Page 27 of A Gentleman's Reckoning
“And this Mr. Aubin, who is he?” Geny asked. Margery had mentioned a few things, but she wished to hear it directly from Mr. Thompson. It was not that it made any difference, but she could not help her curiosity over anything that related to Mr. Rowles.
“I know very little,” Mr. Thompson admitted. “I have a friend who runs in society some, and he was in a club with the man. The fellow was barred from the club for unsavory behavior. I believe he ruined a gentleman through fraudulent means and spread lies about another.”
“He sounds horrid,” Geny admitted.
This relieved her mind. There could be no confusing such a person with Mr. Rowles. There might be a bit of natural reticence to him, but he was not so base as to seek a man’s ruin, and he would certainly not be the type to spread false witness.
“In a way it relieves my mind, though. Mr. Rowles shares no characteristics with such a man, and I am glad. I should not like for the asylum to be in such unscrupulous hands.”
“Then I am relieved for your sake,” Mr. Thompson said, looking up as Margery turned toward them. A smile lit his face, but it was lost on Margery who would not look in his direction.
“I have triumphed,” she said, holding the pile of fabric up for Geny. Then, as though remembering the figure she had adopted before Mr. Thompson, added, “There is nothing I like more than shopping, even if it is not for my own purposes.”
“I can see that,” he said gravely, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he looked at her. He took the pile of textiles from her hands and tucked them under his arm.
“You have made quick work of it,” Geny said.
“Of course,” Margery replied with a tilt to her chin.
Geny shook her head fondly, full of good humor. It had been a satisfactory day. For one thing, she had been able to tell Mr.Thompson more about who Margery truly was and didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt over betraying her friend in such a way. If he wished to pursue her, he would do so—and perhaps with less discouragement than he might otherwise have felt, now that he knew she was merely difficult to win over and not truly superficial. If he was the man for her, he would push through and win her. And if Margery chose to ignore his advances, then that was her own choice. But Geny did not think she would hold out for long.
Another element contributed to Geny’s good humor. She was now confident the man Mr. Thompson had thought Mr. Rowles to be—Mr. Aubin—was most assuredly not him. The two men could not be more different. A man like Mr. Aubin would never add to his own workload by offering to teach orphans. Why, he would not be working as a steward in the first place, for Mr. Aubin was apparently a gentleman. It just went to show one that gentlemanly behavior was not limited to those who possessed the title of it.
Geny had always lovedher time at the asylum, but she had never set off for her visits with such eagerness until Mr. Rowles had taken on the position. She stepped out of the carriage and tilted her face to the sky. The spring sunlight had begun to grow warm, and tulips blossomed all along the plot of land that the gardeners were working. They grew vegetables, of course, but from the beginning, the countess had suggested they grow flowers as well. There was enough earth for it, she had said, declaring that everyone needed a bit of beauty in their lives.
Charity went on her way to the kitchen, where she would help out until it was time to teach the duties of a lady’s maid to the three orphans in training. Geny went straight to the classroom where her small students awaited her. She and her maidhad been stuck behind a cart carrying root vegetables that had turned over, and it delayed their arrival. She had had no time to go upstairs and remove her cloak and bonnet. Never mind. It would be her reward to see Mr. Rowles when she was finished.
I wonder what his first name is.
Jack, the one orphan boy in her class, was waiting for her by the door, and when he saw she carried no basket, he looked disappointed. She pretended not to notice. It was better that they not grow accustomed to thinking there would be a treat at every class. They should learn that it was enough simply to live safely with their share of food, care, and instruction. One could not eat sweetmeats every day of the week, after all.
“Good morning, children,” she said and assembled them into the half-circle to begin reciting from their readers. Today she would be teaching them to write three-letter words on the blackboard for the first time and knew they would be astonished to discover they could write something that someone else could read. It thrilled her to think of their futures, of what they might become. She hoped they would be cheerful and industrious, thankful for their chance in life.
The forty-five minutes usually passed quickly, but today Geny constantly had to force her mind back to her students. She wondered if Mr. Rowles knew that she was here, and if he was as eager to see her as she was to see him. At last, her class ended, and she sent the children off to eat the midday meal the orphanage provided them while she stayed behind to tidy up the books.
Alone, Geny looked around the small room, folding her arms around her waist, as she thought about how best to approach Mr. Rowles with her idea. Her plan was to ask him if he wished to accompany her on an errand to seek out the two masons the steward had recommended, and see if either could be found. It embarrassed her to be so forward as to propose it,but she decided to do it anyway. On the days she did not see him, shemissedhim.
Geny went over to the blackboard and picked up the rag beside it. The only tricky part was how to accomplish this without Mr. Dowling catching wind of the errand—him or anyone else in the asylum who was likely to talk. If she went to his office, Mr. Dowling would overhear and likely summon the audacity to question her on what she was doing.
A knock on the door interrupted her meditation, and she turned from where she had been wiping the blackboard to see Mr. Rowles. In her surprise, she knocked over the tray of chalk that was next to the board.
“Allow me,” he said, darting over to help her pick up the chalk, now broken.
She bent down at the same time, flustered to have him in the room with her, despite it being the very thing she wished for. Her hands trembled, and he gently took the tray from her. She straightened, and without forethought, touched her fingers to her cheeks to try to cool them as Mr. Rowles collected the last bits and stood upright.
“How do you do, my lady? Forgive me, for I fear I startled you.” Mr. Rowles smiled, then he stilled as his gaze rested on her face. He pulled a handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket, handing it to her.
“You have…you have chalk on your face, I believe.”
“Oh.” Geny could feel the heat in her cheeks and was glad for the distraction. She took the handkerchief and began to wipe at her cheek.
“It is not there. It is…” He pointed to the other side.
She wiped her other cheek and glanced at him in inquiry. He nodded and she handed back his handkerchief, their bare hands brushing as she passed it to him. It sent her heart rate pummeling her chest.
“I was walking by the classroom when I saw you here,” heexplained. He looked as self-conscious as she felt, and she guessed that he had not spoken the entire truth. She did not think it was by accident that he had come to the classroom at this hour when he would know where she was.
The knowledge that he wished to see her caused her heart to soar. They were surely engaging in some sort of quiet courtship, were they not? It was not the loud Hyde Park romance that was followed by a trail of buzzing gossip. It was the courtship of two souls who had the same values and cared about the same things, never mind that their situations in life were different. She began to hope that he found her as admirable and attractive as she found him.
