Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (7 page)

“Do tell,” Ginny urged, shooting Edwina a grateful glance.

Lucy nodded, lifting both of her dark brows in entreaty.

“Is because I learned that he saved a young girl’s life. At peril to his own.”

“My, oh, my, that is character telling indeed.” Ginny bit her thumbnail, a habit she engaged in whenever excited.

Shaking her head, Edwina could hardly imagine the terrible accident. “The poor child’s gown had caught on fire and she would have burned to death if Mr. Devane hadn’t used his hands to extinguish the flames.”

“How horrible!”

Janelle’s green-blue eyes narrowed. “Was she connected? Was there a reward for his heroics?”

“She’s an orphan, for heaven’s sake!” Edwina raised
her hands in exasperation. “Could you be any more calculating?”

“How did you come upon this intelligence?” Janelle demanded.

“I was speaking with Dr. Winner—”

“A man of fine character and a good doctor.” Ginny nodded.

“But can his opinion be trusted?” Janelle crossed her arms. “Being Andersen Hall’s doctor may color his viewpoint.”

Pressing her hand to her chest, Edwina prayed for forbearance. “I spoke with Mr. Devane myself.
I
interviewed him, and must declare, in no uncertain terms, that I was most impressed by his character.”

Janelle lifted a haughty shoulder. “Oh, so it was his
character
that impressed you?”

“Janelle, please!” Ginny cried.

“This plan is idiocy! And its architect just as—”

“If you don’t have anything productive to add then remain quiet!” Ginny blinked, as if shocked that she’d actually spoken.

But no more stunned than anyone else in the room.

Shaking her head, Ginny’s shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry. This is all just so upsetting…”

Edwina’s eyes met Janelle’s. A truce of sorts flashed between them. Ginny was about the only thing upon which they could agree.

Edwina squeezed Ginny’s shoulder. “Mr. Devane has agreed to help us, Ginny. And from all I’ve learned of him and my own impressions, he’s just the sort of man to get the job done.”

Janelle rolled her eyes but blessedly held her tongue.

“In fact,” Edwina added, “he shed some light on our
mysterious shoe marking. As I suspected, the shoes are rare, made in Paris by François Millicent. Not many men in London will have such shoes. So we have something to go on.” She bit her lip. “The only thing is, Mr. Devane thinks I’m the one being blackmailed, Ginny, not you.”

Ginny gasped, raising her hand to her mouth.

Lucy’s black brows knitted in concentration.

Throwing her head back, Janelle cackled so shrilly it was a wonder the paper didn’t peel right off the walls.

Later, Edwina came to decide that it was the most disturbing comment that Janelle had made all day.

T
he next morning, Dr. Winner unwound the yellow-tinged bandages from Prescott’s proffered hands. The scents of the calendula flowers and olive oil of Dr. Winner’s special ointment filled the air.

“You really don’t even need these anymore, Prescott,” Dr. Winner remarked. “Not even at night. You’re a quick healer.”

“I’ve had good medical care.” Prescott curled his fingers. His skin felt oddly stretched and yet ticklish, as if ants crawled on it.

“I still thank the heavens that you found Evie when you did. Otherwise…” The good doctor shook his head.

“Evie seems to be doing fine.” Rising, Prescott crossed the guesthouse bedroom and opened the dresser. He scanned the gloves inside and, skipping over the fancy French kid in favor of the more sturdy English
leather, selected a brown pair. “In fact, I know she’s getting better because she’s been begging me to sneak her sweets.”

“Children do rebound very quickly…” Sighing, Dr. Winner gathered the bandages from the bed and set them inside his black medical bag. “Yesterday she asked me how old she needed to be to get married.” He smiled. “I think little Evie may be smitten.”

“She’s in a romantic phase, I’ll grant you that. But it’s only because we’re reading
Beauty and the Enchanted Prince.
” Tugging on the gloves, Prescott felt better for the coverings. “Which, by the way, means that I’m the beast, thank you very much.”

“You have been a bit of a grumpy bones of late,” Dr. Winner teased.

Prescott couldn’t disagree. He’d been hiding out, holing up at the orphanage to avoid the Society he’d come to dread. But at Andersen Hall he could not escape the one thing that pained him far more than any meager burns. Prescott could almost smell Catherine’s lemon-scented soap hanging in the air like a bouquet of sunshine, making him feel like the black cloud of doom.

All the more reason for Prescott to help Lady Ross…Edwina, as he’d insisted he call her for the ruse. He had four weeks until his shipment arrived. Four more weeks of lagging about trying
not
to think about Cat. Edwina would provide the perfect diversion.

That kiss had been a surprise. A very agreeable surprise.

Oh, he’d concealed his reaction well enough from Edwina, but once he was alone, he’d gone over the kiss
again and again in his mind, trying to unravel its mystery.

He’d had no intention of kissing her. But he’d been so roused and there’d been something about her too tempting to ignore. It was like coming upon a fresh pond on a sweltering day. Jumping in was a wholly natural impulse that just
had
to be acted on.

