Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (13 page)

D
rawing Edwina up alongside him, Prescott guided her toward the Vaughns’ abode, where evidence of the ball going on inside escaped from the open windows. Light from what seemed like a thousand candles spilled out onto the street and the sounds of an animated crowd and the chords of a minuet competed with the clattering horses’ hooves and raucous drivers and servants outside.

As Edwina fell in step beside him, she recognized that Prescott had shortened his stride to complement hers. It was likely a tactic he used with all of his lady companions. The thought rankled even though it shouldn’t.

She knew getting into this that Prescott Devane was no saint. Moreover, it was probably his vast experience with women that had enabled him to ignite her heretofore unknown passion.

The kiss, although earth-shattering to her, had obviously meant little enough to him.

Edwina couldn’t decide if she was relieved or upset by the thought.

Regardless, she needed to keep her mind on the plan, as he so gallingly did. The kiss that had rattled her senses had left him seemingly unfazed. She should be happy he wasn’t easily distracted. Thankful that he could keep his mind sharp, his senses keen, and the blackmailer foremost in his mind. Unlike how she’d forgotten about…well, everything, in the heat of that passionate kiss.

And she’d especially forgotten that her kisses were supposed to be repulsive.

Her mind still whirled with the revelations that she might just be built for passion after all. That she might actually appeal to a man, and a man who knew quite a lot about desire. Heady, mind-boggling, knee-melting desire…

Oh, Lord, if she didn’t stop lingering on that kiss, she’d likely go mad and not do Ginny a bit of good.

Purposefully, she pushed the whole matter from her mind, trying not to notice how her skirts kept brushing up against Prescott’s muscled thigh.

Ginny. She’d think of Ginny.

Prescott guided Edwina toward the alley running beside the Vaughns’ house. As servants walked to and fro carrying various supplies, a few shot curious glances their way.

As they penetrated the muck-scented lane, the sounds of the street diminished behind them and the music spilling from the windows above signaled that the orchestra had moved on to a Scottish reel.

“We’re not taking the servants’ entrance are we?” she asked, somewhat horrified. On the night of the ball it would be a veritable thoroughfare on market day and they would be the focus of hundreds of questioning eyes.

“No,” he reassured. “It would be too busy. And too overt.” He guided her into a recess with a closed door and banged on the wooden entry with his knuckles.

As they waited in the darkness, Edwina couldn’t help but feel a strange excitement; jumping from a carriage, stolen kisses in an alcove, secret entrances, well, it all felt so…illicit.

Suddenly the sounds of the bolt sliding in the barrel could be heard. The door creaked slowly open and light streamed into the passage.

Edwina blinked in the sudden glare, then a giant hulking form filled the entryway, blocking out any light from inside. She moved to step back, but Prescott pressed a hand over hers and held her closely to his side.

A sudden irrational thought flashed in her mind: She was alone in a darkened alleyway with Prescott and a giant stranger. What was she getting herself into?

“Don’t worry, my lady,” Prescott leaned over and whispered. “He’s a friend.”

The reassuring tenor of his voice and the knowledge of everything she knew about Prescott eased her qualms. But only somewhat. She reminded herself that she, and only she, was responsible for her safety and resolved to maintain her guard.

“Hello, Tomlin,” Prescott hailed.

The man stepped farther into the passage and the light spilled out of the doorway illuminating him in a
dim halo.

Edwina had to crane her neck as the man had to be one of the largest specimens Edwina had ever seen. He stood at least two full heads taller than Prescott, but it was hard to tell the man’s exact height because of the lofty puff of wiry jet-black hair piled on top of his enormous head. A jaunty white cap perched in the black hair reminded Edwina of how a bird might sit in a bristly nest. It matched his white uniform, whose only adornment was gold embroidery on the high, stiff collar and cuffs.

The man’s tea-skinned face was broad, just like the rest of him and upon seeing Prescott, his wide lips split into a yellow-toothed grin. “Upon my ’onor! It’s the famous Prescott Devane!” The man’s booming voice was so deep it sounded as if it was tumbling from a mountain.

Tomlin slapped a beefy hand to Prescott’s back and Prescott barely held back a wince. “When Val told me you was coming, I almost busted a seam in me fancy new uniform.” He gestured to his gold-embroidered white coat. “Like it?”

