The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“ A h, Miss Richmond, you are returned to us!”

Frederica started and turned to look over her shoulder. Mr Milliard had entered the office. “I am, sir! Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Do not let me interrupt your work. I have only come in search of a book.”

“It is no trouble. I was just writing some letters, but I have finished now.” Indeed, she had just sealed both. As she set about packing away the pen and wax and pushed her chair back under the desk, she asked, “What is the book? We ought to be able to find it faster if we both look.”

“I should think we will,” he said with a smile. “Though it is not a particular book. Mr Mulligan thought I might find some mathematical problems in here to give to the boys. Anything in that vein will do.”

They each went to opposing corners of the book-lined wall at one end of the office and began their search .

“How was your visit with your family?” Mr Milliard enquired after a few moments.

“Very agreeable, thank you. I had a wonderful time.”

“I am glad to hear it. It would have been a shame if Mrs Pargeter and Mrs Digby’s prepossessions had soured the experience for you.”

Frederica grinned at him. “I think they have warmed to the idea a little now. Is this one any good?” She passed him a book whose title was faded but which, to her eye, looked as though it contained calculations. It turned out to be lessons in physics and too advanced for the boys in Mr Milliard’s class; they continued looking.

“And did you manage to find out everybody’s ages, in the end?” Mr Milliard asked.

“I did. The twins are two-and-twenty, and Lord Oakley is four-and-twenty.”

“Your cousin is not much older than you and your sisters, then? That must be pleasant, to all be at the same stage of life. Though there must be some regret to think that you might have grown up together if you had not all been orphaned.”

All? Frederica floundered slightly, unsure whether to point out Mr Milliard’s mistake, for she did not wish to draw unnecessary attention to it, nor blush at correcting an error that was, in fact, a truth. “My sisters and I being orphaned was regrettable indeed,” she said in the end. “But I learnt long ago not to repine things that cannot be changed.”

“You are wise beyond your years,” Mr Milliard mumbled into the book he had just pulled off the shelf. “ Far better to focus one’s energies on the things that can and ought to be changed. Still!” he said, banging the book closed. “It is a bittersweet irony that your father and uncle were blessed with children so close in age and never knew it.”

“It is,” Frederica agreed, “but we know it now, and we are making up for lost time.”

Mr Milliard returned his book to the shelf and continued his search. “Indeed! And I must say, Lord Oakley has shown remarkable enthusiasm for his cousins’ reunion by throwing over all his plans to come with as much haste to meet you as your sisters have. What an upstanding young man he must be.”

In an attempt to steer the conversation away from Oakley, Frederica said, “I am fortunate indeed with all my new relations. My brothers Lord Kemerton and Lord Worthe have been every bit as welcoming.”

“I am pleased to hear it—about Lord Kemerton especially, for I confess I had heard some whispers in my younger days that the family was excessively proud. But if the son has turned out more amiable than the father, that is all to the good.”

“Strictly speaking, the son has married a maid, so I think we can say with authority that he is not the least bit proud,” Frederica said, laughing lightly.

Mr Milliard did not laugh. In fact, he looked rather vexed. She tried to ignore the discomfort of having made a poor joke and returned to searching the shelves.

“Will this do?” She passed Mr Milliard a book titled Arithmetic Examples .

“That will do perfectly, thank you.” He took the book, Frederica retrieved her letters from the desk, and together they quit the office. “And so,” he said as they went, “Lord Oakley shows no sign of marrying as his cousins have done? I am surprised. I would have thought he would be keen to beget an heir.”

Frederica wished he would cease talking about her family. While she appreciated his encouragement, she was not a good liar and was growing more conscious by the moment of what she must not say. “I understand he has been rather unfortunate in love,” she hedged, for speaking about Oakley’s failed romances seemed infinitely safer than talking about him.

Mr Milliard clicked his tongue. “That is difficult to credit, when he has a future earldom to offer his bride.”

“An earldom was not enough to tempt Lady Veronica Edmonton—or even Mrs Beamish, though it would have been an excellent match for her.” She could hear herself rattling away like one of Taverstock’s girls but seemed unable to stop herself. She turned around to cover her discomfiture under the pretence of securing the office door.

“Mrs Beamish, Sir Humphrey Leighton’s daughter?” Mr Milliard asked.

“Yes, that is the one,” she said as she fumbled for the correct key in her pocket. “She quite broke his heart, to hear him talk about her.” She had no idea whether that was true—she had only a few mentions and a vague suspicion to go on—but whatever could save her from talking about the actual truth would have to do for now .

“I am not surprised his heart was broken, if he was overlooked in favour of a commoner,” Mr Milliard opined.

A commoner? That was an odd phrase for a man who could himself claim no notable consequence. “Quite,” she said as she finally shoved the correct key in the lock. “I do not think she deserved Oakley, but he obviously did.”

“Obviously, if he was as cut up as you say,” Mr Milliard replied. His voice was different—amused, somehow. When Frederica turned back to him, she was unnerved to observe him smiling almost wolfishly. Already disquieted, she jumped when another door opened, and one of the boys walked into the hall.

“Benjamin, what are you doing here?” she asked.

Benjamin looked in her direction at the same moment Mr Milliard turned around to look at him, and to Frederica’s surprise, the boy flinched.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’!” he cried and ran away up the stairs before either Frederica or Mr Milliard could say another word.

“Goodness, what was that about?” Frederica asked. “He is not usually skittish.”

