Love's Promise (40 page)

Anne loved Phillip, and the Duke’s interference had simply hardened her resolve.

“Are you all packed?” Fanny inquired.

“Yes.” Anne grinned from ear to ear. “I can’t wait to be off.”

They were eloping to Scotland, a drastic remedy the Duke couldn’t prevent and obviously hadn’t realized was a possibility.

When he learned of what they’d done, he would be apoplectic, and Fanny was thrilled to know that someone was brave enough to antagonize him and that
someone
was her brother.

“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Phillip asked as he had a dozen times already.

“I’m not joining you on your wedding trip,” Fanny said. “Your bride might kill me in my sleep.”

“I don’t mind,” Anne responded. “I really don’t, Fanny. I hate to leave you here alone.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Phillip grumbled.

“All right, I’m not fine
yet
. But I will be.” She forced a smile. “I’m feeling better every day. When you return, I’ll be good as new.”

It was a huge lie. She doubted she’d ever fully recover from the summer and fall she’d endured with Michael Wainwright. She was pregnant and unwed, but she had her whole life ahead of her. She would manage; she would survive.

“What about my country house?” Phillip pressed. “What have you decided?”

“I would like it very much,” Fanny answered.

“I’m glad. It’s an excellent plan for you.”

Phillip had property in the country, and he’d offered to let her live there for as long as she liked. She’d mulled and stewed, then agreed that it was for the best.

While London was the most likely spot to stumble across Thomas, any continued residence also meant that she might bump into Lord Henley, which she couldn’t bear to ponder. She had to go far away—and stay away.

“I’ll send a message to the housekeeper,” Phillip said, “to advise her that you’ll be coming. She’ll have everything prepared for your arrival.”

“Thank you.”

“And we’ll travel straight there, when we get back from Scotland.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Will you be there by Christmas, do you suppose?”

“Barring any terrible weather that clogs the roads.”

“But,” Anne added, “we’ll only visit a week or two. My betrothed has promised me a romantic honeymoon in warm, sunny Italy.”

“You lucky girl,” Fanny said.

“
I
am the lucky one,” Phillip declared, smiling at Anne, hugging her tight.

“Yes, you are,” Fanny concurred.

The next hour was busy, as trunks were loaded, horses hitched, instructions given.

All too soon, the happy couple was in the carriage, laughing out the window as the driver cracked the whip and the horses began to pull.

Long after they’d disappeared, Fanny waved and waved, and finally, she spun and went inside. It was dreadfully quiet, the energy Anne and Phillip brought to the rooms having departed with them.

Was this to be her existence from now on? Would she always be alone? The one left behind? The one waiting for others to return with tales of friendship and adventure?

She felt old and tired, and she plodded up the stairs so she could pack and proceed to the country as quickly as she could. Hopefully, before too much time had passed, London—and all that had transpired—would be naught but a poignant, distant memory.

Michael gaped at the decrepit, forbidding building. The windows were boarded over, the front door hanging from its hinge.

The place was dreary and forlorn and miserable, like a prison for hardened criminals rather than a school for male offspring of wealthy families, and he was ill at the notion of Thomas being sequestered inside.

What if Michael hadn’t come to check? What if he’d remained absorbed by events, unable to focus or deliberate?

He thought of Fanny and what she’d say if she could see what he’d permitted to happen, and he was very ashamed.

“Are you sure this is the correct address?” he asked the driver.

“This is it, milord.”

“You’re positive?”

“I grew up here,” the man said. “I know these parts like the back of my hand.”

Michael stared again, taking it all in, and he was forced to acknowledge what the Duke’s scheme had been.

When they’d initially sought custody of Thomas, the Duke had pretended it was for Thomas’s own good, but obviously, the Duke never had any of intention of assisting Thomas in any fashion that mattered. He would blithely torment his only grandson merely because the child’s parents had never wed.

For all of Michael’s life, he had listened to the Duke rant on the subject of lineage, had believed and embraced the Duke’s position, and it was humbling to learn that everything his father had ever said on the topic was wrong.

No doubt the Duke had presumed that
he
would inherit John’s estate, and that’s why he was so angry about Thomas’s windfall and so determined to shove him out of the way. With the Duke’s financial problems coming to a head, it was entirely possible that he was planning to pilfer Thomas’s fortune.

He didn’t have access to Thomas’s bank accounts, but the Duke was a wily character. He could bully others into letting him do what he oughtn’t be allowed, and Michael made a mental note to check with Thomas’s bankers when he returned to London.

“What kinds of boys are living here?” he inquired.

“Well...the natural born ones,” the man delicately replied. “The...ah...dirty little secret that the family is trying to hide.”

“It doesn’t look as if they get much for their money.”

“They don’t pay much, though. They’re not actually concerned about the boys being taught. They simply want them out of sight, so the folks at home assume they’re doing their Christian duty.”

“Why not just toss them out on the streets?” Michael mused. “Why bother at all?”

“Most don’t. These are the lucky ones, I suppose.”

Michael smirked at the word
lucky
. He didn’t imagine any of the boys would view their lots as fortunate.

“How many students are there?”

“Maybe two dozen.”

“Wait for me,” Michael said. “This might take awhile, but don’t leave.”

“I’ve got all day, milord.”

Michael proceeded to the door, and he knocked and knocked. Eventually, a sullen footman answered, and he was shown into an austere parlor, where he was advised that the headmaster would attend him shortly. The room was damp and smelled of mold, and the furniture was rickety, the carpet tattered. It was quiet as a funeral parlor, and it was difficult to envision there being any rambunctious children on the premises.

When no one appeared to help him, his temper sparked. He left the parlor and walked down the deserted corridor. At the end, he found the dining hall, and the boys were eating at two long tables. No adult was watching over them, but they were very subdued, as if afraid to make a sound.

