Page 23 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
But what had he expected? Little Windmill House was a foundling home, so in theory, the girls at the table had lost their parents. Yet facing the reality of their pasts was more gut-wrenching now that he spent time with them. Knew their names. Laughed with them.
“My parents died of a fever, too, and I wasn’t much older than you are now.” Charlotte reached for Agnes’s hand and squeezed it.
The girl looked up at her, furiously blinking her eyes.
Finlay observed the pair with a confusing knot in his throat. Teatime was supposed to be a frivolous affair, as they usually were in the Mayfair drawing rooms he attended. Yet, this one had been anything but frivolous. He found he wasn’t sorry for it, if only for the added insight it provided into Charlotte’s mysterious life. Loss was an unfortunate hand she’d been dealt all too often, it seemed.
“What about you, Elspeth?” she asked, directing the table’s attention from the girl who gripped her hand like a lifeline.
Wee Elspeth, Fanny, and then Meg shared their ideal days. Finlay laughed at their comments and asked them questions in turn even while Charlotte never released Agnes’s hand. The gesture, so simple, made him tamp down uncomfortable feelings he hadn’t expected when he’d decided to search out the beautiful but prim teacher he’d been unable to forget.
“And what of you, my lord?”Charlotte’s gloriously blue eyes pinned him to his chair. “I hope you plan to share with us your perfect day.”
His response was immediate. “I will if you share yours first.”
She pressed her lips together as if smothering a smile. Or a scowl. “Very well.” She idly stirred her tea, her eyes darting back and forth in thought. At last, she looked up. “I’d want to return to Naples. I was there once several years ago, and I think it one of the most remarkable places I visited.”
“Why?” Meg’s question echoed Finlay’s mental one.
“Naples was so full of life. Of excitement.” She paused, her gaze drifting to the window unseeing. “The sun always shone. It was warm. The breezes off the sea were dry and flavored with salt.” She flashed a wry grin. “I’m sure it’s not hard to see why a girl from Spitalfields would fall in love with such a place.”
The sound of wood creaking filled the air as Meg, Elspeth, Polly, Agnes, and Fanny leaned forward in their chairs, enraptured. Absently, Finlay realized he’d come to sit on the edge of his seat, as well.
“And the sights.” Her head shook back and forth. “Knowing one of the greatest civilizations the world had ever known had unfolded below my feet, their works still visible in the ruins around the city, was humbling.”
She licked her lips, Finlay tracking the movements of her tongue with a stealthy precision. “And the food. It was like nothing I’d ever had before…or since.”
Several sighs sounded from around the table.
“I want to travel,” Meg said, and several heads nodded in agreement.
Finlay opened his mouth to encourage them, but Charlotte interjected. “I hope you have the chance, my dear. But oftentimes, such things are for those who have the means to afford it. I was able to visit because my husband was an officer in the East India Company. Without his appointment, I doubt the wonders of Naples or Paris or Bombay would have been available to me.”
Such blunt honesty was not what he expected to hear. Finlay fought back the challenging words that sat on his tongue. That hard work meant success. That anyone could pull themselves up by the bootstraps if they showed the initiative.
But Charlotte’s somber, steady gaze tempered his tongue. Her comments about his place in society replayed through his mind. He’d grown up the spoiled son of a wealthy earl. If he wanted to sample the treasures of the Italian coast in spite of his many responsibilities, he had the means to do so.
He studied the girls at the table. Naples. Paris. Bombay. Those far-off cities may not be a possibility for an orphan from Dumfriesshire. Or Derbyshire. Or Spitalfields. But if every teacher at the foundling home was as kindhearted as Charlotte Taylor, they would reach adulthood with happy memories and skills that would see them through dark days.
Finlay wasn’t certain he could claim the same.
Charlotte met his gaze, and once again he suspected she knew his thoughts. Turning back to her students, she said, “But I have hope the world is changing. That clever women who work hard, who have the right connections”—she paused, tapping her chin with her finger—“like say, connections to a viscount, or a marquess, or a duke’s daughter, might find themselves the sort of position that allows them to taste and smell and see the world.”
The five young ladies nodded their heads enthusiastically.
“Learn as much as you can now, ladies.” Charlotte placed both hands on the table, her eyes keen. “Many people will say the only thing a young lady of your station needs to know is how to sew. How to clean the silver. How to lay a tea tray. But my hope is that those same people will be the ones you’ll wave goodbye to as your ship sets sail for far-off destinations.”
A slow smile crept across Finlay’s mouth.
…
Lord Firthwell’s smile did weird things to Charlotte’s stomach.
She struggled to focus on her students. To pay attention as they described their perfect days. To laugh when they told a funny anecdote. To hold their hands when sorrow clogged their throats.
And yet Finlay—Lord Firthwell—was the person her gaze returned to again and again.
She resented him for it.
