“And you obviously know I am Lady Juliana.”
He would have made some nonsense remark about how he was pleased to meet her—although he hadn’t been particularly pleased yet—but she held up a hand to stay his response.
“I see what this is about, and I regret to inform you that you are wasting your time. I have no intention of returning home until I have matters here in order. My father wants me to dance at balls and attend the theater. I ask you, how am I to attend the theater with all of this to think of?”
Neil knew an ambush when he saw one, and he remained silent.
“If my father sent you to convince me to return home, you are wasting your time, sir.”
“I am not here to convince you to leave,” he said. In fact, he’d intended to simply carry her out, put her in a coach, and send her home.
He saw now that while brute tactics might win the battle, they wouldn’t win the war. She’d be right back here.
And then so would he.
This moment called for diplomacy, as Rafe would have called it. Ewan would have called Neil’s next words by their true nature: a lie. “I am here because your father is worried for your safety. He asked me to put measures in place to ensure you are well protected.”
She gave him a wary look. “My father said that?”
“I didn’t actually speak to the earl, but that is my interpretation.” A very loose interpretation.
“What sorts of measures?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll need to do some reconnaissance before I make recommendations.”
“Reconnaissance? Are you by any chance a soldier, Mr. Wraxall?”
“I was.” Now would come the endless questions about what branch he served in and the battles he fought in, and when she learned he was one of Draven’s Dozen, she would probably press a hand to her chest and flutter her lashes.
He wouldn’t mind that reaction, though he certainly would be no gentleman if he took advantage of her swoon to kiss her…
She turned her back on him and walked away.
Neil frowned. Where was the swoon and his ill-gotten kiss?
“Go ahead and do your reconnaissance, sir. You may note your recommendations when you are finished. I trust that will be shortly?” She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder at him. “We have no need for soldiers and military regimentation here.”
Her skirts swished as she moved into the corridor and down the stairs. Neil could have imagined how lush her hips looked as she moved. He gritted his teeth and shifted his thoughts back to the mission. Clasping his hands behind his back, he surveyed the dormitory. A handful of buckets littered the floor, half-full of water from the rains the night before. He looked up at the leaky ceiling and noted the plaster was crumbling in more places than he could count. None of the boys’ beds were made. Blankets and pillows were thrown on the floor as were articles of clothing. Dirty clothing, pamphlets, half-eaten apples, and decks of cards and dice littered the trunks at the end of the beds. No wonder the place had rats. He quickly found the box that housed the creatures near the window on the far side of the room. Even from this distance, he could see the latch on the window was broken. No doubt the boys were sneaking out at night and doing God knew what.
He had his work cut out for him, and this was but one room in what he estimated to be close to a dozen. One thing was for certain. Lady Juliana might not know it, but she needed military regimentation and a whole hell of a lot of it.
*
Julia fumed all the way to the kitchen, and then she fumed more when she saw the state in which the boys had left it. She’d have to spend half the morning putting everything to rights. If her father wanted to help her, why didn’t he send her a maid or a cook? She could sorely use one of each. Leave it to a man to send help in the form of one more inconvenience. On the other hand, if her father knew her lady’s maid had resigned and the cook had fled and she was living here three or four days a week essentially unchaperoned, he would have come himself and dragged her home.
At least the boys would be busy for the next few hours. Mrs. Fleming should have arrived by now. The teacher would have had to begin her lessons late, but some education was better than the complete ignorance in which the boys had been living before she arrived.
Julia found the broom and sighed over the crumbs and smashed bits of food on the floor. If only Harriett could see her now. Her sister would have laughed at dainty, little Julia sweeping up after orphans. But then, her sister had always been laughing.
Harriett had been her best friend and closest confidante. The sisters, only nineteen months apart, had behaved like twins. They’d always been so happy together. And who wouldn’t have been happy when life was filled with nights at the theater, dancing under glittering ballroom chandeliers, and presentations at court? Their life had been exciting and beautiful and charmed. And when some small discomfort intruded, Harriett had made everything right again. She’d always been the strong, healthy one as well…until she wasn’t.
Julia’s eyes burned, and she closed them briefly. She was here because she’d already mourned Harriett and now she needed to do something besides embroider pillow covers and sip tepid tea at garden parties. The magic that had been her life in the haute ton had faded without Harriett, and each event seemed more dreary and tiresome than the last. Her father balked at the thought of his last remaining child running an orphanage. At one time, Julia would have balked too. Charities and benevolence societies were always Harriett’s domain. She’d been a tireless supporter of this orphanage and several others. When she’d been confined to her bed, she’d asked Julia to go to the meetings in her stead.
And when she’d died, Julia had continued to go because she did not know how not to go. It had been painful enough saying goodbye to her dear sister and her best friend. The charities were one way to keep Harriett alive.
Davy had been another way.
But he’d been taken from her as well.
How could she sit in that too-silent town house and go on with her life as usual? Without Harriett or Davy, all that was left was a deep, dark hole. The day she’d walked into the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth, a ray of light had shone in the blackness threatening to engulf her life. She’d felt as though she belonged. She’d felt like this might be a place she could call home. She’d been delivering embroidered napkins, which anyone with half a brain could see was not what the orphans really needed, and she’d simply never left. First, she’d spent one day a week here, then two, then more. Now, she was all but splitting her time between her father’s town house and the orphanage.
She felt close to Davy here. She felt closer to Harriett.
She felt…that something was not quite right.
She paused in her sweeping and cocked her head. It was too quiet, and she’d quickly learned when it was too quiet something was amiss. Laying the broom handle against the worktable, she left the kitchen and stuck her head in the hallway. The classroom was just up the stairs, in what had been a drawing room before the residence had been made into an orphanage. Shouldn’t she hear the drones of Mrs. Fleming as she recited numbers or read aloud?
Instead, Julia heard…nothing.