And oh, her taste had been quite
reviving.
More than anything had been in the last long, dark weeks. She’d felt good in his arms. Warm, supple, and soft in all the right places, just like a woman was supposed to feel. But there’d been something different about her. Something that had made him wonder about her: She’d responded like no woman he’d ever kissed before.

Thinking back on that embrace, he realized that she was a woman who knew the touch of a man and hadn’t reacted like an innocent.

And yet…

And yet, her response had been so artlessly passionate as to make him sweat just thinking about it. He could always tell when a woman controlled her kisses, molded her lips just so, groaned at a timely moment, ground her hips with purpose. There had been none of that.

Edwina had felt…swept away. Completely and utterly carried away by his kiss, and in response, he’d been overcome. He, the worldly, jaded
cicisbeo,
had felt that kiss down to his boot tips. At first it had been as if the world had fallen away, leaving only him and the lovely woman in his arms. Then the kiss had metamorphosed into something significantly more. Making him feel as if he’d been crawling through a desert and yet hadn’t known how truly parched he’d
been. Until he’d taken a sip from clear blue waters. Edwina had been that taste, the perfect antidote to the thirst he hadn’t known he’d had. For that moment at least.

But the kiss and how it had made him feel were likely an anomaly. Somehow the combination of the storm, her story of peril, the lush woods, and the fact that he’d been without female company for so long had converged into his startling reaction. The circumstances caused him to feel something that he
thought
was unique to Edwina, but in truth, was simply a union of things going on around him. Still, he wondered.

There was only one way to know for certain. And, he had to admit, he was eager to explore the issue further to find out. Even if it turned out to be a disappointment, the distraction from losing Cat would, by itself, be worth it.

“Ah, Prescott…” Dr. Winner scratched his ear, obviously trying to broach a topic that bothered him.

Prescott hid his smile; he’d been waiting for the good doctor to ask what had happened with Edwina yesterday and if Prescott was going to help her. The man was as curious as a cat, Headmaster Dunn used to say. Lord how Prescott missed the bossy old gent.

“I still can’t quite believe that our sweet Catherine is a nobleman’s daughter,” Dr. Winner began. “And Jared…well, he’s a baron, for heaven’s sake!”

Wishing that Dr. Winner had asked about Edwina instead, Prescott turned and moved to stare blindly out the window. The subject of Cat was too raw, too painful and too damn private to discuss with anyone, even Dr. Winner.

Dr. Winner continued mercilessly on, “I’d always known there was more to our Catherine than met the eye.”

Many of the staff at Andersen Hall had been speaking along those very same lines. That they’d suspected the truth. But only Headmaster Dunn had known. And he’d kept the secret from everyone. As had Catherine. If it hadn’t all come to light with the recent Caddyhorn theft, would she ever have told him? Scowling, he wondered when she’d told her new husband.

Prescott’s shoulders were corded with tension as the anger boiled inside of him. Staring at the green leaves shimmering on the wind, Prescott schooled his heart to calm, his breath to even. He needed to rein in his temper; it seemed to flare up these days as if it had a will of its own. He’d wrestled with his anger when he was young and had believed that he’d had it conquered. Now it seemed to be on the advance once more, and a more powerful adversary than ever.

Shouts and squeals could be heard through the glass. They were happy sounds, sounds of childhood, where impulse and glee reigned. Stepping closer to the window, he looked left toward the garden. The children were playing “wage-war” in the green grass. It had been his favorite pastime when he’d first come to Andersen Hall. The battles were a great avenue for screaming, running about and thumping the other lads. A perfect pastime for an angry little monster like him. He’d won a lot and had relished every victory.

Cat hadn’t played much, he recalled. She’d been so timid, so afraid of letting the troops down. She’d always assumed responsibility for everyone else. It was one of the reasons Prescott had always loved her.

Well, not always. It was near his fourteenth year, he recalled, that he’d started to notice how she’d leave an extra seat for him if he was late to the dining hall. She wouldn’t say a thing, yet the space would be there, and he the only one missing. He was usually taking one punishment or another. Lord, what a monstrous scamp he’d been.

It was Cat who would look the other way when he was up to his mischievous tricks. It was almost as if she somehow forgave him in advance for his misdeeds. So he’d tested her. Again and again subjecting her to his most devilish pranks. She would be furious, but there was a softness to her mien, a wounded sigh, as if he was simply being himself and couldn’t help it.

Headmaster Dunn had seen it all and had finally pulled Prescott aside, and asked, “Do you want Catherine to hate you?”

“N-no,” he’d sputtered. “O’ course not.”

“Then do you wish her to be your friend?”

“Yah…”

“Yes is the appropriate response,” Headmaster Dunn had chided. “What is one of the things you admire most about Catherine?”

Put on the spot, Prescott had blurted out the first thing to come into his head. “She speaks fancy.”

So Headmaster Dunn had asked Cat to help Prescott with his elocution. Quickly Prescott had realized the benefit to such assistance, since an expensive coat could cover many things but how one spoke belied all origins. And since Prescott had always felt destined to “get ahead” in the world, he’d felt that Cat’s polish was part of his ticket out.

Catherine had been skeptical at first, but when
Prescott had shown her how much he wished to improve his speech, she’d relented and given everything to helping him better himself.