“Sally must love washing the chocolate stains out of that,” Prescott replied.

“His lordship has his laundress cleaning my uniforms. And Sally’s thrilled to be done with it. Thinks it’s Christmastide every day, she does.”

Prescott pursed his lips and nodded, seemingly impressed. “That’s a sure sign you’re moving up, Tomlin.”

The man’s great shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Things are better ’n yesterday, but who’s ta say—”

“Not as good as tomorrow,” Prescott finished for him.

The men shared a smile.

Edwina realized that there was an easiness between them, one she hadn’t witnessed when Prescott was with Dr. Winner or Fanny. She wondered how they knew each other.

Tomlin scowled. “But why didn’t ya come to me party?”

“I was feeling a bit…under the weather.”

Even though Prescott had an amazing excuse, an injury from saving a young girl’s life, he didn’t seem to make much of it. Interesting.

Tomlin pointed a sausagelike finger at Prescott. “Next year then. But no excuses, naw. We go too far back ta let things fade.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

To Edwina, the big man explained. “Prescott ’ere, ’e’s the one who made me go back into the kitchen when all the other lads were calling me ‘Tomlin the Tartlet’ and ‘Pastry Fingers’ an’ a lot of other things I can’t say in yer fine company. ’E tol’ me the same wretches that made fun o’ me would soon be beggin’ for a taste o’ the crumbs from my plate.”

“You’re ‘Little Tom,’ the famous pastry cook!” Edwina suddenly realized.

“So you’ve heard of him?” Prescott asked.

Recalling what Janelle had said, she gushed, “My friend told me that your pastry temple ruins could rival Rome’s and that they tasted positively decadent.”

The great man beamed. “The Lewiston grand dinner last month. That was one of my better
Pièces Montrés.
”

“Not as good as the one you made for Headmaster Dunn’s birthday, I’m sure.” Prescott turned to Edwina,
his handsome face animated in the dim light. “It was magnificent. An exact replica of Andersen Hall, gates, stables, dairy and all. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Prescott shook his head, obviously amazed. “He made the staff of Andersen Hall out of marzipan. It was brilliant!”

Tomlin cackled. “Getting that sour expression on the miniature Mrs. Nagel was the toughest part!”

Prescott grinned. “I don’t know how you got the broom in her hand…”

“Landing right on Timmy’s head!” Tomlin chuckled and his great shoulders shook.

“Do you remember when Headmaster Dunn ate himself?” Prescott beamed so widely his face looked younger, freer. “The kids screamed with merriment!”

“It was a fine day.” Tomlin nodded, smiling. Then his face fell and his brow furrowed. He sighed. “A fine…day.”

Heavy silence draped over them like a shroud as Prescott’s and Tomlin’s gazes locked in soundless empathy.

Prescott was the first to look away as he coughed into his fist. “I’m around you for a few moments, Tomlin, you big oaf, and I completely forget my manners.” Not meeting her eye, he gestured to Edwina. “Lady Ross, may I introduce Tomlin Burk, pastry cook extraordinaire.”

Tomlin bowed. “At yer service, me lady.”

Edwina nodded, feeling an ache in her chest for the loss these men shared. “I know it may sound trite, but anyone who knew Headmaster Dunn is now all the poorer for his loss.”

Tomlin nodded. “’E was as good as they come, my
lady. As good as they come.” He fixed a hard gaze on Prescott. “I heard about Catherine.”

Edwina felt Prescott stiffen.

“’Twas a shock ta be sure. But part o’ me ain’t surprised.” Tomlin opened his hands wide. “How are you—”

“Thanks for letting us in this way, Tomlin,” Prescott interrupted. “I didn’t want to be announced. You know how I hate drawing attention to myself.”

The big man nodded, seemingly accepting Prescott’s rebuff. “Oh, I’m glad to see ya, Devane. Even though, as usual, y’er going where y’er not invited.”

It was nice how Prescott took the blame for her not wanting to be announced. But more importantly, who was Catherine and why was Prescott so uncomfortable discussing her?

Tomlin smiled at his friend. “Look, I gotta get back. I’ve got soufflés in the oven. Sally’s been askin’ after ya. When can I tell her you’ll be comin’ by again?”

