“Your newfound compassion knows no bounds now.”
“Lady Lydia didn’t allow me much choice. If I didn’t take him in, she would have taken him home with her to Heart Place. He’d have robbed her blind.” Jeremy shrugged. “It’s a small thing, and I might as well take advantage of any information he provides me. It won’t be long before the boy tires of eanring honest wages. He may lead me right to this Farley fellow.”
Lydia would be hugely disappointed, and Jeremy felt an inkling of guilt for not making all of his intentions clear to her. But if he had, she would have only had questions. And she would have defended Ollie most ardently. They would argue. Her cheeks would flush, and her cobalt eyes would sparkle with passion, causing him to forget what they were arguing about in the first place and give into other, counterintuitive urges.
Urges that could only end in further heartache. Jeremy unclenched and clenched his fists. Because both his cock and his heart protested the assumption.
Baxter drew his horse to a halt again and glanced down at his fob watch. “Keep me appraised, Tempest. But I’d best turn back. My countess will be expecting me to break my fast with her.” Tipping his hat, he grinned. “Give my best to Lady Lydia.”
Jeremy stared after him—a man who, born on the wrong side of the blanket, had elevated himself to become a bloody earl. As the white mare pranced toward the park exit, Baxter road away, his posture as noble as any man born into a title. Damned fellow knew far too much for his own good.
Jeremy couldn’t help but wonder what else he knew.
Chapter 7
Having met with two seamstresses at Madam Chantal’s and arranged for them to make some drawings of potential uniforms, Lydia stood waiting for her driver outside of the Bond Street shop with her maid and exhaled a long sigh.
As busy as she’d kept herself over the past week, it was impossible to keep her mind from going back to the day Jeremy had kissed her.
Twice, he’d kissed her.
Twice.
But since then, it had become quite apparent that he’d decided to avoid her.
Rather than bring the contract to her himself, Jeremy had sent it via messenger. As promised, he had indeed included the requirement that she not visit the Tuesday Warehouse unprotected, and it was an enforceable clause.
But most importantly, the contract ensured that the orphanage would be funded for eighteen months from the date of opening. She could not convince herself the clause was worth arguing over in the face of his generosity.
Even if Jeremy had told her he was only doing this at Baxter’s insistence.
Eager to move matters forward, after going over it with her brother’s solicitors, Lydia had signed the contract and sent it back the very next day—via messenger as well.
In addition to the contract, Jeremy sent over an ambitious timeline, as well as his preferred contractors. She’d written back that she would like to discuss a few items, but again, two days had since passed without a response.
And he had not once referenced how Ollie was doing in any of them.
Was he avoiding her or his feelings? Or were they one and the same?
She’d seen regret in his eyes after he’d kissed her, and he’d looked almost fearful as he’d backed hastily toward the front door.
Coachman John effectively brought her thoughts to a halt as he pulled the carriage up beside them.
But while she’d been waiting, a pesky little idea had formed in the back of her mind. Would it be so very inappropriate to make an unplanned visit to Jeremy’s Townhouse on Cork Street?
To visit Ollie, of course.
She bit her lip.
Visiting an orphan boy she’d taken an interest in ought not to be misconstrued in any way. In fact, it ought to be considered perfectly acceptable. Quite appropriate.
And in the event that she did happen to run into Jeremy, she had her maid with her to act as chaperone.
Nothing improper at all.
Unwilling to rethink her decision, she whipped open the sliding door to the driver’s box. “Sixteen Cork Street.”
Louise, of course, didn’t question their new destination but did raise her brows half an inch.
The truth of the matter was that Lydia was very curious about Ollie’s plight. So much so that she’d talked her nerves into settling down considerably by the time they arrived at Jeremy’s modest Mayfair townhouse.
Modest by Heart Place standards, that was.
”No need to wait on us, John. Louise and I can return on foot.” Knowing her maid was always amenable to taking the air, Lydia waved the carriage away as Louise held the iron gate open for Lydia to pass through.
The brick façade of Jeremy’s townhouse was newly painted, and the wood door was polished to a high shine. Oh, she hoped Ollie had made the right decision and stayed with Jeremy after all.
She didn’t recognize the servant who opened the door, nor did he recognize her. She faltered, doubting her decision to visit for an instant. Matters between her and Jeremy were very different than they’d been before. She had practically been on a first-name basis with most of his servants at Galewick Manor.
The manservant stared down at her, awaiting some explanation for her visit.
Which in actuality, posed no problem for Lydia. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. She was a Cockfield, after all.
“I am Lady Lydia Cockfield, sister of the Duke of Blackheart.” She summoned some of her brother’s demeanor. “I am here to meet with Ollie, the young boy Lord Tempest took in recently.”
The butler stared down his nose at her, but then stepped back, widening the door and bowing. “Of course, My Lady. This way, please.”
Lydia craned her neck around, taking in her surroundings. This was where Jeremy spent most of his time.
The foyer’s decor was very representational of him: subdued but decorated with tasteful paintings, quiet-colored moldings, and shining wood floors. There were several rugs, with simple but elegant floral accents, placed about.
The scent of lemon oil hung in the air as she followed the butler into a drawing room where the walls were painted an eggshell blue and the furnishings upholstered in matching blues and golds. A very expensive-looking vase was propped on a table behind the long settee.
This room, she decided, would have been decorated by his mother.
“How is Lady Tempest,” she asked impulsively.
The butler frowned as though uncertain of divulging his employer’s personal information.
“My dear Aunt Emma asked me to inquire.” Involving one’s dear aunt into any occasion was certain to lend an air of respectability.
And apparently it did.
“She is improving. Her doctors are cautiously optimistic.” And then the butler clutched his hands behind his back. “Do make yourself comfortable, My Lady. I’ll have the boy brought down immediately, and if it is to your liking, your maid may wait in the kitchens with Mrs. Crump. Do not hesitate to use the bell pull if you have need of anything. I am Mr. Bartholomew, at your service.”
Louise glanced questioningly over at Lydia.
“I am not in need of a chaperone while visiting with a nine-year-old boy.” She smiled, knowing her maid would likely take tea with the servants below, and that she would enjoy that far more than sitting in a corner watching her fuss over Ollie.