Chapter 3 #3
“I …” The woman paused, and he could see how her chest rose and fell quickly, like she had been caught out.
Had he caught her out?
He was more concerned about how many children were fit into the room than anything.
“Do introduce me, Mrs. Neal,” he said, tugging on his sleeve cuffs casually.
“O-of course.” She stepped into the room with him. “Everybody, this is His Grace, the Duke of Fairmont. He is the new owner of Fielding House, so you must be good to him and treat him with your best manners, all right?”
There was a chorus of mumbles, incoherent, and Lucien merely looked over the sea of faces, finding himself regarded wearily in return. His focus returned to the lady, whose eyes had gone wide, her mouth parting.
Oh, yes, she definitely felt caught by a duke.
“And who might you be?” Lucien asked her directly. When she didn’t answer, he turned to Mrs. Neal. “The report left in the former duke’s will did not mention a tutor, or any sort of lessons going on here. I do not believe it is custom?”
He was curious about the whole set-up, like it was some secret, and he still was trying to place why the woman looked so well to-do if she was tutoring in a workhouse.
“Wait!” One of the children, a scarily thin boy with black curls flattened against his head, rushed over to him.
“Your Grace, please do not be cross with Lady Elinor! We know this must be kept quiet, but please let her stay. Oh, please, let her stay! We are doing well with our lessons, and she is bringing Newton next time.”
Next time? Lucien thought. How frequent are these lessons, and who in the world is Newton?
But then he paused.
Lady Elinor.
His brows shot up as he flicked his gaze back to her. It rang a bell, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it, too lost in questions about what he had discovered here.
More children ran up to him, and soon he was surrounded by grubby hands that did not touch him, but he pitied their dirty faces and small frames.
“Yes, please do not send her away! She is so good to us,” another boy cried out.
“Move, Billy,” another child grumbled, shoving through. “Lady Elinor is very good, and she cares about us, more so than others have, and we can’t lose her.” That child’s voice was very firm, and she lifted her chin defiantly.
“Who are you?” Lucien asked, amused by her order.
“I am Angelica.”
Ah, he had heard that name from out in the hallway.
“Well, Angelica, thank you for your request.” He did not say anything further, for Lady Elinor rushed forward, placing a hand on Billy’s and Angelica’s shoulders, quickly ushering them back to their places in the makeshift classroom.
When she turned back to him, her cheeks were pink, and she shoved a pair of spectacles up her nose, her face scrunching. “Your Grace, may we speak in private?”
He found himself smiling a little as he nodded. “Mrs. Neal, do show us to the main office.”
“It is all right,” Lady Elinor interrupted hastily. “I can show you to it. Mrs. Neal, instead, can you help the children get ready for bed? I cannot stay long enough to do that.”
“Of course, Elinor.”
At the sound of bed, most of the children sighed, and Lucien couldn’t tell if it was exasperation or relief. But they all gathered, glancing between Lady Elinor and him, seemingly nervous. He had a feeling they would not go to bed easily, not if they were so passionate about their tutor.
“All right,” he told Lady Elinor. “Lead the way.” He glanced back into the room, inclining his head. “Good night, children.”
A hesitant chorus of good nights came in reply. Keys jingled as Mrs. Neal handed them to Lady Elinor. Once again, Lucien was surprised at the ease of a lady knowing her way around a workhouse, so familiar with the staff and children.
“This way.” Her voice was quiet and unsure, and she kept her head ducked as she led him further down the hallway to descend another staircase, this one slightly less secure.
Lucien frowned, shaking the railing.
Lady Elinor paused at the bottom of the staircase. “Is something the matter, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” he muttered. “This staircase is unsafe, as is the main one I came up before. Nobody maintains this place?”
“It has always been down to the owner to order repairs,” she said, swallowing hard. “Nobody was ever sent to even look at the cracked window in one of the children’s bedrooms. It gets terribly cold in there.”
Something dark slid into Lucien, and he clenched his jaw. His uncle would have never sent repairs because they were costly, and he hoarded every last coin for his pleasures. It was why Lucien was working through that queue of debts so slowly. His uncle had possessed so many.
Lucien nodded, and Lady Elinor opened a door slightly further down from the staircase, inviting him in. She shut the door behind them, and Lucien immediately was hit with the damp scent of the room. A draft came in from another cracked window, the pane broken, as well as broken floorboards.
He was disgusted that his uncle had allowed such a run-down place. Then again, he should not have been surprised that his uncle lacked care for Fielding House. Inside, he gingerly sat behind the main desk, looking at the disrepair of it. That, too, looked ready to collapse.
Lady Elinor hesitantly sat opposite him. She pushed up her spectacles again, making Lucien want to ask if they were too loose, or if it was a nervous habit.
“What were you teaching the children today?” he asked, not wanting to waste any of their time, not when Lady Elinor kept glancing toward the window, restless.
