The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

“ D o my eyes deceive me, or is that the elusive Miss Child?”

Frederica picked one last crocus and stood up, turning with a smile at the familiar voice. Rupert approached with his customary, lopsided smile and his flat cap pushing his scruffy brown hair into his eyes.

“It is I,” she replied merrily. Her shawl slipped off her shoulder as she held up her handful of crocuses and primroses. She pulled it back up and explained, “I had a rare half an hour to myself. You have caught me pillaging your garden for flowers.”

“Pillage away,” he replied. “There are daffodils on the front lawn if you want?”

Frederica nodded enthusiastically and hopped over a tuft of long grass to join him on the path. “What have you got growing in there?” she asked as they passed the small kitchen garden. There seemed to be an abundance of vegetation for so early in the year .

Rupert pointed. “Them’s leeks. At the back, that’s cabbage. And this is cauliflower.”

“I see. All the things the children dislike most, then?”

He gave her a wry look and shrugged. “Until the governors decide to build me a hothouse, it’s the best they’ll get in February. Mrs Digby will do something tasty with it, I’m sure.”

Frederica gave him a dubious look that made him laugh.

“I’ve missed you, Fred. It feels like an age since we’ve talked.”

“Not quite an age , Rupert, but it has been a hectic few weeks.”

She had been excessively busy of late on account of Mr Patterson’s recovery being a very short-lived affair. After less than a month back in the schoolroom, the complaint that had struck him down in January returned with far greater severity, this time unmistakably an apoplexy. There was no possibility of him returning, and Frederica’s time was once more being split between her usual work and teaching the younger girls and boys until a replacement could be found.

“It will not be forever, though,” she added. “We will find somebody eventually who does not object to a meagre stipend and lowborn pupils.”

Rupert grunted a small laugh and glanced at her sidelong. “You know you could always marry me. Then you wouldn’t have to put up with them either.”

She wished he would not do that. They had been friends for many years—he had been at Taverstock, too, as a boy—but to her mind, that made them more brother and sister than potential spouses. Rupert was hardworking and affable—and good-looking in a rugged, tanned sort of way—but she never looked at him like that. Indeed, if she looked too hard, she was more likely to be reminded of his propensity to drink too much and ridicule too freely—traits that were tolerable in a friend, but which would very quickly become tiresome in a husband.

She had always assumed that he did not look at her with any peculiar feelings of admiration either, but of late, his talk of their one day marrying had become more insistent and distinctly less teasing. Moreover, his every mention of her being his wife seemed to come hand in hand with the idea of her leaving Taverstock, which only proved how little he truly understood her.

She did not answer him other than to roll her eyes, and she was pleased to have reached the daffodils, for crouching to pick some put an end to the topic. The sound of horses distracted her from the endeavour; she looked up and saw a carriage roll through the gates.

“Blow me if it ain’t that duke again,” Rupert exclaimed. “He’ll be wanting a bed in the dormitory soon, he’s here that often.”

Frederica came to her feet, peering at—and recognising—Penrith’s carriage. “So it is. He will be disappointed—none of the governors are here again.” She tutted. “I told him on his last visit that they only came for meetings. Would you be a dear and put these somewhere for me please?” She passed her posy of flowers to Rupert, then gave her skirts a quick brush off and checked that all the pins in her hair were secure.

“What are you making such a fuss for if you’re only planning to send him on his way again?”

“Better to give him as few reasons as possible to be displeased.” She did not wait for him to reply, for the duke was already striding towards the front door. With quick steps, she hastened across the lawn to intercept him.

He stopped upon noticing her approach, his previous haste apparently forgotten as he bowed and waited for her to reach him. “Good day to you, Miss Child.”

She caught up and curtseyed. “Good day, Your Grace. I am very sorry, but Mr Mulligan is not at Taverstock again today. None of the governors are.”

“That is well, for it is you I have come to see.”

“Me?” A flicker of pleasure briefly warmed her stomach until reason doused it.

“Yes.” He looked around. “Would you do me the honour of showing me the gardens? I have not yet seen them, and we can talk whilst we walk.”

Frederica agreed, not quite able to keep the puzzlement from her voice, and gestured along the path that led around the house. Penrith walked next to her at a sedate pace with his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of nobility. Caught up in admiring the way his nose met his brow in a perfect curve, Frederica was startled when he asked, “Does that chap have business here, or should I have my man see him off?”