“Her birthday’s in a few weeks. How about then?”

The big man wagged a meaty finger. “I’m holdin’ ya to it, Prescott Devane.”

Prescott’s handsome face split into a smile, not as full as before but it carried great warmth. “I’ll be there with bells on, Tomlin. So long as Sally does the cooking. I’ll not be eating any of the rubbish you call food.”

“Oh, don’t ya worry. She don’t let me in her kitchen. ’Ere I’m the king o’ my domain. At home I’m lucky if I get ta wash a spoon!” the man complained, but looked pleased as pudding with the situation.

Raising a brow, Prescott gestured to the house with his cane. “Don’t you have soufflés that need tending?”

Tomlin waved a meaty hand. “Oh, be off with ya. Follow this corridor, then make yer first left, up the stairs, then follow the music to get to the main ballroom.” Turning to Edwina, Tomlin jerked his thumb at Prescott. “Watch yerself with this one, me lady. ’E has a way of gettin’ ya into fixes”—he winked—“that y’er glad he dragged ya into!”

Grinning, he turned on his heel and lumbered back down the hallway, turned a corner and was gone.

Shaking his head, Prescott chuckled. “Big oaf.”

Edwina was fascinated by this aspect of Prescott. Discovering the many aspects of his character was like peeling away at the layers of an onion, but without the tears or smelly hands. These intriguing glimpses into his life before, and his character now, only heightened her already voracious curiosity about this man. “You and Tomlin, you grew up together at Andersen Hall?”

“Sally, too. They’re fine people.”

“Is Catherine someone you grew up with as well?”

The arm beneath her hand flexed and his face seemed to harden. “She’s of no consequence.”

Although his tone brooked no opposition, she found herself probing further, like an itch that must be scratched. “Was she likewise at Headmaster Dunn’s birthday celebration?”

He looked away. “If you must know, she works at Andersen Hall. She’s on the staff there, just like Mrs. Nagel.”

Edwina somehow doubted that Catherine was like Mrs. Nagel. His reaction stirred her already curious nature and a slight twinge of something unfamiliar stung like a poison in her heart. “Yet, you call her by her Christian name.”

He was quiet a long moment, then sighed with a mock sense of being put out. “You, my lady, are very dogged. And just as astute. Mrs. Nagel will forever be the stern woman who smacked me over the head with a broom whenever I misbehaved. Which was quite often, I might add. Catherine grew up at Andersen Hall and now helps manage the place. So it is hard to think of her as…Mrs. Dunn.”

Mrs. So she was married.
The tightness inside Edwina’s chest eased and she felt better somehow. Not that it really mattered, did it? “Dunn? Is she related to Headmaster Dunn?”

“Yes. She’s married to his son.” He motioned to the open door. “Now, stop stalling and let us go inside and have a merry old time. Shall we?”

Had she been stalling? Perhaps that was the reason for her strange reaction to Mrs. Catherine Dunn.

Edwina stared at the open doorway a moment, suddenly mindful of all that lay ahead. Self-consciously she adjusted her hair.

“Tomlin is the only ogre in the building, Edwina,” Prescott gently teased. “Upon my honor.” He rested his free hand across his heart. “No one will dare try to eat you while I’m on duty.”

Despite her anxiety about the ball, she couldn’t help her lips from lifting at the corners. “I suppose I’m unused to playing the damsel in distress…Prescott.”

“Oh, but you must, for the escapade to begin. All the best tales have a lady in need of rescuing. It gives the hero something to do. Else he’d be sitting around dram-drinking and playing dice. Now where’s the adventure in that?”

Earth-spinning kisses, jumping from carriages, secret
entrances and giant pastry cooks…He was right. Being with Prescott Devane was like an adventure. And if she treated the night as merely an exciting escapade, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so awful after all. She certainly had a wonderful escort…

Nodding, Edwina moved toward the candlelit doorway and let him lead her inside.

“A
h, there you are, Edwina.”

Lifting her hands from the stone balustrade overlooking the moonlit gardens, Edwina turned. “Ginny! So good to see you.” She couldn’t quite hide the relief from her voice.

Ginny’s arthritic hip must have been bothering her; she leaned heavily on a cane for support as she crossed the veranda, her peach-colored skirts swooshing with every step.