Yet all the while that he was working to move into higher circles, that was where his dearest friend belonged. She truly fit in where he was the interloper. The great pretender.

“I should have known she was hiding secrets,” Prescott muttered. She’d always been one to ignore his lures or change the subject when he veered into more serious topics. Or was it that he hadn’t pressed her to share? Perhaps he’d even done it on purpose, decrying anything unpleasant. And secrets tended to be bloody awkward. Still, she should have told him.

“Don’t feel bad about it.” Dr. Winner snapped his black leather medical case closed. “Headmaster Dunn found out by accident. She hadn’t told anyone, not even him.”

That fact did make him fell
a little
better.

“She blames herself for his murder,” Dr. Winner added, sadly.

“What utter rot!” Prescott turned to face Dr. Winner. “Her bloody relations had no idea she and Jared were even alive.”

Scratching the tuft of brown hair fringing his crown, the doctor sighed. “She says it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for her. You can’t argue with that.”

Fury lashed though him so powerfully Prescott had to stop his hands from curling into fists. “No one can blame her for those murderous bastards’ misdeeds! She did everything in her power to escape them! Hell, she even gave up her fortune! No one can convince me that
there was anything Cat could have done to stop the blackguards!”

“I suppose she can’t help what family she was born into,” Dr. Winner agreed with a nod.

“Of course not! She hid from them to save herself and her brother. Obviously with just cause—”

“So keeping the secret was critical…” Dr. Winner interrupted.

Prescott started, suddenly seeing the doctor’s point.

“And what would you have done had you known the truth?” Dr. Winner pressed. “Would you have been able to stand aside and do nothing as she wanted?”

Prescott shook his head, the anger still simmering so close to the surface he didn’t trust himself to speak. Cat had done the best that she could. It wasn’t for him to judge her actions. But he’d kill her villainous uncle, Dickey Caddyhorn, if he ever got his hands on the bloody bastard. For the man to have tried to lock up young Cat and her baby brother in Bethlehem Lunatic Asylum to steal their fortune…Prescott’s fingers curled hard and an ache seared across his healing skin. “If Solicitor-General Dagwood can’t get the job done…”

“Oh, Caddyhorn will hang. Along with all of his nasty accomplices. But enough of that.” The doctor opened his hands wide. “What of your future, Prescott? Catherine and Marcus return in ten days time and will, undoubtedly, want to reside here. Do you have any plans of what you’ll do? Anything…on the horizon?”

Ah, getting to the doctor’s real inquiry. The man was cunning, but he could dangle in the wind a bit longer.

Prescott shrugged, all innocent. “Mayhap I’ll enlist.”

Dr. Winner straightened. “Don’t try competing with Marcus Dunn. You’re two entirely different men.”

Prescott withheld a groan. “Of course I’m not competing with Marcus.” Even if Prescott did envy the man within an inch of his life. “I was only jesting. I’m starting my own business venture. One that should prove to be quite fruitful.” It had better be or Prescott would be without a pence to pinch.

“But what of Lady Ross?” Dr. Winner demanded. “What of her terrible plight?”

Crossing his arms, Prescott harrumphed. “I should be insulted, Doctor, that you even entertained the thought that I might turn down a lady in need.”

Dr. Winner’s smile was wide as he rushed over to Prescott and grabbed his arm. “Never did I doubt you, my dear boy! Not for one moment! Oh, I can’t wait to tell Fanny!”

“You can’t tell Miss Figbottom about Lady Ross!”

Dr. Winner waved a hand. “Not about the blackmail, but simply as a potential client to help her select a few new gowns and such. It’s her new business.” The man’s brown eyes glistened and his face took on a pining glow. “Fanny’s got…
savoir-faire.
She’s so fascinating, stimulating, enthralling…” He sighed. “Every moment I’m with her feels like a grand adventure.”

“Sounds like you’re in love.” Prescott stepped away and motioned for Dr. Winner to proceed out of the bed chamber and to the salon. “Shall we?”

“I suppose it must be catching these days.” Collecting his satchel, Dr. Winner followed Prescott into the next room. “Catherine and Marcus, now me. Love
is a curious thing; when you least expect it, it finds you.”

A snort Prescott would know anywhere resounded near the guesthouse door. He smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Nagel.”

“You know that I’m not one to comment on such things,” the matron huffed as she adjusted the gray chignon in her white bonnet. “But I feel that it is my duty to caution you, Dr. Winner. That woman is not of your…caliber.”

Dr. Winner’s cheeks reddened. “Now see here, Mrs. Nagel. Miss Figbottom is as fine a female as I have encountered. If you have heard otherwise, then I must declare that she is the victim of hearsay and slander.”

“She’s an
actress.
” Mrs. Nagel said it as if it was akin to leprosy.

“Retired actress, to be completely accurate,” Prescott corrected. “And I wish that I’d have had the opportunity to see her tread the boards. I’ve heard it said that she was a rare talent, indeed.”

“You, of all people, Mrs. Nagel, cannot blame a person for trying to make a living,” Dr. Winner defended. “And now she has a new vocation.”