“I have been teaching them how to write,” she said. “But I create stories through topics. Earlier today, I was reading an essay on—” she stopped herself short, her head hanging and her cheeks flooding with pink again.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
“It is not very ladylike,” she mumbled.
“I do not care for that; I am simply curious. I have caught you teaching some sort of secret lesson. I believe you can at least tell me what it contained.”
Lady Elinor seemed to take another few moments to steel herself before she sighed. “I—I have been warned against speaking about this with anyone.”
“I am not just anyone,” he responded smoothly. “And I do not care what a lady wants to read. It will not affect my life, if that is more assurance rather than offense.”
“Strangely, it is comforting.” She frowned to herself before letting out a nervous laugh.
“All right, then. I was reading an essay from an astronomer named Dr. Waylan. He was setting sail for Greece to find a new constellation in an area he thought it would be best found, based on research he did with another astronomer. I fictionalized it a little for the children to begin teaching them about stars. I think some of them are too young to understand, but they listen anyway, and the older ones seem interested.”
“Astronomy?” Lucien’s brows rose.
“I know, it is a strange thing to teach children, but—”
“I am surprised you are speaking about it, Lady Elinor.” He leaned back into the seat, tilting his head at her.
Oh, a woman had not surprised him in a very long time.
She was rather fascinating. Again, she shoved those spectacles up the bridge of her nose.
He continued, amused. “Who are you precisely, Lady Elinor?”
She startled, her hands clasping together. Once more, she looked toward the window, and he fought the urge to ask what he was keeping her from.
“I am part of the staff.” The lie was blatant immediately, and Lucien smirked.
“I see,” he mused. “And for a staff member of a workhouse, you have surprisingly smooth hands. No cuts, scrapes, calluses. In fact, you have very smooth skin. Unfortunately, workhouse staff have a specific look to them. Often too thin, hollowed cheeks, dark under-eyes, yet you have none of that to your appearance.”
“I—I am part-time.”
“That does not exist,” he said dryly. “And not to mention that your accent is refined. You speak without contractions, unlike Mrs. Neal.”
“Well … It is merely how I-I speak,” she stammered. Her hand raised to her nose again before she dropped it, as if realizing how often she was doing that. Definitely a nervous habit.
“And the children call you Lady Elinor.”
“They … they just call me that out of habit. It ought to be simply Miss Elinor.”
Lady Elinor.
Lady Elinor.
And then it finally hit Lucien, and he felt foolish for forgetting so quickly. The third daughter of Lady Morland’s through her marriage to Lord Morland. The one who had been ailed with a sensitive stomach, apparently.
Dominic had asked about her, and now something else was making slightly more sense about their reaction to Dominic claiming he had heard she spoke of interesting things.
Astronomy.
Perhaps more, if he were to guess.
And her worrying that she had been warned not to speak about such things. Had his uncle done that? Had she even met his uncle?
“You are Lady Morland’s stepdaughter,” he said, thinking aloud to himself before he properly focused on her. “Yes. That is right. I was speaking with her earlier at the—”
“At the Morrows’ ball. Yes, they attended tonight, and I am fearful of them arriving home before I do, Your Grace, so I really must—”
“They will not be leaving yet,” he assured her. “I am certain Lady Morland has a self-assigned challenge to shove her daughters in the face of every man present tonight, and there were many, so do not worry about returning home just yet.”
“I—I …” she whispered, trailing off, as she pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Please do not say a thing to her about this, Your Grace. Please. Those children mean a great deal to me, and the teaching itself—I cannot lose it, and she will be furious. Please, Your Grace, do not tell her. I will do anything, anything, to keep doing this.”
Lucien stood up, slowly stalking around the desk. Immediately, Lady Elinor did the same, and he noticed just how simple her dress was, unlike the garments her stepsisters had flaunted. He rather preferred the authenticity of her attire, strangely enough.
He stepped closer to her, until they were inches apart. He smirked down at her, enjoying how she blushed and averted her gaze before lifting it back to him.
“It is quite scandalous of you to feign an illness so you can sneak out to such an unsavory part of London, Lady Elinor.”
There was a slight crease to her brows, and he heard her quietly repeating, feign an illness?
Lucien only moved closer so he could see the golden specks in her blue eyes. He was aware of her chest heaving with pants again, and he wished to move even closer so he might feel that breathing pattern press against his body.
She swallowed, and there went her hand to nudge her spectacles up again.
Lucien hummed, and when she went to do it again, he did it for her. A hard exhale left Lady Elinor, and he chuckled, glancing down at the lip she caught between her teeth for a moment.
He kept her waiting for another few moments before nodding.
“I will keep your secret,” he told her. “You may continue teaching the children.”
Lady Elinor sighed in relief, leaning back against the edge of the desk. Lucien braced a hand on it, not quite fencing her in, but remaining close enough to hear her breath catch again.
“On one condition,” he added. “You must be mine—for the rest of the Season.”