Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (6 page)

“H
e’s agreed to help!” Edwina declared as she rushed into the library of The Society for the Enrichment and Learning of Females and joined her three friends.

Lady Janelle Blankett peered up from the tome lying open on the well-used brown desk and, with her usual dour expression, stared at Edwina through her quizzing glass. “Who’s agreed to what?”

Aware of the open door behind her, Edwina whispered, “Him! You know, the perfect man for the job…” Closing the heavy wooden doors behind her, Edwina turned and caught sight of her reflection in the small gilded mirror above the pedestal cupboard. She was appalled to see that her tight chignon had come loose and her mousy hair was fairly plastered to her head, making her nose appear even larger. A swell of mortification blossomed inside her chest, knowing that
Mr. Devane, Prescott, she had to remind herself to use his Christian name, had seen her like this.

But the humiliation couldn’t quite overshadow her triumph at securing his help for her scheme. So despite hearing the echo of her mother chiding her to run a brush through her hair before anyone else saw her, Edwina decided that she was amongst friends and could set such trivialities aside.

“You look like a drowned blackbird.” Janelle sniffed as she patted one of her graying blond curls. “And a half-starved one at that.”

Well, perhaps not all friends. “I’ll be sure to consume a worm or two before dinner.” Edwina waved a hand, feeling so glorious not even Janelle could pull her down.
“Une délicatesse crue.”

“A raw delicacy, you say?” Janelle’s blue-green eyes narrowed, creasing the lines around the fifty-year-old matron’s face. “The French don’t actually eat worms, do they? Although I wouldn’t be surprised with their aberrant tastes.”

“I told you not to bother, Edwina.” Lady Genevieve Ensley, known to her friends as Ginny, dropped her needlepoint on her lap and moved to stand. Poor Ginny; her arthritic hip caused her to have to lean on the arm of the chair for support.

Although she was still a handsome woman with sparkling blue eyes and rosy cheeks, her slate gray hair and awkward shuffle made her appear much older than her forty-five years. “My problem is my own and I will not drag you into it, Edwina. Besides, I thought you’d given up.”

Edwina snorted. “And let that knave win? Never!” She moved to stand before the flaming hearth and held
her hands to the fire. The warmth reminded her of another heat she’d experienced that afternoon.

Lord, oh, Lord, what a kiss that had been! Prescott Devane was a master, she marveled, as she recalled how hungrily she’d kissed him back and how desperately she’d clung to him.

But did he know? Did he realize? A ball of ire welled in her belly; he was practiced in the art of passion and would undoubtedly know her mortifying secret. Swallowing, Edwina was glad her face was to the hearth and prayed her friends assumed the redness in her cheeks was from the flames.

Pushing aside all upsetting thoughts, Edwina focused only on the moments after the kiss. The walk back to the guesthouse. The lively discussion, and the earnest way Prescott threw himself into her plan. The man was sharp, insightful, and more than a little brave. The perfect man for the job. Oh how she loved being right.

“I appreciate your trying to help me, Edwina.” Ginny had moved to stand beside her. “But you’ve already done enough and I don’t want that wretched man hurting you.”

Edwina grasped Ginny’s hands. “I’m not about to stand aside like a worthless Thatch-gallows while everything you cherish is at risk.” She smiled. “Besides, you know I’m only doing it for the sport. I hate losing.” At least on that account, Edwina and her father were alike, which is why they butted heads so acutely.

“Just so you don’t do anything that you’re not comfortable with, Edwina.” Despite her arguments, Ginny’s face looked relieved. Edwina could hardly blame her; Ginny wasn’t the sort to go up against a scoundrel alone. She was simply too sweet.

“I consider it our
obligation
to stop this villain.” Edwina didn’t mention that not since establishing the society three years earlier had she felt this passion to set forth boldly on a mission of principle.

Recently, she’d felt adrift, as if her life was moving forward yet going nowhere. Like something was waiting for her, but she didn’t know which way to go to find it. All she knew was that it was decidedly
not
in the direction the Earl of Wootton-Barrett wished her to go: to the Viscount Bellwood’s side in marriage. But her frustration with her father and sense of being directionless could all be conveniently brushed aside now that her dear friend was in need. And if all went as planned, then her problems with her father would disappear, at least when it came to remarrying.

