The Hunt Club Chronicles Bundle (27 page)

He really didn’t want her to answer, though.

Josephine approached his desk and handed him the daily news sheet. “
Henderson
’s study was robbed last night during the ball.”

Aiden took the paper, swallowing hard as he read quickly over the article.
No witnesses to the theft. Painting stolen. Much loved.
He dropped the paper as if it burned him. “Very distressing.”

“I had a note from Amelia Dunwoody just this morning,” Josephine continued. “She says her father is on the rampage, her mother in tears. It seems the painting in question, a portrait of the late Lady Henderson, is a source of great unrest between the earl and his countess.”

“That is surprising.”

“What’s more surprising is that your acquaintance bore a startling resemblance to young Amelia. There is something about their eyes that soothes the soul.” Josephine gripped his arms. “An unacknowledged illegitimate son will gain no sympathy with such acts of thievery. You must have him return the painting immediately.”

“Would you say the same if he was a legitimate heir?” Aiden cursed his tongue. He should not have told Josephine that at all.

Josephine’s fingers trembled over her lips. “Legitimate, you say?”

Reluctantly, Aiden nodded.

“Oh. Well now, that changes everything. He should come forward himself today.”

“He will not.”

“But why?” Josephine’s brow scrunched. “He will be an earl eventually. Sooner if Lord Henderson has an apoplexy over the missing painting. ”

He couldn’t tell her the circumstances of Terry’s past. Even he didn’t understand the vast hurt the man carried. “Josephine, you cannot meddle in this. He will not come forward. He’s leaving
England
.” Aiden took a deep breath. “And so am I. I’m going with him.”

Josephine nodded her head. “A good plan. A bit of time, a bit of polish, and tutoring in the social graces and he will be better prepared for the storm that is sure to erupt over his return.”

Aiden gaped. “What the devil are you blathering about woman? We are not coming back.”

“You are not leaving us with your responsibilities indefinitely, Aiden Banks.” Josephine drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You will discover the dashing Viscount Hathaway in your travels and return triumphantly. How else can you explain your close acquaintance with the man?”

Aiden opened his mouth and shut it again. What Josephine proposed was too ludicrous for words. Yet a small part of his mind registered her brilliance. If Terry wanted to return one day, traveling could be a valid reason for him not to be known in
England
. Even if the gentlemen he’d entertained at the Hunt Club recognized him, they’d never breathe a word. Their kind kept secrets well.

Could Terry take his rightful place in society? Would he want to one day?

The decision wasn’t his to make. But, if that was what Terry wanted, they could return together as close friends without a great many questions asked about how they met. He settled into a chair, thinking about a life here with Terry in the public eye. Could they disguise their attachment?

He lifted his head. Josephine was grinning. “It will work. When you decide to return, you must write me with the astonishing news of your discovery of
Henderson
’s heir and I will gently inform his lordship that his son has been found alive and well. Since
Henderson
has another family now, you can offer to house the viscount here and no one will think it the least bit odd.”

“No one will think it the least bit odd?” He repeated.

Josephine sank to her knees at his feet and took up his hand. “This is better than what that pistol was meant for, isn’t it, Aiden?” she whispered.

Aiden twisted his hands to loosen her grip.

She clung. “I saw you that morning with him on the street outside and last night together at the ball. He makes you happy and that is all I care about. I may not like your plan to travel, but Robert and I will manage everything until your return. When you come back to us, I will be easy again.”

She rose up and kissed his cheek. “Be very careful and don’t stay away too long.”

Chapter Twelve

Terrance roused himself from his slump and looked about him. The day had flown while he’d sat still lost in memories of the past and plans for the future. He could not believe that Aiden would come with him as he claimed. Yet part of him hoped for his company. A very great part.

He stood and looked about the cold kitchen. Finnegan and his wife would return soon and he had better make himself scarce, lest they think him snooping in their domain. He crossed to the rear door and was about to latch it when a shadow moved in the rear yard. He stilled as a squat shape shifted in the rear shed’s shadow. Then the shadow broke in half.

Two small children crept closer to the house. Two very grubby children, one he recognized as the boy from his first day in
London
, the other he didn’t recognize. The scamp that had benefited from his pilferage of a wallet had followed him home in search of more and brought a friend with him. Terrance’s heart ached at the sight of them. Torn clothes, gaunt cheeks and a bruise across the largest one’s jaw.

He curled his hand into a fist, remembering all too well the surprise he’d felt the first time he’d been beaten. Forcing his hand to unclench, Terrance opened the door slowly so they didn’t startle. They froze when he was fully visible to them, prepared for flight at any moment. Terrance exited the house.

