The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

T he week following the duke’s visit gave Frederica little time to ponder his revelation. There did not seem enough hours in the day to undo a lifetime under the assumption that she did not belong to anyone, or to wonder that the family she had always believed would not recognise her were, in truth, desirous of knowing her. She was too busy to sit about, imagining what they thought about her discovery.

She did find herself watching the few brothers and sisters presently homed at Taverstock. She noticed the affinity they seemed to share beyond that of the other children and worried whether she and her sisters had any hope of achieving such an understanding, having been so long separated. In a quiet moment, she asked Mrs Digby whether she had any cousins, and what that was like, for she supposed that if she could not find an affinity with the twins, perhaps she would have more luck with her cousin, the viscount. Once—and only once—she stood before her mirror, looking at her wheat-coloured hair, green eyes, and small button nose, wondering: if she was as unlike her sisters as Penrith had said, then whom did she take after?

Yet, those moments were few and far between. On the whole, life continued as it always had—as she had every intention that it always should—safe and secure in her place at Taverstock, nurturing the orphans whose welfare and happiness she had made it her life’s work to protect.

When eight days had passed without word, she began to think that Penrith was mistaken after all—that the Richmonds had not been searching for her, or perhaps that they did not believe her story. When a letter arrived on the ninth day addressed to Miss F Richmond, with quite the grandest seal she had ever seen and postmarked from Bedfordshire, she was surprised by the strength of feeling it provoked. She had told herself she would not be troubled if the Richmonds declined to acknowledge her. She had not expected to feel relief, nor indeed anticipation, at being written to.

She opened the letter where she stood in the hall, too anxious to wait for a more private setting, but relief altered very rapidly to dismay as she read. The letter was from Lord Tipton and exceedingly short. His hand was fine and his words kind, if formal. He expressed his delight at Penrith’s fortuitous discovery and his anticipation to make Frederica’s acquaintance, but more than that, he suggested, could and should wait to be discussed until they were in company. He therefore extended an invitation for her to come to Chiltern Court the se’nnight after next for a stay of three weeks.

Frederica dropped her hands, the letter still held tightly in both, and let out a whimper of dismay. She could not leave Taverstock for three weeks ! She could not leave it for three days and hope to return to anything resembling order. Indeed, the necessity of leaving Taverstock at all had simply not occurred to her—foolishly, she had assumed Lord Tipton would come to her—and she was dismayed that her very first communication with him must be to refuse his kind invitation.

The office door opened nearby, and Mr Mulligan came out, muttering to those on the inside. “…have to start without them if they do not arrive soon. Ah, Miss Child! Have you—I say, is something the matter?”

If she had not known that he was about to convene a meeting and that most of the other governors and patrons were gathered around the table on the other side of the door, Frederica might have unburdened herself to him. He was, after all, the only person who would not be surprised by her disclosure. As it was, she shook her head and forced herself to smile.

“I was just on my way out and noticed the clouds. I hope I shan’t get drenched!” She did not give him time to reply and hastened out of the front door—barrelling directly into Rupert, who was digging in the front border.

He let out a soft “Oof!” as Frederica stumbled, unable to catch her footing. He left his fork in the soil and steadied her with both hands. “Whoa! What’s got you in such a state? ”

“’Tis nothing.”

Frederica could not explain her present distress to Rupert without first revealing her history, and she baulked at the notion. She had spoken truthfully when she told Penrith she had never lied about her descent—but she had never needed to. Somebody else had made the decision to call her Miss Child, not she. Faced with disclosing the truth, her first inclination was to lie. Rupert had no love of swells, as he called them, and the prospect that she might lose his esteem only added to her distress.

“What’s that say, then?” Rupert asked, pointing to the letter in her hand. “Is there someone who needs a talking-to?”

That drew a fraught laugh from her. Dear Rupert! For all his silly talk of marriage, he was a dear friend—and an old one; she could not deceive him. “It is from my uncle,” she admitted. “The Earl of Tipton.”

