Page 9 of A Gentleman's Reckoning
From there, she walked through the parlor that connected to the other set of offices and was halfway across the room when she stopped short.What am I doing? I can’t visit a man’s office forno reason other than to bid him good day! He will think I am pursuing him. I have gone mad.
Her odd behavior troubled her, and she turned to go back to her desk. She would merely stop by the nursery to see little Ben as she had planned and then go home. She was nearly at the door leading to her own office when she heard someone addressing her.
“Lady Eugenia.”
She turned back to see Mr. Rowles standing on the opposite end of the parlor. His coat had clearly been made by one of the best tailors in London, and it once again sent her thoughts into confusion.Surely he is a gentleman of substance?His pantaloons were spotless, as were his Hessians, making her even more conscious of her dirty gown. He bowed.
“Good morning, Mr. Rowles.” She remained frozen, half turned and unsure of herself, and this frustrated her, too, for such awkwardness was unlike her. “How have you found your first days at the asylum?”
“Interesting,” he said. “However, I have not had a chance to see much of it.”
“Did Mr. Dowling not bring you to visit the rooms then?” she asked, surprised. It seemed like something he ought to have done as the first order of business.
“No. In fact, other than Mrs. Hastings inviting me to partake of a midday meal with the rest of the workers, I have not yet seen much of anything.” He shrugged and gave a smile. “It is of no account, since I spent much time going through the ledgers. However, I must gain a better grasp of how the asylum is run and visit the rooms without too long of a delay.”
“Perhaps I might show you the rooms,” she suggested. “That is, if you are not too busy?”
He revealed his surprise with a brief lift of his brows, but what seemed to be his naturally good breeding removed its trace almost before she noticed. “I would be delighted.” His tonecontained nothing more than professional interest, and if she had any lingering doubts about mixed intentions, his next words were clear. “If I am to see how best to use the donations we receive, it is important that I learn every corner of the asylum.”
“Very well.” Geny was nervous and feared it obvious. She did not seem to know what to do with her hands. “I am ready if you are.”
“Perfectly,” he answered and walked to her side.
“Let us visit this floor first. It is where all of the bedrooms are, and some of the classrooms.” She led the way into the corridor, trying to discover why she was so nervous around Mr. Rowles, and at the same time trying not to think of him at all. “We will begin by visiting the boys’ dormitory.”
The asylum formed a full square on the first floor, although the ground floor was interrupted by the gated entrance. In the middle of the square were the courtyard and gardens. The stable and carriage house took up part of the ground floor as well, although these extended some into the courtyard. She led Mr. Rowles into the first room from the corridor, which stretched the length of the building from the offices behind them to the street at the far end. There were beds on both sides of the wall, neatly made although the blankets were thin and some had holes. Blankets were valuable and donations of them rare; the money coming in was not enough to purchase new.
“This is it. And I am reminded that I will need rods to be installed in the windows of the classroom downstairs, as I am making curtains similar to the ones here.”
“Certainly. I will see that it is done.” Mr. Rowles looked at the beds, sending his gaze to the far end of the room where the curtains had been pulled back. “It is a healthy environment for them,” he observed. “Where do they put their effects?”
“They are each given their own box. You can see them under each bed, placed next to the wall.”
He nodded in silence, and she took note of his interest in how the orphans were treated. It touched her. As she observed him, she could not help but appreciate his even features. It was not like her to have such acoup de foudrefor someone. In fact, she had never experienced any of this breathless awareness with another gentleman before.
“How young are they when they arrive?” he asked, bringing his eyes to her.
His gaze scorched, although he would not have meant for it to, and she immediately looked away. It was terrible. She felt like a schoolgirl. Her tongue darted to her lips in her attempt to moisten them.
Act rationally, she scolded herself.
“We find them at all ages. We are not well-known to the poor, and we must keep it that way if we are to limit the number of orphans we can take in and train. We cannot manage babies being deposited on our doorstep, although that does sometimes happen.” She paused and when he didn’t comment, added, “We depend upon the local parish. Saint Michael’s Church receives orphans who are brought to them. The curate there brings the foundlings to us if we have room to take them in.”
She led him across the room as there was another door on the far side. He kept pace with her, the sound of their boots echoing with each step.
“The age of the oldest orphans we take in is thirteen. Older than that, we assume they will be able to find some form of work to support themselves. And our youngest are babies. In general, Mr. Vittaly brings them to us, but in February we did have an infant dropped off in front of the gate. It was a fearful time. None of us knew if he would survive because it was so cold.”
She stopped, feeling her throat close as she remembered the sorrow and anger when she had found out about it. She could not say who she was angry at, for she understood a desperatemother, likely one step from starvation herself. But to leave a baby—even well-bundled—alone and in the snow seemed unconscionable. Her lips tightened, then she glanced at him quickly before looking away, aware of his silence. “I have been rambling on. I beg your pardon.”
“I imagine it must have been difficult to witness such a thing.” His voice was low, and she dared another look. He seemed to be genuinely affected by the story. This did nothing to assuage the odd attraction she seemed to have created for him out of thin air.
“It was. In fact, I had been planning to visit Ben before I offered to give you a tour, so you will meet him as well. We must take these stairs to reach the girls’ ward, for it is not accessible from here. That, or retrace our steps to the office, but I believe this will be faster. And then we will visit the nursery, if you are amenable to the idea.”
“Yes. I wish to see everything, if you please.” Mr. Rowles followed her to the stairwell.
She set her hand on the railing but then turned back. She had been flustered. “Oh, I almost forgot. This room behind us is used to train orphans for the services that a footman or valet might perform.” She opened the door for him to see for himself the various instruments of the trade that included shoe-shine equipment, silver polish, and sewing kits. Even if there were chips in the plaster on the walls, the equipment itself was in good shape.
“They will arrive fully trained at their position,” he said quietly as he cast his gaze to all the corners of the small room. “This is remarkable.”