The boy looked to be about nine. The other was a snotty nosed girl a few years younger. The two children clustered together. “Don’t come any closer,” the boy warned.

The boy’s polished accents surprised Terrance. “Stay back?” he asked softly. “But you are in my territory. You followed me here, remember.”

They would want food, and a safe place to stay. He could offer them the first. The other he couldn’t manage beyond one night. A pity. They looked like they could use a friend.

He crouched down on his haunches so he wasn’t quite so tall and intimidating to them. “What are your names?”

“Gerard Prichard and this is my sister, Maggie.”

The little one peeked around her brother, large uncertain eyes stirring up memories of other frightened children, children gone and forgotten by all but him. “Pleased to meet you, Master Gerald and Miss Maggie.”

The pair shifted restlessly. Their fine clothes—now shabby—at odds with his first impression of thieves. They were discarded children, just as he had once been.

“Are you hungry?”

Their eyes widened, teeth biting into the soft flesh of their lips to control their hunger.
Poor lambs.
Only the hope of feeding their aching bellies had brought them to his door.

Terrance stood. “Come along. There’s food in the kitchen.”

He pivoted and returned to the kitchen without seeing whether they followed. He kept the door wide while he clattered around the cupboards, seeking enough food to satisfy them both. As he set out his findings on the table, the little girl scampered onto a bench, clenched her hands in her lap, and daintily crossed her ankles. Her brother warily took a spot closest to the door.

“Eat what you like. I’ll just fetch more firewood and get a nice blaze going to warm you.”

While Terrance went about relighting the fire and fetched water and a washbasin, he cursed himself for getting involved. He was leaving
England
in a few days. It was cruel to give them hope for a permanent place.

Yet, as he paused to observe them, his foolish heart clattered. They were too young to be all alone. Children were the most vulnerable.

Terrance sat at the head of the table, sipping on a goblet of wine while they ate.

“Where do you hail from Gerald?”

The boy’s eyes darted about the room. “
London
.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Terrance leaned back in the chair. “
London
is a big place. It’s easy to get lost in it.”

“We’re not lost,” Maggie quipped decisively. “We ran away.”

“Is that so?” Terrance glanced at the boy, but he wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Will you go home one day?”

“No.” Gerald’s single word rang with finality.

Were Maggie’s words a tall tale to hide something else?

The pair of them did not appear as other homeless children did. They hadn’t tried to steal anything so far and that in itself surprised him. He’d expected to be firm with them about the contents around them. Gerald hadn’t even admired the silver salt shaker at his elbow.

Maggie seemed completely comfortable in the house, too, licking grease from her finger tips daintily with a sniff. Her runny nose bothered him. He withdrew his handkerchief. “Come here, Maggie. Let me look after your nose?”

Maggie glanced at his hand holding the handkerchief and then her brother. When Gerald nodded, she moved to stand before him. He wiped her nose gently and had her blow. When she did, a lock of her hair fell forward. It crawled with lice. “Bugger me,” Terrance swore and hurriedly moved back.

The children raced for the door.

“Wait,” Terrance called. They looked at him, fear in their eyes. He sat down again. “My apologies, but your sister has lice in her hair. They took me by surprise, that is all. I didn’t mean to sound cross.”

The boy relaxed. “We both do.”

Maggie burst into tears. “They won’t go away. Make them go away. I hate them!” Then she sobbed so pitifully Terrance’s heart burst.

Terrance handed her his handkerchief again. “Nothing that cannot be fixed and very soon. Come back to the fire and rest.”

Reluctantly, Maggie perched on Cook’s chair.

But Terrance had no idea how to solve the problem of their hair quickly. It was an age since he’d suffered the affliction. He looked about the chamber for a comb.

“What’s all this sobbing about?”

Terrance looked up as Finnegan and his wife stumped into the room.

“Ah,” Terrance began. “They followed me home.”

Finnegan gave him a long measured look. “You do bring all types with you. Children? Whatever will be coming next?”

Terrance shrugged. “There is a slight dilemma for the pair. They have some small company nested in their hair. Miss Maggie is most particularly distressed by them. Master Gerald less so, but the situation needs immediate attention.”

Finnegan’s wife gave the girl a warm smile. “Are you hungry lass?”

“No thank you,” Maggie hiccupped.

“Then would you like to wash up now that you’ve eaten?”

Maggie’s eyes grew to saucers, “A real bath?”

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Only a child raised well would prefer a soaking to a measly wash. Working for the Duke of Byworth had taught him much about the way the rich raised their young and Maggie seemed to have similar expectations to the duke’s daughter.

Terrance held Gerald’s gaze. “Finnegan, would you attend to Master Gerald’s comfort while I’m out? There are a few things the children will need bought for them if they wish to stay as our guests.”