Page 163 of Harpy of the Ton
The boy’s face creased into a smile as he entered the kitchen carrying a basket. Then he pulled out a small packet wrapped in brown paper.
“A right tasty bit o’ cheddar, that is,” he said. “My ma let me have a whole slice to meself.”
Lawrence fished a penny from his pocket.
“Thank you, sir,” the boy said.
“Would you like a spot of breakfast, Jimmy?”
The boy glanced at the scrambled eggs, then shook his head. “Best not—my grandma’s needin’ a hand at the farm. My ma wouldn’t want me to be late.”
“Be off with you, then,” Lawrence said. “You mustn’t get into trouble with your mother.”
“That wouldn’t happen,” the boy said. “Ma loves me, she does. But she’s not well today, and I don’t want her worryin’ when she needs to get better.”
“You love your mother, don’t you, Jimmy?”
“Aye,” the boy said. “My real ma’s dead, and when Pa married again, I didn’t want anyone to replace her. But she’sbeen so kind to Pa and me, and I love her more than anything. Grandma says she’s a special gift, and we must treasure her.”
Lawrence’s chest tightened at the love in the boy’s eyes.
“You’re a fine lad, Jimmy,” he said. “Go take care of your ma.”
“I will, sir. And, beggin’ your pardon, I’m sure Ma would like a visit from Mrs. Baxter if she can spare the time. Ever so fond of her, she is. She sat with Ma all day the last time she took a turn and said to send for her any time she needed a bit of company.”
Lawrence glanced about the kitchen. “So, you don’t know…”
The boy turned his wide, expressive eyes on him. “Is Mrs. Baxter not at home?”
Lawrence shook his head.
“Well, I hope she’ll be home soon.” Jimmy picked up the basket, then exited the kitchen whistling a merry tune.
Lawrence stared at the cheese, his mouth watering at the memory of the pie Bella had made with cheese in the pastry crust.
I hope she’ll be home soon…
“So do I, Jimmy,” he whispered. “So do I.”
The desperation that had been festering inside his soul swelled into determination. Then it burst and he slapped his hands on the table.
“Fuck it.”
It was time to end the prevarication. Dunton and his thuggish footmen might have the means to fend off a lone man, a gardener—afilthy peasant. But no man could withstand an army—or a band of brothers.
He marched across the garden until he reached the den.
“Ahoy there!” he roared.
“Who goes there?” Jonathan said.
“Admiral Horatio Nelson!” Lawrence bellowed. “I come seeking my brothers.”
After a volley of whispers, Roberta spoke. “What for?”
“Bonaparte has kidnapped the fair Lady Hamilton. I’m recruiting an army to rescue her.”
More whispers, then the bush shook, and three faces appeared.
