They reached the edge of the park. Reggie hailed a hackney, handed her up, then waved Benjy in. Reggie followed and sat opposite her. To her surprise, he engaged Benjy, drawing the boy out about his life at the Foundling House.
Gaining Benjy’s trust.
She realized that when, without any prompting, Benjy offered, “ ’Course, afore—before that, I lived with my mum. Up Clerkenwell way. But she died.” A shadow passed over his young face.
“And was that when you came to the hospital?”
Benjy shook his head. “There were others in the street—old Mrs. Nichols, and the Patricks, and Mrs. Kieghly—they looked after me for a while. But then Mrs. Nichols died, and the Patricks moved north. Seemed best, they said, for me to go to the hospital then.”
Anne took Benjy’s hand, smiled when he looked up at her. “Benjy’s a star pupil of Penelope’s. He’s been at the Foundling House for a year now.”
While they’d dithered and wondered, until age had stripped enough from Benjy’s face to establish the Caverlock features beyond doubt.
Benjy looked at Reggie. “It’s good there. Better’n a lot of other places I might have ended at.”
Reggie smiled easily and sat back, apparently amiably content; Anne wasn’t so gullible as to believe it. She caught his eye, glimpsed the underlying seriousness behind his easygoing, almost foppishly unthreatening mask. A mask that, with the years, sat increasingly ill; she was perfectly aware Reggie was no fool, but often hid his perceptiveness— his knowledge of the world, of the ton and its intrigues—behind an inconsequential facade.
She’d first become aware of him as more than a mere acquaintance when she and her older sister, Emily, had had their Season. Reggie had been forever in Amanda and Amelia’s train, and the twins had been great friends, supporting her and Emily. So they’d met Reggie often; he’d always seemed slighter, shorter than her brother Luc, much less overwhelmingly male. Now, however…
She glanced across the carriage, masking the action as an effect of the swaying.
Reggie was still a few inches shorter than Luc, but then her brother was over six feet tall. Any slightness, however, had fled with the years; Reggie’s shoulders were broad, his chest muscled and wide—there was no extraneous padding in his coat. He was fashionably but quietly dressed, not to stand out but to fit into the scene, style, fabric, and color carefully chosen to project an image of simple elegance,
the hallmark of a true gentleman. His hair was pale brown, fashionably cut to frame his head; he wore no hat, but carried a cane, his long fingers curled about the ornate silver head.
His face—that was the physical aspect hardest to define. Chameleonlike, he could appear quite insignificant, utterly bland, and of no account, yet when he dropped all pretense, there was a clearness in his gaze and a firmness about his lips and chin that spoke of quiet strength, common sense, and an unwavering hold on his world.
The carriage slowed. She looked out of the window; the railings circling the yard of the Foundling House came into view. Given what she’d undertaken, what she’d started through her meeting with Elderby, Reggie might just be the godsend she needed.
Leaving Reggie outside the main office, Anne returned Benjy to the matron-in-charge, Mrs. Keggs, then, once Benjy had hurried out to join the other boys, remained to tell Mrs. Keggs of the outcome of their mission.
“His lordship should be properly ’umbled, and do the right thing by the lad.” Mrs. Keggs fluffed like an agitated hen. “He’s a good lad, he is—no reason he couldn’t hold his head high, not even in his lordship’s circles.”
“Indeed—we must hope his lordship sees the light. But if he doesn’t, we’ll simply persevere. I chose to approach Lord Elderby first, but there are other members of the family I could contact, and will if need be.”
With an encouraging smile, she left Mrs. Keggs and returned to the office. From the bench outside, his legs stretched out, booted ankles crossed, Reggie watched as she went inside. The look in his eyes stayed in her mind; in his chameleonlike way, he could be seriously helpful should she enlist his aid.
As quickly as she could, she dealt with the various matters awaiting her attention in her capacity as the House’s administrator in charge of the children’s welfare. Penelope was in charge of their education; Portia handled the fund-raising and public awareness. Anne’s sole concern was the children themselves, their well-being, their happiness, their futures.
She was perusing an account for candles when a large shadow blocked the doorway. Looking up, she saw Reggie; he caught her eye and raised a brow.
Color rose in her cheeks; she gestured to the small pile of accounts before her. “I really must deal with these.”
His eyes held hers, then he nodded. “I’ll wait.”
He drew back; she imagined him heading back to the hard bench. She got the distinct impression he’d thought she was trying to evade him—make him wait until he grew bored, gave up all thought of interfering, and left. Lips lifting, she turned back to the bills.
Fifteen minutes later, she rose, bade the secretary good bye, and went out. Reggie uncurled his legs and stood as she approached; falling in beside her, he closed his hand about her elbow and escorted her down the steps. As if he didn’t intend to let her go until he learned all he wished. Hailing a hackney, he assisted her into it, then followed and closed the door.
“Now!” He frowned at her. “What the devil did you think to achieve by shocking Elderby into incoherence by confronting him with—”
He broke off. She continued, “With Benjamin, a close relative?”
Lips thin, Reggie nodded. “Indeed.”
She thought back. “He was truly shocked, wasn’t he? He didn’t know.”
“He nearly had heart failure. And yes, I agree— he didn’t know the boy existed. He was shocked by an unknown, not surprised and angry that something he knew about had surfaced.”