“Eh?” He let go of her arms as though she had burnt him and stepped back from her, shoving his hands in his pockets. His cheeks and neck had flared blotchy red. “You’ve got an uncle who’s an earl?”

At her nod, he added, “You kept that quiet.”

“He and my father were estranged, so he was an uncle in name only. At least, I thought he was. It turns out, he has been looking for me.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No! I could never leave Taverstock. He only wishes me to visit.” A knot of alarm abruptly formed in Frederica’s stomach. Would Lord Tipton expect her to leave permanently ?

“Well, tell him you ain’t interested!”

“I am interested in meeting him—but that is all. I do not wish to go anywhere. I never dreamt he would expect it of me.” Yet, would an earl ever consent to his niece residing at an orphanage? “But now, I…I do not know what he wants me to do. And I do not know whether I can refuse.”

Rupert rubbed the back of his neck. “Damned if I know what to suggest, then, Fred. But I don’t see why you should be doing all the running around after some uncle who left you to rot in this place all your life.”

“He did not leave me to rot. He had no notion I was here.”

Rupert scoffed. “He’d have found you if he wanted you.”

“You do not understand.”

It was the wrong thing to say; his face twisted with a mix of hurt and loathing. “Why? Am I too common?”

“No!” Frederica drew a deep breath, trying to quell her rioting emotions. More steadily, she said, “I am not explaining it well.”

“Is this why you never wanted to marry me? My blood not blue enough for you?”

“Rupert, that is not?—”

“Jesus wept, he’s here again !” Rupert spat. He was looking over Frederica’s shoulder. She followed his gaze. She had been too distressed to notice the carriage driving up to the house, but her heart lifted to see Penrith alighting. He would be able to offer her counsel, for he would know what had been said to and by her uncle .

Rupert gave a sudden, bitter bark of laughter. “Is that why this one’s been sniffing around—because he knows who you really are?”

Frederica shook her head, revolted to hear such a crude phrase applied to the impeccably mannered duke. “He is here for the governors’ meeting.” She did not realise she had begun moving towards Penrith until Rupert grabbed her arm.

“Leave him to talk to them , then. You don’t have to go running every time he turns up here.”

“I want to talk to him.”

Rupert dropped her arm a second time. “Of course. Why take comfort from a gardener when you can make a fool of yourself over a duke.” He bowed overly low and stormed away.

“Rupert! I only meant because he might know how to help me!”

But he was gone, marching around the corner of the house in long, angry strides. The wind blew, and Lord Tipton’s letter flapped about in Frederica’s hand, reminding her of his generous invitation. Her heart sank. She had made it the business of her life to be a source of hope and compassion; she was not used to disappointing people. The feeling was horrible, and after a few shuddering breaths, she burst into tears.

“Miss Child! Can I be of assistance? What has happened?”

Frederica’s misery increased tenfold, for now here was the Duke of Penrith in all his state to observe her weeping like the child she was named for. She took a deep breath and tried to speak collectedly. “Pray, do not let me delay you. You are expected?—”

“Nonsense. The governors will do perfectly well without me. Has Mr Dalton said something to upset you?”

She shook her head and held up her letter. “My uncle wrote to me.” She could say no more, for her tears would not be held at bay.

Penrith frowned in obvious confusion. “Tipton?” Then he gave up questioning it and held his arm out for her instead. “Come, let us get you inside. The heavens are about to open.”

Frederica was by then so wretched, she had not the wits to do anything but nod her consent and be led inside. She stood, red-eyed and mortified, as Penrith saw to everything. A room was secured for his use and tea sent for. Mr Mulligan was encouraged to conduct his meeting without him, then join him in said room afterwards. Daisy was stationed on a chair outside the slightly ajar door for propriety’s sake—though that only increased Frederica’s sense of falling headlong into a world that was not her own, for a chaperon was not something she had ever had to consider before. Nobody tended to care what women of her situation in life did behind closed doors.

