Page 96 of Too Scot to Handle
“Come along,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll use the conservatory.”
“Why there?” Anwen asked, reluctant to share her sanctuary with anybody.
“Because it’s the only place nobody ever disturbs you,” Charlotte said. “We realized years ago that when you wanted to be alone, you always went to the conservatory. It’s warm, peaceful, quiet, and safe. A perfect haven. As long as we made a great fuss about looking for you in the attics and cellars, you were safe in the conservatory.”
“You guarded me?”
“The conservatory has glass walls, dearest,” Elizabeth said. “Once we knew where you were, we’d make our fuss, and you’d get the nap you needed, or whatever.”
Whatever? A memory came to Anwen, of Colin and a delicate, violet blossom.
She stopped outside the conservatory doors. “You spied on me?”
“Gracious, no,” Charlotte retorted. “We’ve realized that Lord Colin has taken up the honor of guarding you, and he’s a man who knows enough to, erm, lower the shades on occasion when the sun gets too bright.”
Not the sun, a bonfire.
Anwen opened the door and led her sisters into the greenery and quiet of the conservatory. “You two are awful and I love you dearly, in case I never told you that before.”
“Megan suspected you and Lord Colin would suit,” Elizabeth said, pulling a bench over near the sofa. “You must account her awful as well. Now, please explain to us why you had barely two sips of soup, a bite of fish, two bites of ham, and not even one full glass of Uncle Percy’s excellent wine.”
Charlotte took the sofa and patted the place beside her. “Don’t even think of prevaricating. Last night was a roaring success, and now you look as if you’re sickening for something. If Lord Colin has misstepped we will instruct him regarding the error of his ways.”
Elizabeth settled on the bench and kicked off her slippers. “Or if he hasn’t misstepped. Men are easily muddled when matters of matrimony and gentlemanly honor deserve equal weight. You are still planning to marry him, aren’t you?”
Anwen considered pleading a headache, considered an early bedtime. She also considered the danger Colin was in.
“You have to promise me something,” she said. “Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll help me look after the boys. There are twelve of them, and they’re good boys. They can apprentice, foster out, or join the staff here, but I can’t break my word to them. I promised them homes—good, safe homes.”
“Perhaps we need a bottle of madeira or some cordial to settle our nerves,” Elizabeth said. “You are being ridiculous.”
“No cordial ever again,” Charlotte replied. “Anwen, of course we’ll help you look after the boys. Who did you think would keep an eye on them when you went north with Lord Colin? Mama and Aunt Esther would expect no less of us, nor should you. Stop dithering and tell us what the problem is.”
They were her sisters, they were worried, and they wanted to help. Anwen took the place on the sofa beside Charlotte, and Elizabeth shifted to sit on her other side.
“There’s trouble,” Anwen said. “Terribly serious trouble, and scandal, and danger, and Colin is trying to deal with all of it, and I’m so worried, and angry, but I don’t dare breathe a word to Uncle Percy.”
Elizabeth ordered a bottle of madeira, and Anwen told her sisters everything.
Every single thing.
* * *
Boys who couldn’t sit still for fifteen minutes in Latin class could wait in a dark alley for hours without moving. Colin’s respect for the children had increased as the minutes had crawled by and the Monthaven townhouse had bustled with activity.
Dinner parties were typically attended by thirty guests, but the ladies often brought a maid along to carry their slippers, touch up their coiffures, tend to shawls, and otherwise ensure the evening went smoothly. The coaches lined the front walkway, and the coachmen, grooms, and footmen whiled away the evening gossiping, dicing, and strolling around the mews to visit with the grooms—or relieve themselves within six inches of Tom’s boot.
The boy hadn’t stirred, and neither had any of his mates.
Extra staff came and went, relighting the torches in the garden just as Colin hoped the evening was winding down, and most of the male guests at some point took a turn on the terrace to smoke, belch, or pester a passing maid.
Dickie occasionally patrolled the alley, as if impatient to hop up behind some gentleman’s phaeton and get home to bed. John idled at the front of the house within earshot of the links boys waiting to escort guests home, and Tom rode dispatch, reporting from all points, while Joe sat beside Colin in the shadows saying nothing.
Colin could not consult anything so shiny as a pocket watch, but the church bells had rung twice when the coaches began filling with laughing, chattering guests. After that interminable exercise concluded, Joe nudged Colin and pointed to the window at one corner of the second floor.
Montague’s room, and a lamp had been lit there. Two hours ago, John had gone up a trellis to a balcony and cracked open one bedroom window. Watching the boy scale the building had been both impressive and terrifying.
The children were professionals, and what did it say about London society that their skills had been learned so well and at such a young age?
