utterly charmed by the scene. That fact did nothing to stop the pulsating feeling in his heart…and lower. He’d been around young girls too long and had grown a sentimental heart, just like them. Other parts of him were far more grown up. Parts he needed to bring in line. Lord Hillsboro would probably be appalled if he could read Stephen’s mind.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized as he returned to the man and gestured for him to follow him down the hall to his office. “Things tend to be a bit chaotic around here in the morning.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder to the gorgeous man as he turned the corner into his shabby office. He laughed. “Things tend to be chaotic around here in the afternoon and evening too.”
“I imagine so with a houseful of children,” Lord Hillsboro said good-naturedly. “Which is why I’m here today.”
“Oh?” Stephen gestured for him to sit on one of the mismatched chairs in front of his desk. He would much rather have sat in a chair beside him, but protocol dictated that he hide behind the desk. Which was probably for the best, considering what just the sight of the handsome nobleman was doing to him. He straightened his glasses, then folded his hands on the top of the desk. “How can I help you?”
“As I mentioned,” Lord Hillsboro said, sitting on the edge of his chair and leaning toward Stephen, “I am but a humble younger son of a noble family. And as such, no one has ever expected much from me.”
“I doubt that,” Stephen smiled. Good Lord, he was flirting.
Lord Hillsboro laughed. “Believe me. Neither my family nor anyone else has ever expected anything from me. But I expect things of myself.”
“Oh?” Stephen was intrigued by the decisiveness in the man’s eyes.
“Yes. I want nothing more than to create a life for myself outside of the prevue of my family, even my class, if you can believe that. I intend to use a portion of my inheritance, such as it is, to cause real good in this world,” Lord Hillsboro explained. “I want to contribute to society, not just benefit from it. I want to build something instead of just enjoying the fruits of someone else’s labor.”
His energy was contagious. “A very admirable goal,” Stephen said, leaning in as if drawn toward him.
“Your orphanage was suggested to me by…a friend, as a potential outlet for my charitable impulses.”
A rush of joy filled Stephen. Suggested by a friend? Could that friend be The Brotherhood? The timing of Lord Hillsboro’s arrival coincided with his request for help. And if The Brotherhood had sent the man, it was highly likely he shared Stephen’s tastes. The possibility thrilled him. And filled him with anxiety.
“We could certainly use help,” he said, smiling far more than he should have, but inching back as though Lord Hillsboro were fire and if he got too close he would burn. “The orphanage is home to twenty-five girls between the ages of five and fifteen. It’s quite a stretch to keep them all fed, clothed, and educated. We do our best, though.”
“The girls I saw seem quite happy.” Lord Hillsboro grinned at him just as openly as Stephen was grinning.
The idea that they were flirting as outrageously as any other coquettes left Stephen with a surreal feeling. “I do my best to provide a loving home for them,” he explained. “With the help of Mrs. Ross and her daughter, Annie.”
“How long have you been running this establishment?” Lord Hillsboro asked.
“Just over ten years. I inherited the building from an uncle. It was a boarding school before, but had closed a year or so before my uncle’s death. I intended—”
His explanation was cut short as a small boy in a starched, navy blue uniform wandered into the room. He ignored Lord Hillsboro as he walked around the desk and hoppe
d up onto Stephen’s lap. Once there, he rested his head against Stephen’s shoulder and poked his thumb into his mouth.
“Hello, Jerry,” Stephen laughed, writhing awkwardly. His mood had shot into an entirely inappropriate direction as he talked with Lord Hillsboro. He desperately needed to pull himself together. Anything that split his focus away from his responsibilities to the children was dangerous, even if it was tempting. “Tired of the sisters today, are we?” he asked.
Jerry nodded and continued sucking his thumb.
“The sisters?” Lord Hillsboro asked.
“The Sisters from Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow up the street,” Stephen explained. “They run an orphanage too. Very different from ours.”
“I see.” Lord Hillsboro waved at Jerry with a friendly smile.
“We have a bit of a rivalry,” Stephen went on. “Mostly because my methods of childrearing are quite different from those of the nuns.”
“I can imagine,” Lord Hillsboro laughed.
“Jerry here likes a bit of respite from the rigors of the nuns now and then.” Stephen ruffled the young boy’s hair.
“I can imagine we all would.” Lord Hillsboro beamed, glancing up and meeting Stephen’s eyes. The mirth in those eyes was exactly what he didn’t need with a child sitting on his lap.
“Why don’t I give you a tour of the orphanage so you can see the sorts of needs we have?” he asked, rising and setting Jerry on his feet. He had other sorts of needs he wagered Lord Hillsboro could satisfy as well. Needs he hadn’t even considered for ages. It was sheer madness for him to consider them now. He took Jerry’s hand, hoping the infusion of innocence would keep him on the straight and narrow.
