Page 5 of Stolen By the Rogue
The door of the office opened and through it stepped Andrew McNeal, the Duke of Monsale. He was followed by the bulking form of Sir Stephen Moore carrying a newspaper. Trailing behind Stephen was a young boy. George noted the look of displeasure written across the child’s face. In his hand was a small chalkboard on which several unsuccessful attempts at the letter ‘B’ had been made.
“Now, Toby, I know you don’t want to sit and practice your letters, but as a gentleman, you must learn to read and write,” said Stephen. He held the newspaper aloft. “Because when you can read, you will be able to sit at the breakfast table and scour the daily newspaper from cover to cover. That is what all men of quality do first thing each morning.”
Stephen grandly tossed the paper onto the table where it landed with a crispthwackclose to where George sat.
George did his best to stifle a laugh. Hearing one of London’s foremost rakes trying to teach his newly acquired ward about being a gentleman had become the source of much amusement amongst the rogues of the road over the past few weeks.
Monsale passed by the table, a sly grin on his face. He gave George a wink as he continued on toward the kitchen. Monsale was not one for exchanging words until he had downed his first coffee of the day.
“But Sir Stephen, can’t I just go and help Bob muck out the stables?” pleaded Toby.
Harry rose from the table and held out his arms. “I thought you were coming home with me today. Lady Alice will be waiting. She so looks forward to your visits. Besides, cook made a fruit bun especially for you this morning, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint her, now, would you?”
The petulant look on Toby’s face immediately dissipated, replaced by wide-eyed excitement. “I’ll get my coat,” he cried. The chalkboard was discarded on the table without a second look as he dashed out of the room and down the hall.
A chuckling Monsale reappeared from the kitchen carrying a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. “The way to a boy’s heart is through his stomach.”
Yes, but that boy stole your affection the moment you met him.
Monsale might have been all puff and bluster, but George suspected that beneath his gruff exterior lived a warm heart. One which he, at times, struggled to hide. It was comforting to know that the trauma of Monsale’s violent upbringing had not completely turned him to stone.
Someday, my friend, you might even be brave enough to risk giving your heart to a woman.
Stephen picked up the chalkboard and, after giving Toby’s handwriting a disapproving scowl, wiped it clean with the palm of his hand. “Well, if the boy will sit and pay attention to his lessons, I would be more than happy to give him a whole sticky bun for breakfast every morning.”
If only all of life’s troubles could be solved with a piece of warm fruit bun and some tasty cheese.
Monsale set his coffee cup down across from George’s place at the table before taking a seat. George ran his finger over the nearest knife mark on the table, staring intently at it as he avoided meeting Monsale’s enquiring gaze. He didn’t need to look up to know his friend’s eyes were boring into him.
The duke sighed. “Don’t tell me you are still sulking over that mishap last week?”
Harry reached over and gave George a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You outran the chap and got away. I don’t see why you are still in the dumps. It’s almost as if you are disappointed that you didn’t get caught.”
George lifted his gaze. There was no point trying to ignore his friends.
The fair-haired Monsale sat back in his chair, wagging a finger in George’s direction. “You are badly in need of a Hannibal moment in your life.”
A Hannibal what?
He waited while Monsale took a long sip of his brew before asking the obvious. “I know I am going to regret asking this, but what on earth is a Hannibal moment?”
Monsale chuckled. “Well, Hannibal of Carthage needed to find a way to invade Italy. The easiest way would have been to sail across the Mediterranean and land in Sicily, but then he would have been met by a huge Roman force. Instead, he came over the Alps.”
“But he didn’t succeed in sacking Rome. I’m not sure if he is the right example to be using if what you are aiming for is a lesson in turning failure into fortune,” said Harry.
George nodded. “Not to mention the fact that while he did it in style with thousands of soldiers and thirty-eight elephants, half his army and most of the poor beasts didn’t make it into Italy. But, yes, I get the gist of what you are saying. I need to approach my problem from a different angle,” said George.
Monsale nodded. “Exactly. I think . . .”
The room fell silent as Toby reappeared. The members of the RR Coaching Company had all agreed not to discuss their illegal business dealings in front of the boy. Young minds were too impressionable.
Stephen bent to help Toby with his coat buttons. “Where is your scarf?” he said.
Toby frowned. “I don’t know.”
Harry dug a hand into his pocket and produced a navy-blue woolen scarf. “You left it at our house yesterday.”
He handed it to Stephen, who quickly wrapped it around Toby’s neck. He patted his young ward gently on the head. “Now, are you ready to take your leave properly?” Stephen stepped back, and an expectant hush fell over the room.