The room was cold, no fire burning in the hearth, and the students were thin and unwashed, dressed in clothes that could only be described as rags.

He scanned the group, but didn’t see Thomas anywhere.

As he stepped inside, the boys glanced up. On noticing him, they seemed frightened, as if unsure of what he might do. They stumbled to their feet, but offered no greeting.

Michael went over to the nearest boy and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“Soup.”

Michael lifted the boy’s spoon, stirring the watery broth but finding no sign of vegetable or meat.

“Do you know Thomas Wainwright?”

“Yes.”

“Is he here?”

The boys anxiously peeked at each other.

“He’s being punished, sir. He can’t come to the table.”

Another added, “He’s not allowed meals until Wednesday.”

It was Monday afternoon.

“What did he do?” Michael inquired.

“Naught that we know of. He’s arrived as a branded troublemaker. He’s to receive regular discipline.”

“Thomas—a troublemaker?”

“Yes.”

“Sit, boys, sit. Finish your food.”

Silent, miserable, they dropped into their chairs and resumed eating.

For a few minutes, Michael studied them, then he returned to the parlor, his mind furiously working over what he’d seen.

Soon, footsteps pounded down the hall, and a fat, dour woman entered. She wore an expensive dress and jewelry, and instantly, Michael knew where the tuition was spent.

“May I help you?”

“I am Michael Wainwright, Viscount Henley.”

He towered over her, intimidating her with all that he was, with all that he represented, but she was unimpressed. She assessed him dubiously, then performed what had to be the fleetest curtsy in history.

“What can I do for you, my lord?”

“Are you the headmistress?”

“No, my husband is in charge.”

“May I speak with him?”

“He’s...indisposed.”

“I am here to retrieve my nephew.”

“And who is that?”

“Thomas Wainwright.”

“His grandfather is Duke of Clarendon,” the woman pointed out.

“He certain is.”

“So...the Duke is your father?” She gulped with dismay, unnerved by the prospect.

“I talked with the other students, and they say Thomas is being punished. Why?”

“The Duke advised us of his obstinate nature.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He requested that we assist him in purging it.”

“How?”

“With loss of privileges, accompanied by whippings when necessary.”

Michael simply couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was like something out of a medieval fairy tale, and he’d stumbled on the wicked witch.

“How many boys are here?” he queried.

“Seventeen.”

“Line them up by my carriage. I’m taking them all with me.”

“What did you say?”

“I’m taking them with me. We’ll walk to the village, and I’ll make arrangements for them once we arrive.”

He didn’t know what he’d do with them, but he couldn’t abandon them to her brutality.

“This is highly irregular,” she groused. “I have to discuss it with my husband.”

“Please do,” Michael said. “Wake him up and tell him to pack his bags.”

“What?”

“When I’m through with the two of you, hopefully, you’ll be in prison.”

“We’re just following the Duke’s orders,” she stubbornly claimed. “We have to carry out the family’s wishes.”

“If you open your mouth again, I will see you hanged. Now go fetch my nephew, and you had best pray to God that he’s safe and hale.”

Many minutes later, Thomas appeared in the doorway. He was in the same poor condition—thin, grubby, disheveled—as the boys in the dining hall.

Michael was dumbfounded, his shame like a yoke around his neck.

Oh, Fanny
, he thought,
I am so sorry
.

“Hello, Thomas,” Michael said.

“Hello, sir.”

Michael couldn’t figure out how to fill the void. No words seemed appropriate. There was nothing about Thomas that resembled the happy, boisterous child he’d met the previous summer, and he was shocked by how much damage had been inflicted.

“I’ve come to take you back to London.”

“Would I get to live with my Aunt Fanny?”

“Well...no.”

“Are we going to Clarendon House?”

Michael hadn’t really considered where they would reside.

“Either there or Wainwright Manor.”

“Then thank you very much, but I’d rather stay here.”

On discovering that Thomas would choose the hideous institution over their family’s mansions, Michael was deeply embarrassed.

“The other boys are coming with me, Thomas. It was wrong for all of you to be treated this way, so no one is going to remain. I can’t leave you behind.”

“I don’t want to come with you. I don’t like you anymore.”

“That’s too bad, because I still love you very much.”

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have let Lady Rebecca send me here.” He looked so young, so aggrieved. “Why did you? Why did you let her?”

“I didn’t, Thomas,” Michael quietly said, worried over how to convince him, how to break through his obvious skepticism. “I didn’t know what she had done. I swear it. As soon as I found out, I raced here as fast as I could.”

He held out his hand, urging Thomas to take it, but Thomas simply frowned and refused to move nearer. Their mutual fondness had been crushed by Michael’s indifference and disregard.

“I never misbehaved, sir,” Thomas insisted. “I don’t care what she told you. I always tried my best. I was always a good boy.”

“Of course you were.”

“I don’t want to see Grandfather or Lady Rebecca ever again.” At the prospect, his entire body shuddered. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like them.”

“I don’t blame you. I don’t like them much, myself.” He squatted down so they were eye to eye. “And listen to me: I’ve decided not to marry Lady Rebecca, so she’s gone from our lives. And your grandfather can be gone, too, if you wish it.”

“He’s been very cruel to me, sir. Very cruel.”

Tears surged and dripped down his cheeks, and he swiped them away.

“I won’t let him hurt you again, Thomas.”

“I don’t think I could bear it.”

Thomas seemed to have aged sixty years, seemed to have had every spark of optimism and youthful merriment drummed out of him. Michael wondered about Thomas’s
other
grandfather, Fanny’s adoptive father who’d been a vicar, and by all accounts, an honest and decent man.