She followed his gaze to the oak tree at the edge of the lawn. Rupert had moved there from the patch of daffodils and now leant casually against the trunk, her flowers held carelessly upside down against one leg as he watched them walking. No doubt wondering, as she was, what the duke wanted. “That is Mr Dalton, the gardener.”

“Very good,” the duke replied, though he cast one more dubious look at Rupert before they turned the corner of the house.

The lawn in this area was less well tended than at the front, churned up by dozens of little feet.

“This is where the children take their exercise,” Frederica explained. “The older children also have lessons in the garden when the weather allows. The boys are taught gardening and tool maintenance, and the girls learn about herbs and flowers.”

“It is an impressive arrangement.” He seemed preoccupied—certainly not much interested in the gardens he had asked to see. Indeed, his next remark confirmed it. “It was a happy coincidence to see you in Bicester last week. Advantageous, too, for my children very much enjoyed the cakes you recommended.”

Frederica smiled, genuinely delighted. “I am glad to hear it. I shall be sure to tell Mrs Tulley when I see her. It was a pleasure to meet your children. I was not aware you had any.”

He looked at her with surprise. “Were you not? They were the reason I wished to become a patron. I thought I had made that clear to Mr Mulligan.”

“I am not privy to any details about the patrons other than their names. ”

“Well, it is no secret. I have no objection to you knowing my purpose.” He fixed his gaze on the path ahead, obscuring his expression—though the stiffness in his tone betrayed the discomfort he claimed not to feel. “When the duchess died, I became my children’s only living relative in England. I have no surviving family, and my wife’s people are on the Continent. It made me consider, as I never truly had before, that if anything were to happen to me, my children would be brought up by nannies and governesses. A sad prospect, but by no means as desperate as it must be for all the other bereaved children in the world who do not have the luxury of a duke’s household.”

He glanced at her, a sardonic turn to his countenance. “I am sure you can appreciate that the fate of orphans in this country was not something to which I had ever given much consideration as a single young man. As a father, I found the notion a good deal more distressing.”

“It can be extremely difficult for some of them,” Frederica agreed. “But we help as many as we can here at Taverstock. And children, you know, are exceedingly resilient creatures. They adapt far more rapidly than most adults.”

“That is exactly the response I ought to have expected,” he said. “Melancholy holds no sway with you, does it, Miss Child?”

She was distracted briefly by his expression. It could not have been called a smile, but it was the closest she had seen him come to one, and it had done something quite extraordinary to his countenance, softening his features, making them less angular and more animated. “There is a time and a place for sadness, Your Grace,” she said, shaking off her inattention, “but I never saw pity heal anyone’s heart. What these children need is kindness, patience, and love.”

He regarded her for a moment or two before conceding with a nod. “It is a sound philosophy. I was certainly grateful for your more sanguine approach at the tearoom, when I told you my children needed cheering. One never knows what to do with pity. It is such an unwieldy sentiment.”

With a sympathetic smile, Frederica directed Penrith away from the house and through the kitchen garden, pointing out Rupert’s vegetables until they reached the gate at the far end. The trees in the orchard beyond were all bare at present, but she thought he might like to see the efforts made for Taverstock to sustain itself. Again, however, he did not seem inclined to discuss the garden.

“Speaking of our meeting in Bicester,” he said instead, “something you said to me that day gave me pause. I have thought on it long and hard this past week, and I have come to the conclusion that I cannot justly withhold my suspicions from you.”

“Suspicions, Your Grace?”

He nodded gravely. “Miss Child, I am acquainted with a family—the Richmonds.”

Frederica started at the name but held her tongue and kept walking, thinking it best to say nothing until she could be sure what was coming.

“The head of that family, the Earl of Tipton, has recently discovered that he has a niece, orphaned when his estranged brother died, and now missing beyond trace. All that is known of her is that she was born locally, twenty years ago, in 1799, and that she was referred to in his brother’s will only as ‘Female Child’.”

Frederica pretended not to notice that Penrith was watching her and waited for him to finish.

“If my memory serves me correctly, you said something to that effect of your own history the other day.” He came to a halt, forcing her to do the same. “Madam, I think you might be that niece.”

Mr Mulligan would have preferred Frederica to prevaricate, for tarnished connections were anathema to nobility, and he had already expressed concern that Taverstock might be tainted, in the duke’s eyes, by association with her. Yet, it was not in her nature to lie. She met the duke’s eye and nodded. “I am.”