Page 32 of Too Scot to Handle
“Coin of the realm is in short supply according to Hitchings, which is no secret, but then, we’re housing a dozen little pickpockets and housebreakers.” Win drew on a pair of pristine gloves. “How long would you expect a business to remain viable, with a nest of juvenile criminals dwelling on the premises?”
This same thinking labeled every Irishman a drunk, and every Scot a brawler—and inspired the drinking and brawling too.
“They’re children, Montague, most of them barely breeched. You’re supposed to assist them to find the right path in life, not consign them to the hulks as a result of unfortunate birth.”
Win led the way from his apartment, down a carpeted hallway to the ornate front stairway that opened onto the oak paneled foyer.
“You think me coldhearted, I know,” he said, accepting his walking stick from a silent butler. “And I admit their years are tender, and they aren’t entirely to blame, but the older boys drive Hitchings to distraction. They’re dull-witted, and they seem to spend as much time in detention as they do at their studies.”
Which reflected unfavorably on Hitchings, in Colin’s estimation. “When you were given detention, how did you spend it?”
Win’s smile was naughty. “If I was alone, I indulged in the sin of Onan, of course, and sometimes if I wasn’t alone. You never got detention, I’m guessing.”
All the bloody time. “Detention has its place, but so do fresh air, hard work, and rewards for jobs well done. Enjoy your day at the tailor.”
“I shall, and you see to your correspondence. You can’t spend every waking moment writing letters, you know. Rosalyn likes some liveliness in a fellow, not that you’d be interested in her likes or dislikes.”
Win winked and strode off in the direction of Bond Street, while Colin retrieved Prince Charlie from the mews.
“I’m not interested in Lady Rosalyn’s likes or dislikes,” he informed his horse as they trotted on their way. “I’m interested in Miss Anwen.”
Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Colin was taken with her, and part of his interest in her charity was because it was important to her. Then too, he thrived on a challenge, and what could be more challenging than putting an institution on sound financial footing when, as Winthrop Montague had pointed out, a dozen potential thieves dwelled on the very premises?
* * *
“The two of you are peeved with me,” Anwen said. “I’m sorry, but I had business to conduct with Lord Colin relating to the orphanage. A ride in the park seemed the best way to do that.”
Anwen wasn’t sorry, not truly. She’d had a lovely outing, and her older sisters would have ruined it.
Charlotte, who cared little for fashion, turned a page of the latest copy of La Belle Assemblée.
“So you weren’t actually riding in the park?”
For the first time in years, Anwen had galloped madly. “I was on my mare, but for the most part, I was discussing the orphanage with Lord Colin. Rosecroft was nearby at all times, though he focused more on his horse than on the discussion.” Nearby being a relative term, of course.
“Lord Colin is family, more or less,” Elizabeth said, adding a line to a sketch of the parlor cat, a lithe gray tabby by the name of Bluebell. “You wouldn’t need an escort to amble down a bridle path or two with him, but why take the air at all? You could have his lordship over to tea or luncheon. If you grew fatigued, we could send him on his way and he’d have to understand.”
Anwen was very fatigued of her sister’s protectiveness. She took a pile of blue spun wool from her workbasket and began winding it into a ball. Colin’s eyes were a deeper blue than the yarn, but this color would look very nice on him.
“Has it occurred to either of you,” Anwen said, “that you have required the services of a physician more often than I have in recent years?”
“You needn’t thank us for taking such good care of you,” Charlotte said, peering over the top of her magazine. “You’re our baby sister, and we’d do anything for you.”
Except leave me alone. The truth was, if Anwen caught a sniffle or a cold, she hid the symptoms as best she could and soldiered on, lest she be put to bed for six weeks, her hair cut short, and her feet wrapped in noxious plasters by the hour.
Bluebell rose from her hassock and padded along the sofa to bat gently at Anwen’s yarn.
“Blue says you should leave your workbasket and have a lie down,” Elizabeth said. “It’s not every day you get up at the crack of doom to risk the damp and fog in the park.”
Anwen mentally tossed the ball of yarn at her sister’s sketch pad. “The sunrise was beautiful, and Lord Colin has agreed to take an interest in the House of Urchins. I consider the outing, in every way, to have been a success and well worth my time.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Lord Colin stood in the parlor doorway, still in his riding attire. He was early for a morning call—it was barely past luncheon—but Anwen could not have been happier to see him.
“Your lordship, welcome,” she said, when he’d offered bows to each sister. “Please join us.”
“Did nobody offer to announce you?” Elizabeth asked, setting her sketch aside.
“Your butler offered, and I declined. No need to stand on ceremony, as I’m only here for a moment. Miss Anwen, I thought you’d like to know that Master John and I paid a call on a certain unfortunate gentleman who’d lost a personal item in the park earlier today. I chanced upon that item after we parted this morning.”