Janelle followed close behind, waving her lacy fan about like a weapon. “We’ve been looking for you in every blasted corner of that ballroom and yet you choose to hide out in the darkness?”

There was plenty of light shining through the French doors and open windows to illuminate the stone terrace, but Edwina didn’t say so. Ever since Prescott had made Edwina aware of Janelle’s vulnerabilities, it had
been much easier to be forbearing. Probably because it came from her own wish to be so, and not simply to placate Ginny.

“I was hoping for a little quiet,” Edwina explained.

Janelle shoved her purple turban back on her head. “What? Sipping champagne, nibbling on lobster tails and accepting everyone’s congratulations is a bit too taxing for you?”

“Oh, ignore her.” Ginny waved a white-gloved hand. “She’s just upset; Baxter is here.”

“Oh.” Edwina winced. “And how is your son?”

Staring off in the garden, Janelle lifted her chin. “Fine, just…fine.”

With a sad look on her face, Ginny shook her head. “Do you want us to leave, Edwina? Give you some quiet?”

“No, of course not.” Edwina grasped her friend’s hand. “I’m so glad to see friendly faces.”

“I warned you,” Janelle chided. “No matter Mr. Devane’s good qualities, everyone will see it as a
mésallìance,
an unsuitable alliance. He’s an empty-pocketed commoner and you’re the daughter of an earl, for heaven’s sakes.”

“Oh, how you flatter me.”

At the sound of Prescott’s deep, rumbling voice, Edwina’s cheeks heated as did the rest of her skin.

With the heels of his black-buckled shoes clicking loudly on the stone veranda, Prescott approached, carrying two glasses of lemonade. Halting before them, he bowed, managing not to spill a drop, his manners as fine as any courtier’s. “Good evening, Lady Ensley. Lady Blankett. You’re both looking quite lovely.”

Janelle brandished her fan toward the ballroom, where the sounds of a cotillion played. “I was speaking of them.
They
don’t know any better.”

“And you do?” Edwina asked quietly, unable to help herself.

Exhaling noisily, Janelle shifted her shoulders. “I know it’s not
real.
”

“Shh!” Ginny chided, looking over at the door. “Someone might overhear.”

Edwina accepted the glass from Prescott and sipped the lukewarm liquid. It was a bit on the tart side.

“So it’s going well, I assume?” Ginny whispered.

“I’ve checked at least fifty pairs of shoes by now and haven’t yet seen our pair.” Edwina pursed her lips. “I have to think of something more creative to do or people might start believing that I’m becoming ham-fisted. I’ve dropped either my handkerchief or my fan at least thirty times thus far.”

Ginny raised a brow. “So your suitors are not hampering you?”

Edwina smiled. “My suitors are making themselves scarce. So in that regard, yes, the plan is working and we’ve established the fact that we’re engaged.”

“And how are you faring, Mr. Devane?” Janelle enquired. “Have you had your fill of abuse?”

“Oh, I think I’ve the stamina for a bit more.”

Leaning forward, Ginny blinked. “Abuse?”

His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “‘Legacy hunter’ and the like.”

Edwina winced. “I’m sorry.”

Prescott’s handsome face was relaxed, his smile amused. “Don’t be. I quite enjoy it, actually. My favorites are the people who don’t know what to make of
me, so they simply nod and race off in the opposite direction.”

Pursing her lips, Edwina’s eyes narrowed. “I’d lay good money you were a prankster as a child.”

“And you’d win. I was a devil. And loved every minute of it.” His smile met hers and something warm floated between them. Still, it didn’t quite lessen the effect those flashing eyes stirred in her middle.

Frowning, Janelle stabbed her fan toward Edwina. “Although I know I shouldn’t be surprised, you seem to be getting the hang of this acting thing.”

Ginny pressed her hand to her forehead. “Am I going to have to stuff your mouth with linseed to keep you quiet?”

“What are you so upset about?” Janelle adjusted the melon-shaped sleeves of her gown. “No one can hear. And if they could, what of it? It’s all too preposterous to be believed.”

Ginny sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Prescott leaned toward Janelle, his tone conspiring. “It’s quite fun, isn’t it? Being the only ones who know the truth.”

