Page 25 of A Gentleman's Reckoning
“Mr. Rowles,” he said, with a nod of his head.
He did not get to his feet, which was meant as a snub. John did not care overmuch, but it lowered Mr. Dowling in his esteem. Not that his impression was all that favorable before.
“Mr. Dowling,” he replied, equally civil and with no more warmth. “I was wondering if you could tell me why Mr. Biggs left his position and where he is now.”
Mr. Dowling left him standing while he continued to sip his tea. “Why, I do not know that it is any of your business.”
John had expected such a reply, although he had optimistically thought it might be delivered with more respect. “I wish to ask him about a donation that was brought in. The pledge listed five hundred pounds, which is a great amount. However, I have not seen the equal sum in the accounting books. Perhaps the money had been used for repairs without being recorded in the ledgers. That is why I wished to see him.”
“Who was the donation from?” Mr. Dowling asked.
John schooled his face, although his irritation rose. He decided he would not bring up the entries that talked about redirecting funds for a mill and instead answered Dowling’s question. “Sir Edward Burbank.”
“I see.”
Mr. Dowling gave the appearance of one who seemed to consider it, but John suspected he had no idea of the financial aspect of things. It would not make sense that he did. If only John knew his own place better, he would have been bolder in responding to such impertinence.
“This is why I wished to have Mr. Biggs’s direction. Did he leave London, or can he still be found in the area?” John stood his ground, waiting for Dowling to respond.
Dowling sniffed and glanced up, rubbing the side of his nose. “I am sorry to say, I do not have that information.”
John nodded and turned to leave. There was no sense in continuing the conversation or even taking a more civil leave. He would have to seek out Mr. Peyton. The only inconvenience was that he didn’t have time to visit the agent until the following week, so it would have to wait. This was not the sort of thing to handle by correspondence.
Chapter Nine
Geny wondered if Mr. Rowles had been able to find a mason to repair the wall in the time since their conversation the week before. He had seemed disconcerted by the fact that he did not know anyone local, so when her father’s man of business called, only to find the earl away from home, she took the opportunity to ask him if he knew of laborers who might perform the task. He sent a message the next day with the names of two masons who were located a short drive from the orphanage.
Repairs should not have been her concern, but with the house so quiet, she did not have anything to occupy her mind apart from the asylum. That, and, well—Mr. Rowles. When they visited the stable together, he had been all that was proper, but his praise still echoed in a heart that received so little of it. And she could not forget that moment at the Sookholme ball, still wondering if he had indeed wished to kiss her. Her initial disbelief had begun to give way, and it began to seem possible that he had. After all, he had said he found her character beautiful and had followed this gem of delight with even warmer praise.
Although she was not the best judge of these things, she wasnearly certain he had not been flirting when he’d told her she possessed a sympathetic heart. In fact, he had appeared quite sincere. From an impartial view, Mr. Rowles had taken many more liberties than Mr. Dowling had, but they never felt like liberties because she welcomed his notice.
Mr. Dowling never spoke to her in anything approaching intimacy but would allow his regard to linger on hers, even when she gave him no encouragement. He knew he was beneath her notice and therefore did not attempt an overt courtship, but rather hinted at his interest with insinuations. Such behavior made her squirm.
The comportment of Mr. Rowles, who in technical terms was even further beneath her notice, only left her with a desire to spend more time with him. She decided she would seek him out at the orphanage the next day and see if she could assist him in his quest to find someone to do the work. It seemed unlikely that he had a carriage, but she could offer the use of hers. Her father could not object to the excursion, since it was for the good of the asylum.
In the meantime, she and Margery had planned a trip to the Pantheon Bazaar to purchase more textiles that the children could use to practice sewing.
Mrs. Buxton played guardian for such visits, and this was another reason Geny suspected her father allowed her to spend so much time with Margery. He was not inclined to such a role himself, and it was not practical to include the spinster cousin whom he supported financially for these smaller errands. Miss Edwards did not live at the house—the earl did not like her well enough for that—and was only called upon to accompany Geny to the evening society events that would admit her. For the day visits, however, she had Margery.
At precisely two o’clock, the Buxtons’ carriage pulled up in front of Geny’s house, and she tied on her bonnet as shedescended the steps, then went over to where the footman stood holding the door to the carriage.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” Mrs. Buxton said, as the footman helped Geny inside to claim her seat next to Margery. Mrs. Buxton always insisted on taking the rear-facing seat so the young ladies might sit side by side. Margery smiled at Geny and grasped her hand in an affectionate clasp.
“Good afternoon,” she replied and then turned to Margery as the carriage moved forward. “My father has encouraged me to visit the Elgin Marbles exhibit. Would you care to go with me on Thursday?”
“If it is all right with Mother, I will,” she replied with an inquiring glance at Mrs. Buxton, who said she would permit it.
Geny wondered if Mrs. Buxton regretted her daughter having a friend whom she felt obliged to escort everywhere. Despite the fact that Margery’s mother was determined to see her daughter successfully settled, she had never encouraged the friendship in order to elevate her daughter’s status. Geny suspected it was more in memory of her mother, the late countess, that she did so. Whatever the reason, she had been unfailingly kind in all the years Geny had known her.
When they arrived at the Bazaar, Mrs. Buxton gave instructions to the groom for when to come for them before trailing behind Geny and Margery. By now, Geny knew where the best cloth was to be found, and they wasted no time in going to that corner of the market. Mrs. Buxton knew it, too, and followed at her own pace, sometimes stopping at other tables that caught her interest.
“Miss Buxton!” a gentleman called out from behind them and was heard over the din. Geny felt Margery freeze at her side, and she glanced at her curiously before they both turned.
“How do you do, Mr. Thompson?” Margery offered the gentleman a tight smile as she curtsied. “I believe you must remember Lady Eugenia Stanich from Mrs. Sookholme’s ball?”
“Of course. How do you do, my lady?” Mr. Thompson bowed.
He was a well-looking man. Nothing like Mr. Rowles, of course. He was not as robust or as tall. His smile was not as warm, nor his eyes the kind you could lose yourself in. For all that, Mr. Thompson was a confident man who seemed capable of appreciating her friend without fawning over her. He also did not seem to be the type of man who would easily be put off by Margery’s show of disinterest, and she would need someone like that. Geny could like him for that reason. He turned back to Margery.
