Page 36 of The Viscount's Seduction
She squeezed her watering eyes shut. She wouldn’t give up. She wouldn’t lose heart. Therewerehonest things a young woman could do. Lady Hackwell’s orphan home might need a helper—in the kitchen, in the garden, in the stable yard even. Or she could teach—arithmetic, needlework, how to care for livestock. There were many things she could do.
But surely Lady Jane would understand. Sirena would tell her the truth. Or something of the truth.
The door opened and Lord Bakeley entered, his housekeeper and her husband behind him carrying a covered tray as big as a carriage wheel.
Lord Bakeley’s cheeks glowed pink and the ends of his hair glistened.
“You went out,” she said. He hadn’t told her he was going. She’d thought he was merely sending a servant with messages.
Fear jolted through her. He’d been to see his father. Or even if he hadn’t, if his father were having him followed—and who wouldn’t put such a thing past his evil lordship—he surely had led the man’s minions back to his house and placed Walter and Josh in danger.
Perhaps she would be locked up too, in some Secret Service dungeon, and flayed until she’d admitted to seeking out Irish rebels.
“Yes, I went out.” His servants departed, and he poured two glasses of claret, handing her one.
She set it aside. “I should leave now, except that I fear for the, er, Smith brothers’ safety when your father shows up here.”
“Have a sip of the wine, Sirena. It will help settle your nerves.” He lifted a cover off a dish. “I’m afraid it’s plain fare for us tonight. Mrs. Windle has done her best with a mutton stew.”
Indeed she had. The food smelled divine. “Have the Smith brothers been fed?”
“Yes, we had a few crusts of bread and drams of water for them.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“Of course they’ve been fed, before us even, and the same meal. What must you think of me?”
She’d not had a bit to eat yet this day, and the tasty aroma took some of the edge off her suspicion. That, no doubt, was his crafty intent.
“I think you’re an English lord, and the son of Lord Shaldon. Where did you go?”
He glanced at her and went back to dipping out stew into two dishes.
“Your father—” Her stomach growled loudly and she gritted her teeth.
“Is not coming after you or your Irish rebels. Come.” He took her hand and seated her in a chair by the table. “Eat. I command it.”
“You do not command me, sir.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.” Another growl escaped. “I’ll eat because I wish to keep up my strength, and because I’m fair famished.”
She let a spoonful of broth slide down her throat, enjoying the warmth and the savory flavor. The hearty broth would do both brothers good. She hoped they were resting now, sleeping, after their ordeal. What she would do with them next, she wasn’t sure, but her money, such as it was, was theirs. Perhaps they could take a packet to Ireland, just to be on the go. Or even to the Continent, except the poor souls had no French.
When she looked up, he was watching her intently. “I delivered your note personally to Lady Jane.”
She paused in her chewing and quickly swallowed. “What did she say?”
“She did ask who the proper chaperone you mentioned was.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. I told her that the Irish must have a different idea of what constitutes a proper chaperone, but that we most certainly are not alone. Mrs. Windle has been here all along.”
“And her husband.”
“He has been in and out running errands.”