Janelle nodded. “It does give one a sense of superiority…”

“We wouldn’t want to spoil the fun then, would we?”

Tilting her head, Janelle acquiesced. “I suppose not.”

Then pray keep your mouth closed,
Edwina thought, an improvement over the week before when she’d have shouted it to Janelle’s face.

“Devil take it, there you are!” a male voice called.

All four sets of eyes looked toward the French doors.

“Henry!” Edwina cried.

Her cousin stalked over to them, his black coat matched by the dark scowl on his face. “Tell me it’s not true! Tell me that you’re not throwing your life away with this grasping fortune hunter!”

“Ah, I think a visit to the retiring room is in order,” Ginny declared, grabbing Janelle’s arm. “Come along, dear.”

Janelle waved her fan dismissively. “You go on ahead. I’ll wait for you right here.”

“But I need your help.” Leaning on her cane, Ginny tugged Janelle’s arm. “I have difficulty maneuvering though the crowd with my leg being what it is.”

Making a noise of disgust, Janelle allowed herself to be pulled away. “Just when it was getting interesting…”

Squaring her shoulders, Edwina tried to ignore the nervous quiver in her middle. It was one thing to lie to acquaintances, quite another to lie to her cousin Henry. But she dare not tell Henry the truth or even hint of it. Although she loved him dearly, he was hotheaded and, frankly, rather judgmental. Moreover, he tended to be a bit obtuse when it came to matters that required a modicum of diplomacy. Which was why Edwina was particularly worried about her Cambridge project. The man of affairs they’d typically used for their acquisitions had taken seriously ill and Henry had gone in his stead. But first things first.

Swallowing, Edwina motioned to Prescott. “Mr. Devane, may I present my cousin, Mr. Blanchard. Henry, this is Mr. Prescott Devane, my…fiancé.”

Henry’s face paled, then infused with color. “He’s a bloody lothario, Edwina!”

Edwina gritted her teeth. “I know you’re only speaking out of concern for my welfare, Henry, but pray do not insult my betrothed.”

The man shook his head. “If only you’d taken my advice and accepted the marriage to Viscount Bellwood, you wouldn’t be in this wretched mess!”

Edwina’s eyes narrowed and that decidedly stubborn gleam that Prescott was beginning to favor entered her gaze. “As I told you a thousand times before, Henry, I have no wish to marry Viscount Bellwood, any more than I—”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!” Shaking his head, her cousin spat, “It’s your inexperience with men of his sort that’s left you defenseless to his manipulations, Edwina.”

“Henry.” Edwina’s tone was firm as she laid a white-gloved hand on the man’s arm. “I’m no green chit fresh out of the schoolroom. You, of all people, should recognize that I am smart enough to make my own decisions.”

“But—”

“Enough, Henry.” Her tone brooked no opposition. “If I’ve chosen Mr. Devane it’s because I have assessed the match and determined it to be in my best interests. It also means that I’ve taken Mr. Devane’s measure and not found him wanting. I appreciate your concern, but please give me a little more credit than you are.”

Prescott was impressed; she’d said the one thing that made it clear that any insult to him was an affront to her sound judgment.

Henry’s pallid cheeks tinged with color as his gloved hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. If it
weren’t for his strong English accent, one might have mistaken him for Germanic, with his cool blue eyes, white pale complexion and blond hair cut short in the Greek style. He had that Germanic formality to him as well. Not the tedious pomposity that most English gentlemen assumed.

After a moment, Henry tilted his head stiffly and nodded in assent. “As you wish.”

Apparently, Henry had a healthy dose of respect for Edwina. Prescott had to give him credit for his good sense.

After sending Henry an appreciative glance that would warm any man’s heart, Edwina turned. “Now, once more. Mr. Devane, may I present my cousin, Mr. Blanchard. Henry, this is Mr. Devane, my fiancé.”

Prescott nodded curtly to Blanchard, preferring not to shake hands. The man was likely one to try to exhibit his superiority by squeezing as hard as he could, something that, at the moment, Prescott preferred not to endure. And since Edwina seemed fond of this cousin, Prescott would attempt to treat the man with consideration. Unless the man’s actions warranted otherwise.

“How was Cambridge, Henry?” Edwina enquired, obviously attempting to change the topic. “Everything go as planned?”

