Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“We really have to go back, eh?” David said, adopting the world-weary tone of someone far older.
Standing with Valerie and the two boys on the icy, cobbled streets of Blackwall, facing the arched double doors of the orphanage, Adrian fought to swallow a chuckle. He had to wonder which grizzled old man the boy had learned that tone from, for he almost sounded like the gardener.
“Thank you ever so much for letting us stay, Your Grace,” Isaac said politely, and stuck out a slightly shaky hand.
Whether it was shaking because he was offering it to Adrian, or whether it was because of the orphanage and this Mrs. Atkinson that they had all heard so much about, the duke did not know. But he took the proffered hand anyway and shook it as firmly as he would with any gentleman.
“You are welcome,” Adrian said.
Isaac seemed pleased, his pale cheeks pinkening.
“Well, I am bereft to see you go,” Valerie interjected, showing no decorum whatsoever as she scooped Isaac up into her arms and hugged him tightly. “I do not know what I shall do with myself, now that I do not have the two of you to entertain me.”
Isaac giggled and hugged the woman back. “You’ll be seeing us soon, though. For the party.”
“Ah, yes, quite right.” Valerie grinned and set the boy down. “And it shall be the most tremendous party that Blackwall has seen in a decade.”
A little shiver ran down Adrian’s spine, his eyebrow raising as he tried to catch Valerie’s eye.
But she would not look at him, her attention turned toward David, who seemed decidedly less enthusiastic about being hugged on the street.
The shyness of youth, of an age where he thought he should not be childish anymore.
“You may hug me willingly or I shall have to smother your face with kisses,” Valerie warned with a wink, opening out her arms.
David rolled his eyes, unable to hide his secret smile as he shuffled up to her and let himself be fiercely embraced. “I’ll miss you when you go to Scotland, Miss Wightman. Promise you’ll come see us on your way back?”
“I swear it,” Valerie replied, planting a kiss upon his hair anyway.
Watching the sweet farewell, and trying not to feel too uncomfortable about such a public display of affection, Adrian frowned. He had spent so much time getting used to having visitors in his castle that he had forgotten the reason that Valerie had appeared in the first place.
What was she venturing to Scotland for? He did not believe she had told him. Perhaps, he should have used their moment in the library to coax the information out of her, but he had been a little… distracted.
“Good luck to you,” he said, putting out his hand to David.
The boy shook it exuberantly. “And to you, Your Grace.”
“Oh, come now, we cannot just leave you both on the doorstep,” Valerie protested.
With a decisive huff of breath that plumed in the cold, winter air, she hitched up her skirts and climbed the snow-shoveled steps up to the entrance.
The crystallized snow that remained crunched under her feet in a rather satisfying way, as Adrian’s gaze briefly flitted to the flash of ankle and stocking she had revealed. That was rather satisfying, too.
She knocked firmly on the door, the boys slowly heading up to join her on the top step.
Only Adrian lingered on the street, drawing his gaze away from the trio to take in the town of Blackwall. He could not clearly remember the last time he had been here, but there had been snow on the streets then, too.
It was all so cheerful, and I hated them for being so happy.
The town looked as it had back then, every house and shop and gate and fence adorned with festive decorations: pretty evergreen wreaths studded with bows and holly sprigs; garlands of ivy, interwoven with lengths of green and red fabric; mistletoe hanging in doorways; sprigs of ivy in the windows, holly branches peeking out vibrantly from behind the frosty panes.
In other parts of the country, he knew it was in poor taste to decorate before Christmas Eve, but Blackwall had never cared for the customs of other places.
They decorated as early as possible, and if the wreaths and garlands and sprigs began to wither, they simply made more.
A town that relished Christmas. A town that missed his mother as much as he did.
With all the snow that still lay on the ground and on the rooftops and in the gardens, he could not deny that it looked beautiful.
“What?” a sharp voice snatched Adrian’s attention back to the orphanage door, where a man now stood, glaring out at Valerie.
Valerie put her arm across the boys and straightened up. “I have come to return David and Isaac,” she said with stilted courtesy. “They have been residing at Blackwall Castle since they… got lost in the snowstorm.”
“Blackwall Castle?” the man scoffed. “Aye, and I’ve just spent the last week in Cadiz.”
Adrian took his cue, striding up the steps to face the man who thought he could speak so curtly to Valerie.
“They were indeed my guests,” he said gruffly, flashing the man one of his darkest looks.
“And who might you be? I would know you are legitimate before I return these fine boys into your care.”
The man blanched with shock, eyes wide as saucers, mouth slack as if he could not believe what he was seeing. “Y-Your Grace?”
“Indeed.” Adrian rested his hands on Isaac’s shoulders. “Who is this, Isaac?”
“I am Mr. Atkinson,” the man hurried to speak first, adopting a jarring, affected voice. “Matthew Atkinson. I am the proprietor of this orphanage, and it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I daresay I haven’t seen you in Blackwall in years.”
Adrian shrugged. “It has been some time, but the important task of bringing these boys back has made it unavoidable.” He paused. “Are we to wait out here in the cold all day?”
Mr. Atkinson jumped back and swept his hand out. “Please, do come in. I shall have my wife prepare some tea.” He turned, bellowing, “Mrs. Atkinson, we have guests! Make some tea!”
