No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(20)

*

Julia finally tucked the last of the younger boys into bed, said prayers with them, and blew out the lamps. Carrying her lamp, she checked once more on the older boys. They were all in bed, but Robbie lay with his hands folded under his head, staring at the ceiling. He glanced at her when she peered in. “Is everyone in bed?” she whispered.

“Yes, my lady.”

“And where are Matthew, Mark, and Luke?”

“In their cage, my lady. Charlie tried to convince us to let him sleep with them, but we told him you’d object.”

“He does love those rats.” Charlie could spend hours petting the creatures and giving them morsels of food. “Thank you. Good night, Robbie.”

“Night.”

She closed the door and paused at the top of the steps. She would have to go down to the parlor to speak to Mr. Wraxall, and she wanted to put that off as long as possible. The old Julia would have looked forward to spending time with such a handsome man. The old Julia would have flirted with him. The old Julia would have suffered apoplexy at the thought of sleeping with rats. Now, she only forbid it because she feared Charlie might roll over in his sleep and crush the little animals. Rats were actually cleaner and more companionable than she had known.

That was only one of the things the new Julia knew that the old Julia couldn’t have fathomed.

She started down the steps, telling herself speaking with Mr. Wraxall was no hardship. He was quite pleasant to look upon and he had good manners, when he wasn’t ordering everyone about. He was thoughtful as well. He’d provided two meals for the boys today. In fact, dinner had been absolutely delicious. She couldn’t remember when she’d had such a tasty meal. But when she’d asked if the cook was looking for hire, he merely smiled and shook his head.

After dinner, he’d managed to organize the boys into washing, drying, and stacking teams. The dishes were clean and put away in far less time than ever before. He had a way of getting people to do what he wanted. He had a way of convincing her to do what he wanted. Look at what he’d done today. She’d planned to post the letters she’d written herself as soon as Goring returned, but Wraxall had held out his hand and she’d given them over without so much as a peep of protest.

How did she know he’d really posted the letters? It was no secret her father wanted her to give up the orphanage and come home. If she didn’t have a cook or a teacher for the children, then her father might go to the board and persuade them to remove funding if she did not accede to his wishes. Wraxall was only her father’s latest method to convince her she should return to Mayfair.

Well, Wraxall would have to return to her father in defeat. These boys needed her, and she would not abandon them. She would be the person to show them that there were good people, reliable people, in the world. She would be the person they could trust and count on.

She reached the parlor, and as the door was cracked, she spotted Wraxall inside. He sat at her desk…looking through her ledger book. Of all the nerve!

She shoved the door open. “What do you think you are doing, sir?”

He barely raised his eyes. “Looking through your accounts. Exactly how much of your own money have you contributed to the upkeep of St. Dismas?”

“It’s Sunnybrooke Home for Boys. I renamed it.”

He gave her a perplexed look. “Sunnybrooke?”

“I’ve asked Goring to repaint the sign.”

“Ah, that will cost more blunt. How much have you contributed again?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He glanced at the ledger. “Looks to be fifty pounds or more.”

“And?” She crossed to the desk and snatched the ledger away, slamming it shut. “It’s my coin.”

He studied her for a moment with those eyes that were far too pretty to belong to a man. “Pin money?” he asked. It was a logical assumption, as a woman of her station wouldn’t have any other means of income. “If you can spare fifty pounds, how much pin money does your father give you each month?”

“Not so much, but I preferred to save mine rather than spend it. I never needed for anything anyway.”

Neither had Harriett, but she had spent hers every month regardless.

He stood, and she realized the room suddenly felt smaller. She moved to the corner of the desk, trying to make room for him. Trying to put distance between them. Then she looked down at her hands where they clutched the ledger. If she didn’t look away, she’d end up staring at him like an infatuated schoolgirl.

“If you won’t return home, I will have to sleep here tonight,” he said.

“What?” Her gaze met his, and she forgot to be infatuated. “No, sir, you will most certainly not!”

“Yes, I will. My orders were to see you were safe and well.”

“And I am both.”

“You are not safe. I’ve done more inspecting while you were putting the boys to bed, and few of the windows and neither of the doors in this building are secure. Anyone could enter during the night and steal, commit murder, or attack you.”

Her cheeks heated because she knew by attack he meant rape. “I understand your concerns, Mr. Wraxall. I have my own concerns, which is why I employ Mr. Goring. As you saw at dinner, he has returned. I will lock my bedchamber door, as I do every night, and rely on Mr. Goring to keep us safe, as he has every night.”