“You’re comfortable discussing this now?” Blanchard asked, prickly about it.

“I am not ashamed of our business ventures. Are you?”

The man stiffened even further, if possible. “Of course not.”

“Well?” she asked, with obvious eagerness. “Did the deal close? Do we get the property?”

We.
So Edwina and her cousin were in the land business together. Cousins, partners…did Blanchard hope for more? Not if he was recommending that she marry Bellwood, a tack that indicated he might respect Edwina but didn’t understand her.

Henry’s chest puffed out and then suddenly deflated, like one of those flying balloons collapsing. “It all fell through to rot. Simply to rot.”

“Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment, but Prescott could see that she’d been hoping for another answer. “What happened?”

Crossing his arms, Blanchard lifted a shoulder. “While I was speaking the King’s English, they seemed to be speaking another blasted language entirely. I couldn’t seem to say one thing right. They were against me from the start.”

Disappointment shimmered in her luminous dark eyes. “How can that be, after all of our correspondence? Matters seemed so close to conclusion.”

Blanchard shook his head, seemingly disgusted. “That one fellow, Linear, had it in for me, I’m sure. When I first arrived, he asked me to join them at a tavern for a drink, and I know it was simply to get my nose out of joint.”

“Oh, dear Lord, Henry.” Edwina’s tone was aggravated. “Please tell me you said ‘yes’ and joined them.”

Blanchard stiffened and lifted his chin a notch. “Of course not. I was there to conduct business, not make merry with the lower classes.” He shot Prescott a sullen glare. “At least I have some semblance of propriety.”

“Watch yourself, Henry,” Edwina warned.

“Well, I wasn’t about to drink with them, and after
that, well, things didn’t go well.” At the disappointed look on Edwina’s face, her cousin exclaimed, “Now don’t try to tell me that these men wouldn’t come to terms with me because I wouldn’t imbibe with them! That’s bloody nonsense.”

Edwina sent Prescott a helpless glance.

Looking out at the moonlit garden, Prescott remarked, “I know many men who wouldn’t sell you a barren, diseased, three-legged cow unless you were willing to share a drink with them.” He looked up. “It’s seen as a way of showing respect between the parties.”

“Respect?” Blanchard snorted. “What does that have to do with a business deal?” He shook his finger in the air. “Either it’s favorable for them financially or unfavorable for them and they move forward if it’s favorable and don’t if it’s not. Respect has nothing to do with it.”

“To some men, it can only be favorable if there is a sense of mutual regard between the parties.”

Blanchard crossed his arms and looked away. “I’ve never heard such rubbish in all my life.”

Blanchard was bright enough to understand the problem, but simply couldn’t get past his pomposity to act differently. Why would Edwina trust such a man with a business a transaction that obviously meant a lot to her?

Edwina stepped forward. “Did you happen to find out if there were any other buyers, Henry?”

“Not a one. Which is what makes their actions all the more idiotic. The fools, they’ll be sitting on that property for the next twenty years and not have another buyer with a better price than ours.”

“Then perhaps all is not lost.” Edwina bit her lip and
Prescott could almost see the wheels turning in her clever brain.

“I’m coming to the conclusion that we’re better off without the property,” Blanchard declared. “I know you worked very hard on the plans, Edwina, but it was a mighty investment—”

“With amazing returns, Henry,” Edwina interjected, her tone resolute. “And it’s good for the community as well. Cambridge is exploding and the need for housing is great. It’s advantageous for all involved. Especially us.” She turned away, obviously trying to keep her frustration in check. “Why don’t we finish this conversation tomorrow? When we’ve both had time to think it over and assess our next steps.”

She faced Blanchard again, a tight smile on her lips. “I’m sure when we put our heads together we can think of something to do to bring them back to the table.”

Blanchard’s pale cheeks reddened and he pointed a finger at Prescott. “I’d rather talk about how you came to be…” He couldn’t seem to get the word out. “…with…
him.
”

“Henry…” she warned.

Blanchard crossed his arms once more, obviously the man’s favorite pose. “Well, he’s certainly not one of your set. It’s a reasonable question.”

“I sought out Mr. Devane,” Edwina explained with a hard tone that any remotely observant man would know to heed. “I decided that it was time to remarry. He is a good man, of fine character—”