Page 60 of Nature of the Crime
Sir scuffed the worn carpet with his heel and was quiet. He had grown a few inches and his voice had begun to change, but he still appeared much like the urchin who’d tried picking Hugh’s pocket a handful of years ago near Fleet Street. But hewasn’t that same boy. Hugh had to remind himself of that. Sir was not some poor, hungry, desperate little street rat anymore.
“Did you have to go to one of those schools?” Sir asked after a moment. He sounded genuinely curious, not belligerent.
“I didn’t. I was the viscount’s illegitimate ward and received a tutor.”
He’d been envious of Barty when he’d gone off to Eton and he’d had to remain in the library with the younger Thomas and Eloisa for their lessons. However, Barty’s absence had given their father an opportunity to spend more time with Hugh, and whenever Barty returned from Eton, he would lash out in whatever way he could toward his half-brother. Now, of course, it was obvious that Barty only acted that way becausehewas envious. At the time, though, Hugh had only seen and felt Barty’s hatred.
“Lords send their sons off to those types of places.” Sir scratched behind his ear. He peeked up at Hugh. “I’m not your son.”
Chagrined, Hugh shook his head tightly. “No, you are not.”
“I have a father.”
“You do.”
A cruel one. A drunkard who used to treat his scrawny son as a boxing opponent. His wife, too. Hugh kept his lips sealed. He would not denigrate Sir’s father aloud. It would be ungentlemanly.
“He wouldn’t allow it,” Sir added. He was likely correct. Harlan Givens was a proud man, even if he was a bully. He’d never have accepted the position at the Seven Sins as security had he known Hugh had been the one to arrange it. He surely would not allow another man, and a lord at that, to send his boy away to an elite boarding school.
“I can’t tell you what to do,” Hugh said. “I know I am just your employer.” Sir jerked his chin. Just a hair, but Hughnoticed. Had that offended him? “However, I have a vested interest in your education. And whether anyone likes it or not, including yourself and your father, I do care about you, Sir.”
The room fell quiet again. An awkward and unfamiliar quiet. Discussing feelings was the last thing Sir would want, and Hugh wasn’t overly indulgent in displays of affection. Unless Audrey was the recipient, of course. With her, he would indulge with pleasure. But the boy was guarded. For good reason, too.
“So,” he went on, “you may choose: Eton, Harrow, or a full-time tutor.” He drew a breath and then added, “You may, of course, choose to leave. I am not your jailor.”
Sir’s scowl was instant. “I ain’t leaving.” He shrugged. “Who would torment Baz?”
A tightness in Hugh’s chest unlocked, and he laughed. “I could handle that easily enough.”
“He doesn’t listen to you.”
“He doesn’t, does he? I’m beginning to think even if I really did sack him one day, he’d just turn up again the next morning, berating me for daring to grow facial hair.”
“Or for wrinkling your bedsheets.”
“I’m sure even the method of my breathing is offensive to him.”
Sir chuckled, and then after another pause—this one less awkward now that they had slighted Basil in good fun—he hooked a thumb toward the bed. “You want this room, or another one? The innkeeper doesn’t much care anymore, or so I imagine.”
Hugh arched a brow at the quip. “You stay here. Get some rest.”
He was not yet ready for bed, and there was a certain duchess he needed to see.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Greer was still fussing when a familiar rapping landed upon Audrey’s guest room door. It was late, close to midnight, and though she had yet to really become warm again, she was no longer in any danger. Having been submitted to a steamy bath, a flannel nightrail, wool stockings, endless cups of hot tea, and a bowl of tasteless broth, Audrey only wished to now be left alone.
“Just a moment,” she called, raising her voice slightly for Hugh to hear through the door. Then she looked expectantly at Greer, who was diligently packing for their departure in the morning.
“Lord Thornton has pronounced me well and fit,” she said from where she sat upright in bed, covered by not one but two blankets, and wearing a hideously matron-like mobcap to boot. Greer had eagerly placed it on when Thornton had suggested a head covering would conserve warmth. He’d snickered at the filly lace edging that flopped into Audrey’s vision.
“Yes, Your Grace, I only thought to pack up a few things before tomorrow.”
“Greer, you need rest. Mrs. Plimpton dosed you with laudanum, may I remind you.”
“No need. My throbbing head is reminder enough.”
