No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(28)

“I’ll allow that.” Her voice made him stop in his tracks. “On one condition.”

“You will allow it?”

“Yes. I am headmistress of this building, and I am responsible for the welfare of these children. That is not a question legally. The board of directors has put me in a position of authority.”

Neil folded his arms over his chest. “Is my father on the board?”

She advanced on him. “Is that a threat, Mr. Wraxall?”

“Clearly. And I do not make frivolous threats. I would prefer to complete my orders by sending you home to your father. Since you won’t comply with that directive, then my only choice is to do what is necessary to ensure your safety and well-being on these premises. If you attempt to hamper my efforts, I will take whatever measures necessary to defeat you.”

“Am I an opponent to be defeated?”

She was angry. He could see the stains of pink on her cheekbones, but it was better they have this conversation now and put everything out in the open. He could do what was necessary more quickly then, and she’d know her place. “You tell me,” he answered.

“I will tell you, Mr. Wraxall.” She poked him in the chest. “You are a bastard, but not by virtue of your birth. No. In that way, you have no right to compare yourself to these children, who bear no shame for the sins of their parents. You are a bastard because you think you have the right to come in here and throw your power around just because you see me as a defenseless woman in charge of defenseless children.” She poked him again. “I have news for you, Wraxall. I have known men like you, and I am far from defenseless. You have today and today only to complete your sacred orders, and then I want you out. If you don’t leave, I will have you physically thrown out, and I’ll make certain both my father and yours know of your unpardonable behavior.”

Neil felt heat creep along the back of his neck. What she threatened would indeed cause him no end of explaining and probably anger his father and St. Maur. She wasn’t worth it, and neither was the orphanage.

“That won’t be necessary, my lady. I will finish today and be gone tonight.”

She nodded once. “Good.”

“Is that all?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He opened the parlor door and stormed out.

*

Julia’s legs felt wobbly as she reached tentatively for a chair. Finding one of the armchairs, she lowered herself into it slowly and took a shaky breath. How dare he threaten her! How dare he speak of her boys as bastards! He did not want to look at them? Fine. She didn’t want to ever see his face again.

She didn’t go back to the dining room. She was too angry, and she knew her feelings would show on her face. If one of the boys were to ask what the matter was, she’d probably burst into tears. Not because she was weak. No. Because she was so angry that all she could think to do was wail with fury. She busied herself in the parlor with the account books, answering correspondence, and studying lists of inventory the cook had made up before she had left.

By the time she glanced at the clock again, it was almost eleven. She’d been aware of the sound of the boys’ voices and the tapping of hammers and louder banging on occasion, but now she realized she hadn’t been bothered once all morning. For all that Mr. Wraxall was an arse, he seemed to have the children well in hand. They would probably be hungry for lunch, and she would make sure all was well before making sandwiches for the midday meal.

She opened the parlor door and made her way into the entryway. She stopped at the opening and stared at the activity. Boys sat on the stairs, hammers in hand, nailing boards down. The younger boys stood ready with nails, while the older boys pounded or ripped out rotten boards and called for younger boys to bring new pieces of wood. At the door stood Mr. Wraxall with Walter and Robbie. He was showing the two how to install a new dead bolt. Outside the open door, two of her boys painted the steps leading up to the orphanage door. And since the door was open, she could see the dark clouds gathering behind them. It would rain this afternoon and the rain would likely be heavy. It was a good thing she did not need pots and pans to make sandwiches.

“It looks as though you have been working very hard, boys.” She did not look at Mr. Wraxall, but she could feel his gaze on her, and it made her want to shuffle her feet. She forced herself to stand still.

“We have! We have!” James told her, his high voice even higher with excitement. “Come and try the steps. They don’t creak anymore.”

“I shall try them when you have finished. In the meantime, I thought I would make sandwiches. You must have worked up an appetite.”

There was a chorus of ayes and hurrahs.

“Good. Then I will call you when the meal is ready.”

Still without looking at Mr. Wraxall, she made her way to the kitchen, laid out bread and sandwich items, and put together two dozen sandwiches. It took her three trips to carry all the sandwiches and the pitchers of lemon water to the dining room, but when she’d finished and set the tables, she called the boys. The sound of their progress was what she imagined a stampede of wild animals in Africa must sound like, and she quickly moved out of the way lest she be trampled. It wasn’t until after the boys were all seated with food and drink and had said a prayer that she noticed Mr. Wraxall had not come to the dining room.

“My lady,” Michael was telling her, “did you know we used one hundred and twelve nails so far today?”