Dropping her quizzing glass on its chain, Janelle scowled. “I still have my reservations about your little scheme, Edwina. It seems fraught with peril. Primarily for you and your reputation.” Resistance from the gangly matron was no surprise, as Janelle used every opportunity to try to spike Edwina’s wheels, so to speak.

Janelle resented the fact that Edwina was the president of the society while she was only a vice chair. Typically, she used Edwina’s younger age of three-and-twenty as her excuse for needing a more senior leader. To Janelle’s utter frustration, the rest of the members usually ignored her.

“I appreciate your concern, Janelle,” Edwina replied, forcing herself to recall that Janelle did not have it easy. Her husband, Lord Blankett, showed more affection for his mounts than he did his wife and spent the majority of his time in search of the next Derby winner. Janelle’s daughter had moved far away and rarely
deigned reply to her mother’s letters. And then there was Janelle’s son who all of London knew had a weakness for cards and spirituous liquors. “But my reputation is my own and I think I can protect it well enough.”

Janelle waved her quizzing glass. “But what of your family’s reputation? Particularly your father’s. You’re quite free with that.”

Dropping Ginny’s hand, Edwina turned to the fire, trying to ignore the twist of guilt in her belly. She forced herself to remember how disdainfully her father often treated her. He persistently raked her over the coals for having the cheek to create a club for females and satirized their good works with marked contempt.

Then, after she’d begun contesting his attempts to marry her off to Viscount Bellwood, he’d called her “a rogue specimen in need of a man to rein in her ‘outlandish’ propensities.” In need of a man! What utter rot!

Sir Geoffrey was the only husband she would ever have; no one would ever fill his place.

Squaring her shoulders, Edwina turned. “My father is out of town and not expected back this season. By the time he hears of anything, it will all be over.” And so will any attempted betrothal to Viscount Bellwood.

Mrs. Lucy Thomas scribbled out a note on a bit of foolscap. The dark-haired, doe-eyed beauty had lost her husband to a terrible wasting disease less than a year earlier and when her dying husband had lost his ability to speak, inexplicably, so had she. Lucy would sit quietly and listen, read, and only now and again scratch a note. One might have assumed that anything she wrote was worth reading, but often as not her notes were as
trite and self-absorbed as anyone else’s verbal commentary, like asking if you admired her new hair comb.

Stepping over, Edwina read the message aloud, “Which one is he?” She smiled. “Getting right to the point, Lucy. It’s Mr. Prescott Devane.”

“Mr. Devane?” Janelle scowled. “The man’s a
cicisbeo,
for heaven’s sake!”

“Some might argue that being a charming companion at balls, soirees, picnics and the like, provides a service in our society,” Ginny disputed. The rosy-cheeked matron loved to argue a point, whether she believed it or not. She warmed to the subject as evidenced by the twinkle in her pale blue eyes. “In fact, in this instance, at least, the lady retains complete control of the funds and the terms of the relationship. She has an engaging escort, nothing more.”

Janelle shook her head. “Any arrangement where one person uses another is invariably opportunistic and immoral. The man’s a parasite.”

“He’s an escort,” Edwina scoffed. “Don’t make it sound as if he’s a gallant or a fancy man. He doesn’t sleep with women in exchange for material gain.” Yet, the list of his lovers was long. A strange twinge flared in her middle once more, but she disregarded it.

“He does have a rakish reputation with the ladies…”

Ignoring the burning in her cheeks, Edwina crossed her arms. “From what I hear, it’s the ladies who chase after him, not the other way around. And when was the last time you saw a man censured for earthly appetites? Or a woman castigated for accepting a gift?”

Pursing her lips, Ginny’s eyes took on a dreamy cast. “I knew a
cicisbeo
once. He was quite charming and had the largest hands…”

“Yes, we know all about your obsession with hands.” Janelle snorted. “Which is why you find yourself in such a fix.”

“Janelle!” Edwina cried, alarmed by the hurt look on Ginny’s face.

Lucy brandished her note in the air and Edwina was thankful for the change in subject. “Lucy’s right. I must tell you why Mr. Devane is the man to help us out of this mess.”

“Us.” Ginny looked up, a suspiciously bright gleam in her eyes. “When I read that first letter from the blackmailer I thought my life was over. I couldn’t have Judith discover the truth. And if anyone else learned about me and Gérardin…Well, Judith’s fiancé would end it for sure, and Judy and I…we would become outcasts. My daughter would never have forgiven me, and I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself!”