At length, with a hot drink in her hands and her equanimity somewhat restored, Frederica watched as Penrith sat down opposite her and raised his eyebrows in question. “Better? ”

With all the worries occupying her mind, she least expected his good looks to be her prevailing consideration, but this close, with his distinctive dark blue eyes fixed on her, she could not help but stare. His beauty was not the first thing one noticed about him, for there was so much else that drew one’s notice, from his commanding stateliness to his vague yet persistent melancholy. But she noticed it now, and felt a little breathless to be in such close proximity to possibly the handsomest man she had ever known.

“Yes, thank you,” she said quietly. “I beg you would forgive me for causing you so much trouble.”

“Not at all—I am only concerned that my interference in your affairs has been the cause of your distress. If Lord Tipton has not responded kindly, I can only apologise.”

“Oh, no, that is not it at all. He has been exceedingly generous. He has invited me to Chiltern Court to meet him and all his—all my family.” She took a deep breath as she felt tears threaten again. “I am distressed because I cannot even contemplate going.”

“You have changed your mind about knowing them?”

“By no means. Only, I did not consider, when I agreed to Your Grace contacting them, that I should need to leave Taverstock.”

Penrith frowned. “I doubt whether Lord Tipton meant for you to move to Chiltern Court permanently—only to visit.”

“Indeed, that is what he has suggested, but the more I think on it, the less easily I can believe an earl would allow his niece to live and work at an orphanage. It may be a short visit on this occasion, but what then? I cannot bear the thought of leaving, but I am not yet of age—he might give me no choice.”

“Tipton is a reasonable man. I am sure he will be willing to consider your wishes.”

Frederica shook her head. “It is hopeless either way. I cannot go to Chiltern Court even for a brief stay. It would mean being away from the children for a week at least. There is too much to do. We have yet to replace Mr Patterson, I have three adoptions on the cusp of completion, Geoffrey still cries every night and cannot be left, Emily has only recently begun to speak again but will not do it unless I am with her…I am needed here.”

She sighed miserably. “And so, I must disappoint my new family from the very first moment of meeting them. It grieves me to know how it will offend them. Lord Tipton is, as we speak, making arrangements for my travel. What will they think of me? It is the worst possible beginning.”

Penrith sat back in his chair and exhaled heavily through his nose, his mouth set in a hard line and his brow furrowed. “This is my fault. I wrote to your uncle, as I promised I would, but I gave little context of your work here. That was careless, given what I know of your importance to Taverstock.” In a gentler tone, he added, “And Taverstock’s importance to you. I hope you will allow me to remedy the situation.”

Frederica had no objection—it was what she had hoped for. “But how?”

He was pensive for a moment or two before speaking. “ It might be prudent for me to speak to Lord Kemerton—your sister’s husband. His estate is not far from mine. If I can speak to him in person, I might better explain the situation. He and Lady Kemerton might then smooth the way with the rest of the family. Allow me to try, before you reply to your uncle?”

It would not fix everything, but it was a start—and certainly a better start than the one presently to hand. “Thank you,” Frederica replied. “I should be exceedingly grateful.”

She was grateful, also, for the way in which he dealt with Mr Mulligan. Despite her assurances that it changed nothing, the chair of governors made it abundantly clear that he was uncomfortable with the acknowledged granddaughter of an earl remaining in Taverstock’s employ—particularly if doing so would make an enemy of her uncle, Lord Tipton. Yet, when he expressed his disinclination to act in any way that might displease the earl, Penrith calmly asked him if he would rather displease a duke who also happened to be a patron, for it was his wish that Frederica be allowed to remain, if that was her desire. After that, Mr Mulligan found a new peace with the situation.

Frederica’s most profound gratitude was for the duke’s kindness. He did not make her feel a fool for responding with such feeling to her uncle’s letter. He made no mention of her aberrant bout of nerves or her tear-stained countenance. He showed no vexation at having missed his meeting. He only listened, comforted, and offered to help her—again. She sighed wistfully whenever she thought on it later. There was no doubt she could love a man like Penrith. If only men like him existed in worlds like hers.