No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(14)

Robbie glanced at the other orphans. “I’ll take Michael.”

Robbie was no fool, Neil thought. Michael would probably annoy every single one of them, but he’d do his job. “And? Four more.”

Robbie’s eyes passed directly over Walter. Again, Neil approved. Better to leave Walter with him. Robbie might be older, but he wouldn’t be able to control Walter. Robbie pointed to the chubby boy with the blond curls. “I’ll take George, Angus, James, and Billy.”

Neil noted them each in turn. Angus was five or six with red hair. James was blond and small enough to be the same age as Charlie. Billy was quiet and kept to himself. He was the tallest boy, though, and probably as old as Robbie.

“Dismissed,” Neil said. “I want that dormitory in perfect order in one hour.”

“Yes, sir!” Michael said with a backward salute.

Neil thought about smiling. Instead, he looked at his remaining troops. He had Walter, a.k.a. Trouble; Charlie, thumb in mouth; Chester, what’s-a-harlot; Jimmy, only about five as well; and two other boys who had been more or less pretending to be industrious.

“Who here can cook?”

Charlie’s thumb came out of his mouth as he raised his hand high. Neil rolled his eyes. “Charlie, you can be the assistant. Walter, can you cook?”

Walter didn’t look up from the spot he’d been sweeping for the past five minutes. “No.”

“That’s ‘no, sir.’ Get over here.”

Walter glared at him. “I just said I can’t cook.”

Neil glared back.

“Sir,” Walter added.

“Then this will be a lesson for you. Chester?”

The little boy looked up.

“You work with that one to wash the towels and dishes. What’s your name, lad?” Neil asked the boy with a black eye and shorn, brown hair.

“Ralph,” he snarled.

“Ralph, you and Chester wash.”

Ralph made a growling sound.

“Jimmy, you and…”

“I’m Sean, sir,” said the last boy, with a touch of Irish in his speech.

“Sean, you and Jimmy finish sweeping and mopping. Put all the dust and dirt in the rubbish bin.” Sean flashed him a smile, and Neil decided he liked Sean. Sean reminded him a bit of his friend Rafe Beaumont, who could charm any woman, and almost any man as well, with his smile.

“Now, Chef Walter and Assistant Charlie, we will be preparing tea and toast for Lady Juliana.” It wasn’t fancy, but Neil figured he and the boys could manage it. “First, find the kettle and fill it with water…”

A half hour and two burned pieces of toast later, Neil carried a tray of hot tea and perfectly browned and buttered toast to the parlor. The door was closed, and he balanced the tray on one arm before tapping lightly.

No answer. Neil didn’t wait and knock again. Between the miscreant he’d seen earlier, the missing manservant, and the lack of any real locks on the building, he feared the worst. He burst into the parlor then stopped short.

Lady Juliana was alone in the cold room, for the fire in the hearth had not been lit. She sat in what had once been a chair with rich blue upholstery at a small writing desk. Her head rested on the writing desk, one cheek pressed to several sheets of paper. One hand was thrown over the top of the desk and the other was tucked in her lap. The woman was breathing deeply, obviously sound asleep.

Neil placed the tray on the table set in the center of a small grouping of chairs and looked down at Lady Juliana. Her red-gold hair covered the papers she’d been looking at, papers filled with numbers. The orphanage’s accounts?

Oh, how Neil wished he could go back to the early hours of the morning and pretend he’d never received his father’s summons. If he’d known the sort of woman he would be dealing with, he would have found a way out of this mission. “Just take the gel home,” his father had said. Clearly, his father had not known Lady Juliana either.

He’d have to find another way to convince her to leave. Neil liked plans. He was the one who generally made them, and he told himself all he needed now was a very good plan.

And a little willpower.

Because with her eyes closed and her mouth relaxed, Lady Juliana looked perfectly lovely. He had the sudden desire to caress one pale-pink cheek, smooth that tousled hair off her forehead, and run his hands down her back.

And if he did any of that, she’d wake up and slap him. She was an earl’s daughter, and despite her current living situation, she was a lady. No lady wanted anything to do with a bastard. No, they married dukes, sons of viscounts, and foreign princes. They didn’t look at bastards, even those whose fathers were marquesses.

And somehow knowing his father’s station made the circumstances of Neil’s birth worse. Why couldn’t he have grown up the adopted son of a merchant or a farmer? He would never have had a glimpse into the world of the ton. He would never have had all the glittering wealth and beauty dangled before him only to be snatched away whenever anyone realized he was that son.

His father was a good man, but all that goodness hadn’t done Neil any favors.

He cleared his throat in an effort to wake Lady Juliana without touching her. When that didn’t work, he lifted the tray and set it down, rattling the teacup. She didn’t even move. Had the woman had any sleep of late? She was obviously exhausted.