Ginny’s smile was pained. “But you’ve given me hope, Edwina. Real hope that we can get through this mess. But am I being naïve? Dare I trust your plan will succeed? Dare I?” Pressing her hand to her mouth, she cried, “Oh, what a wretched fix I’m in!”

Edwina grasped her hand. “We have a solid plan, Ginny. Mr. Devane will help us identify the man, search for and then recover your letters to Gérardin Valmont—”

“So now you’re a common house thief?” Janelle scoffed.

Edwina shot Janelle a frosty glance. “It’s only burglary if the item in question belongs to that person—”

“Stealing applies to the act, not the property taken.”

“The act doesn’t exist if the property—”

Waving a note, Lucy hammered her fist on the table.
The willowy widow might be mute, but she knew how to make herself heard when she wished to.

Edwina had to admit that at the society a certain amount of discussion was engaged simply for oratorical exercise, but it did tend to slow matters down. She read Lucy’s latest note aloud, “Tell me about Devane’s hands.”

“I’m being serious, Lucy.” Edwina set the foolscap aside.

Lucy motioned that so was she.

Sniffing into a handkerchief, Ginny straightened, collected once more. “Hand size notwithstanding, I want to know Edwina’s reasoning for drafting Mr. Devane.” She stepped before the window, her peach silken skirts swooshing as she limped, a hand on her arthritic hip. “Especially since Edwina was the one to eliminate Devane from consideration in the first instance.”

“You deemed his character questionable, if I recall.” Janelle stood, squaring her broad shoulders so that her mint green gown lifted and then settled on her ample bosom. Janelle paced, the long white feathers of her lavender turban flopping to and fro with each gliding step. “How, you had asked, could we trust that he wouldn’t turn on us? Would he use Ginny’s secret against her?”

Ginny crumpled the handkerchief and slipped it into a hidden fold of her gown. “Although you also said that his limited means and connections would cause him to benefit from an association with you, Edwina. And I might add he should be grateful for the attention by such a beautiful, fine—”

Edwina raised a hand, knowing that her friend saw
her through rose-tinted lenses. “Prescott Devane has had the benefit of associations with ladies far more attractive than I.” Why did that thought rankle?

“How can we be certain he won’t try to use the faux engagement to his advantage?” Janelle demanded. “We cannot rely on his honor. He’s
not
a gentleman.”

Having experienced Prescott’s decency firsthand, Edwina shook her head. “Being born to privilege does not necessarily assure noble character. And the opposite is true as well—”

“But being born a gentleman does give a certain indication of”—Janelle waved a hand—“expectation, deportment, education, and so on. The man was raised in an orphanage, for heaven’s sake.”

“He grew up at Andersen Hall,” Ginny pointed out, a great supporter of the institution. “And if Headmaster Dunn held any influence over him, Mr. Devane may be a creditable person indeed.”

“Headmaster Dunn may have made it his mission in life to save London’s orphaned children and make them productive members of society,” Janelle countered, hands on hips, “but anyone who makes his way by being a leech is hardly productive. And hardly a person suitable for Edwina to be engaged to. But let us get to the real issue.” Janelle’s face was smug. “Edwina wants her father’s attention, and this is her only way of securing it.”

Ginny gasped.

Edwina’s fists curled and her eyes narrowed.

“One would think you were still in the nursery, the way you behave.” Janelle sighed as if the notion pained her. “Honestly, Edwina, you’re so transparent. We all see it. You crave attention, always must be the center of everything.”

“That’s it,” Edwina growled. “I’m done with your—”

“Edwina, please!” Ginny stepped forward, her gaze pleading. If it weren’t for Ginny, Edwina might have tossed Janelle out of the society long ago, but for some unknown reason Ginny loved Janelle like a sister, and time and again begged Edwina to be forbearing.

Edwina wondered why Ginny never asked Janelle for a bit of restraint. But she pushed aside the twinge of anger. Ginny was suffering enough with this blackmailer and her daughter’s impending nuptials, Edwina was not about to carp at her now.

So Edwina bit her inner cheek, squared her shoulders and did the one thing that would infuriate Janelle the most: she turned to Ginny and Lucy and acted as if Janelle didn’t exist. “The reason why I changed my mind about Mr. Devane—”