“This is very good. Thank you. I…I don’t know what to say. I am certain neither your father nor mine intended you to cook for me or play nursemaid to a dozen orphans.”
He shrugged. “I was in the army, my lady. I follow orders, and my orders were to make certain you are safe and well. If that means I feed you, so be it. I’m not helpless. I didn’t have a batman for much of my service, so I learned to take care of myself. Not only can I cook and clean, I can also do laundry.” He narrowed his eyes. “Though I’ll want more than a thank-you if I have to wash the boys’ drawers. Now, yours”—he winked—“I’ll do for free.”
Her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink, and she took a rather large sip of tea. Fortunately, it had cooled and she didn’t burn her mouth. “I have a washerwoman come once a week to wash the clothes and linens. Your services in that arena will not be required.”
*
She would have thought he’d look more relieved, but he merely nodded. He had a way of nodding that made her feel as though she were a soldier. In fact, everything he did was done with precision and in an orderly fashion. He stood straight and tall, hands clasped behind his back in a not-quite-relaxed stance. He didn’t so much as shift his weight as he stood. He was perfectly still, the occasional head nod or gesture done with a brusque authority.
With his sultry good looks and sea-blue eyes, had she met him on the street, she would never have guessed he was a soldier. But now she could hardly imagine him as anything else. Only that sweep of dark hair brushed back from his forehead suggested any tolerance for a lack of strictness and order.
“Did your teacher resign?” he asked, and she realized she’d been staring at him. Again! She wanted to sink onto the long, apple-green couch and wait for her wobbly knees to stop shaking. Instead, she studied her toast intently and tried to think of something besides running her hands through that thick hair. Teacher… He’d mentioned a teacher.
“Oh, Mrs. Fleming?” She glanced up at him, and he frowned.
“You had better sit down and eat more toast.”
“I’m perfectly fine. I was merely thinking of…something else.” Her lips on his temple, his eyes meting hers… She cleared her throat. “Yes, she did resign. But”—she raised a finger—“I have a plan.”
One of his thick brows rose slowly. “Do you?”
“I have written to my former governess and asked her to come and help until I can find a permanent teacher. I thought if she could keep my sister and me in line, these orphans will be easy for her.”
“I can well believe it.”
Julia opened her mouth to assure him she really had been that bad, then realized what he’d said. “Sir, you are supposed to say that I was a perfect angel as a child.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment. If you were an angel, we wouldn’t be here today. You’re obviously stubborn and willful.”
“You say it as though those are bad traits.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “You’ll need both to keep this orphanage going. So far you need a new cook and a new teacher.”
She went back to her desk and lifted two letters. “I’ve written the advertisement for the cook and a letter to my former governess. I’ll post both as soon as Mr. Goring returns and can escort me.”
“Ah, the elusive Mr. Goring.” His gaze traveled to the cold hearth. “And what exactly does he do here? He obviously doesn’t cook or teach, do laundry or light fires. And considering the state of the building, he doesn’t make repairs either.”
All the warmth she’d felt for Wraxall earlier began to seep away. Who was he to challenge her? “Mr. Goring was actually quite industrious until a week or so ago. He told me his mother has been ill, and he’s had to leave to care for her. But he usually tells me when he leaves. Perhaps he told me and in all the chaos today I didn’t remember.”
Mr. Wraxall looked skeptical. “And I have a feeling I will find him in the closest gin house.”
“You don’t have much faith in people, do you?”
“Not since I came back from the war, no.” He held out his hand. “Give me the letters, and I’ll post them for you. I’ll find Goring and send him back too.”
“But I can’t ask you to do all that.”
He waved a hand. “Orders. I need you to stay where you are safe”—he looked around—“relatively safe and can keep the boys from destroying the place. I’ll be back in an hour. No more than two. I’ll bring supper.” He held out his hand, and she handed him the letters.
He started out of the parlor, and she followed him. “That’s very generous of you, sir, but I cannot possibly pay you for all you have done. I have limited resources at present.”
He didn’t even look at her as he started for the steps to the second floor. “I don’t want your blunt.”
She lifted her skirts and followed him up the steps. “So this is about following orders then?”
“For the most part.” He turned and began to ascend the next flight of stairs.
“Where are we going?”
“I told the boys I’d inspect the dormitory.”
“I can do that.”
He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. “I don’t think so.”
Her jaw dropped open as she watched his back. The man was certainly arrogant. She chased after him. “For your information, I am perfectly capable of ascertaining whether a bed is made and clothing articles put away.”
“I would be inclined to believe you, except I saw the state of the rooms earlier.”
“Yes, well, today has not been our finest. But I—”
His sharp whistle cut her off. It was so loud and shrill she actually flinched. When she opened her eyes again, he stood in the doorway of the older boys’ room. Eight of the twelve slept in here, and when she peered around Wraxall, she saw all eight scrambling to attention at the end of their beds. The room was as neat as a fresh coiffure. The beds were made, the trunks were closed and presumably full of clothing, and the floors and bedposts gleamed.
“Attention!” Wraxall ordered. Julia almost squared her shoulders. Instead, she stayed in the doorway as he marched through the center of the room. His gaze seemed to miss nothing. Not a pair of breeches forgotten under a bed, a trunk not perfectly aligned with a footboard, not the collection of dirty dishes hidden behind a curtain.
“You’ve earned your supper, lads, but not any dessert. Next time, if your work is exemplary, there will be ices.”
“Ices!” George said with a squeal. “I want ices!”
“There will be another inspection tomorrow. At ease.” And he strode out the door and right past her.
“You will be back tomorrow?” she asked, following him. Why should the prospect of seeing him again make her heart thump harder?
“It appears that way.” He stopped in front of the younger boys’ room. This time she was prepared for the whistle and plugged her ears. “Attention!”
The little boys scrambled to their places, Chester and Jimmy on one side and James and Charlie on the other. They stood at perfect attention, except Charlie who had his thumb in his mouth. Wraxall cleared his throat, and Charlie put his hand at his side.
Julia didn’t have to be in the army to see that this room would not meet Wraxall’s standards. The beds were poorly made, the trunks had items of clothing peeking out, and the dusty furniture had the occasional clean swipe as from a rag. Julia cringed. If Wraxall made these little ones cry, she would have his head.
But he moved inside, his head nodding. “Good job, men.”
“Is it good enough for a sweet?” asked little James.
“It’s good, but not that good.”
“Aw!” Chester and Jimmy groaned and sagged.
“Do you want me to show you what to do to earn a sweet tomorrow?”
“Yesth! Yesth!” Charlie jumped up and down, his thumb back in his mouth.
“We’ll start with how you make a bed. Watch very carefully, lads. You want the corners tucked under like so.”
Julia stood in the doorway for a good five minutes, watching as Wraxall showed the boys how to make beds, dust, and fold clothing. And then she had to walk away, because if she didn’t, she feared she would forget she did not like him.
On the way back to the parlor, she had two questions.