Mr Milliard shook his head dolefully. “He was obviously distressed to have disappointed you , Miss Richmond. He knows better than to leave the schoolroom, and now you have caught him at it.”

“Me?” Frederica repeated uncertainly, dismayed at the prospect. No child had ever flinched at her presence before.

“Do not concern yourself,” he said. “I shall have a word with him and ensure he knows that there is to be no repeat of such behaviour.”

“But I—” The front doorbell rang before Frederica could say any more.

“I shall leave you to attend to that, Miss Richmond. Thank you for your help with the book.” Holding it triumphantly aloft, Mr Milliard strode away across the hall and up the stairs.

Feeling thoroughly rattled, Frederica opened the door and gasped with pleasure to see Penrith on the doorstep. After such an unsettling few minutes, she could not have conceived of a more welcome sight. “It is you!”

“It is.”

She could have sworn his eyes twinkled. The memory of their encounter by Avonwyke’s lake returned to her in a flash—as it had done incessantly over the day and a half since it happened. She had vacillated between dreaming about his tender touch and affectionate gaze, attempting to imagine what it would have been like if he had kissed her, and questioning whether it had happened at all, for it savoured too much of a fairy tale to be real.

“Might I come in?”

She was barring his way, she comprehended with a start, stood on the threshold, staring at him as she was. She hastened backwards. “Yes! Pardon me.”

He stepped into the hall and removed his hat. He was wearing riding clothes, she noticed, and had a crop in his hand. “I am not interrupting your work I hope?” he asked, pointing to the letters in her hand.

Frederica had all but forgotten them in her agitation. One was another plea to the family who wished to adopt Lucy Baxter, begging them to take Tom as well. The other was altogether more frivolous.

“Not at all,” she assured him. “One of these is not even work related—merely a piece of wishful thinking on my part. Do you recall that Adelaide mentioned a friend, Patty, whom she lost touch with after leaving High Brook?”

“I do. She has mentioned her more than once in my hearing.”

“Quite—and given my own feelings about leaving Taverstock…well, I thought I would do what I could to try and find her friend. There is a foundling hospital in Southampton. I have written to the matron to ask whether anybody by the name of Patty Robins has applied for work there.” She looked at the letter, feeling all the futility of the undertaking, then shrugged. “It will likely come to nothing, but it is worth a try.”

Penrith regarded her in that way he often did, with an expression that was not quite a smile, but which nevertheless made him look pleased, or proud, or at any rate something very far removed from sad. “That is exceptionally thoughtful, Miss Richmond. Should you like me to write to my acquaintances in the area as well?”

Frederica’s hopes for success soared. Her letter might achieve very little, but a duke’s enquiries were sure to find something out. “Adelaide will be beside herself with gratitude.”

“I am pleased, though I do not pretend to be doing it for anyone but you. ”

“Oh!” Frederica looked aside, too embarrassed to maintain his gaze, and mumbled her thanks.

“There is something you could do for me in return. Say you will accompany me to a ball.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “A ball? Whose?”

“Mine, at Easter. You said you thought you might enjoy one.”

He withdrew a card from his inside breast pocket and presented it to her. It was ornately decorated, her name written in a handsome, masculine hand. She pictured him sitting down to write it himself and would have dismissed the notion, except she then remembered his riding clothes. Has he ridden here to give this to me in person? Her heart leapt at the thought.

“I did say that—and I meant it. Only…so soon? I know none of the dances.”

“That does not matter. You do not have to dance if you do not wish to, but I should like you to be there all the same. Think of it as research in your endeavour to make an informed choice about your future, for you will never truly know whether you like balls until you have attended one.”

She smiled—amazed, diverted, and humbled all at once. “Would it not look strange for me to not dance at all?”

“You may stub your toe in the first dance and sit the rest out if you like. I am in earnest—your being there is all that matters to me. Besides, I do not intend for it to be a large event.” His countenance took on a turn of awkwardness; he tapped his crop against his thigh and exhaled resignedly before adding, “It will be the first ball I have given since Margot died. I have attended a few engagements since I came out of mourning, but I have not had the heart for anything of this sort. It is expected of me, though. It would be detrimental to my children’s prospects if I were to become a recluse.”

He took her by surprise by reaching for her hand. Frederica allowed the liberty. The thought that she would have liked to allow him many more left her breathless and hot.

“You have emboldened me to take that step, Miss Richmond,” he continued. “All I want for now is the courage to see the thing through, and I believe I shall find that more easily with you there.” With a subtle squeeze, he released her hand, then added, with a seriousness that was entirely at odds with his words, “And if shameless bribery is what you require, then my children have expressed a wish to see you again.”

“Oh? Will they be attending the ball?” she asked, laughing.

“No,” he replied wryly, “but you might visit them in the nursery beforehand if you were to attend.”

Frederica pressed his card to her breast and smiled warmly. “That would be delightful, but I do not require a bribe. I should be honoured to come to your ball.”

The look of relief on his face was almost enough to allay her apprehension. She would need to apply to the governors for another night away from Taverstock, to her sisters to lend her something to wear, and to her brothers to help her learn at least one or two dances. She would be reliant on them all to accelerate the tuition they had already begun in the etiquette expected in polished society. Yet, those qualms notwithstanding, she could not deny that attending a ball at Cedarvale as Penrith’s particular guest was a prospect that filled her with joy.