The harsh tone rankled Adrian. He had no reason to defend Mrs. Atkinson, from all the stories the boys had told, but he could not abide husbands talking to their wives like that. It made his hands curl into fists and his impulse to punch surge rather high.
Remember the children. Do not lose your temper, or it may see them punished.
He took a breath and ushered the boys inside, Valerie walking in behind them.
Ten minutes later, Adrian and Valerie were seated in a warm parlor with Mr. Atkinson.
Having already said their farewells, David and Isaac had run along to tell their friends and fellow orphans all about their adventures at Blackwall Castle, and though Adrian did not want to linger in this place, there were matters to discuss.
“I’m sorry if those boys caused you any trouble,” Mr. Atkinson said, pouring a cup of tea for the duke. “I don’t deal with them much myself—my wife does that—so I had no idea they were missing. Still, it is an honor indeed to have you here in my humble establishment.”
Adrian arched an eyebrow as the other man put the teapot down, having served himself and Adrian, but not Valerie.
Undeterred, Valerie reached for the pot herself and poured a cup. “They were no trouble at all, Mr. Atkinson. They are charming, sweet boys and they have represented your orphanage very well.”
The proprietor seemed annoyed that she had spoken instead of Adrian but quickly returned his attention to the duke.
“It is a lucky thing that they began clearing snow from the road when they did,” he said.
“I hear it might snow again soon. You might have been stuck with the boys until Christmas otherwise. New Year’s Day, even! ”
“They would have been welcome,” Adrian replied stiffly. “Children do not make demands as others do.”
Valerie cast him a sideways glance, but he had not been talking about her; he just did not want the townsfolk of Blackwall to get any mistaken ideas.
“That being said,” Adrian continued, “it has come to my attention that the children are not appropriately tended to in the winter months. They have nothing to warm themselves.”
Mr. Atkinson spluttered through a mouthful of tea. “I don’t know anything about that, Your Grace. I buy plenty of coal. If my wife isn’t doing as she ought to, I’ll see to it that she does.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Adrian replied coolly, “but I will be checking on my investment. You will not be informed ahead of time of any visits, so it is to your benefit to ensure that the children are warm and fed and content at all times. If I see anything to the contrary, you will not like the consequences.”
“Investment, Your Grace?” Mr. Atkinson’s eyes widened, shining with a hunger that Adrian understood all too well. Greed.
If it makes the lives of these children easier, it will be worthwhile.
Adrian kept that in the forefront of his mind as his temper threatened to fray again.
“I wish to make a donation to the orphanage,” he said.
“A monetary donation and a donation of coal that is solely for the children’s use.
If a single lump finds its way into your or your wife’s fireplace, I shall know. ”
“And we would like to arrange a party for the children,” Valerie jumped in, her sweet voice lively with excitement. “A Christmas party.”
Mr. Atkinson paid her no attention. “Of course, Your Grace, I would be overjoyed to accept a donation, and to ensure that it is used in accordance with your wishes.” He paused, smiling broadly. “And who would not agree to a party? The town, and myself, would be honored indeed.”
Setting down her tea with a pointed clatter, Valerie began the speech that Adrian knew she had been rehearsing.
He had seen her mouthing things to herself in the carriage on the way to town, unaware that she was being observed.
He had been glad of the two boys sitting between them on the squabs, for he did not know what he might have done if he had been alone in such a private place with her.
What of the journey back? He realized with some surprise that he had not thought about that.
“We were hoping you could speak to the town hall on our behalf,” Valerie said.
“I had the notion that we could host the party here at the orphanage, but David and Isaac said it might not be large enough. We really would like the whole town to be able to enjoy it. If you are not opposed, and the town hall agrees, then we were thinking the eve before Christmas Eve?”
Mr. Atkinson pursed his lips, looking down his nose at Valerie. “You are very forward. Who are you to speak on His Grace’s behalf? It would be better if you said nothing, or went to entertain yourself with the children, so that His Grace and I can discuss this properly.”
“There will be nothing to discuss if you speak to Miss Wightman like that,” Adrian snarled, his temper finally snapping.
“She is the one who suggested I make a donation, she is the one who wishes to host this party, and she is the lady who I have asked to accompany me. If you cannot treat her with respect, you can forget about a donation, and we shall hold his party without it having the name of your orphanage attached.”
He would not punish the children for this man’s idiocy, although he was strongly considering sending someone from the castle to become an overseer at this place. Evidently, the orphanage needed someone who cared. But that was something to arrange when he had returned to Blackwall Castle.
The color drained from Mr. Atkinson’s face, his hand trembling on the saucer of his teacup. Like the feeble creature he undoubtedly was, the man bowed his head to Valerie.
“I apologize, Miss Wightman,” he said in a cloying voice. “I misspoke. I assumed you were… a maid who had been taking care of the boys; I did not realize your importance, and I am sincerely sorry for that. Please, forgive me for my foolishness.”
Valerie took an almost triumphant sip of her tea. “You are forgiven,” she said. “Now, how do you feel about plum pudding with brandy? I know not everyone favors it.”
With an inner smile that did not make it to his face, Adrian sat back and let Valerie take the lead. This party was her creation, after all.
And if it is to be the night before Christmas Eve, then at least I shall have her close until then…