Chapter 2
Dear Prudence,
I’m very much hoping that you can help me with a situation that has recently arisen here at the orphanage. I hate to have to turn to you in this way, but this is urgent, and I don’t quite know what else to do.
A young girl appeared in our kitchen last night, claiming to be the daughter of the Duke of Greystone.
As you are Duchess of Desford yourself, you are more ideally positioned than I am to make contact with Greystone and discover whether or not he is missing a daughter.
If he is, he should be informed that I have her here.
But she claims that she is being pursued by a “monster,” so I am hesitant to make her whereabouts publicly known to anyone.
Please respond quickly, cousin, and let me know what you learn.
The words of the note she had written echoed in Bridget’s mind every day of the week that followed. She waited anxiously to hear from her cousin, but with no results.
She had to believe that Prudence had received the message and was doing her best to contact the Duke of Greystone.
Prudence was the person Bridget trusted most in the world, and she knew beyond a doubt that her cousin would try to help her.
The only thing she questioned was whether Prudence would be successful.
The sight of Emma walking around the orphanage, jumping at shadows with fear in her eyes, made Bridget’s heart ache. It was painful to see that poor child suffering after all she had clearly been through. Bridget made it her personal mission to see to it that Emma would feel safe and happy.
The vicar came by five days after Emma’s arrival. He raised his eyebrows at her, then pulled Bridget aside.
“I didn’t know that we had a newcomer,” he said, his voice low. “You usually tell me these things.”
“I don’t know how long she’ll be with us,” Bridget confessed.
The vicar was a good man, one she trusted.
He might have run the orphanage, but he left the day-to-day management of it to her, and she greatly appreciated that fact.
She could confide in him. “She says she’s the daughter of a duke,” she told him.
“I’m trying to get in touch with the man to ask him to come and get her, but so far, I haven’t had any luck with that.
I’ll keep trying, and in the meantime, I’m glad we were able to offer her a bed here. ”
“She looks like she’s been through some difficult things,” the vicar observed.
“She’s very timid. Sticks by my side at all times and won’t associate with the other children. I think I’m the only one she trusts,” Bridget said sadly.
“Then it’s good she has you,” the vicar told her with a warm smile. “It’s good she has someone she can turn to. You continue to do exactly as you have been doing, Bridget. It’s what she needs right now, and I’m glad you’re able to offer it to her.”
So, Bridget had done as the vicar had instructed.
It was what she would have done anyway, left to her own devices.
Her instinct was always one of protection and care.
She let Emma linger by her side as she went through her daily chores.
When all the other children sat down at the long table for their meals, she allowed Emma to crawl into a seat right beside her.
The others gave her appraising looks from time to time, but none of them said anything.
They were used to newcomers in their midst.
Tonight, Emma was picking at the food on her plate.
Though she had eaten eagerly the first night she had been at the orphanage, she hadn’t done so since.
Once the desperate edge had been taken off her appetite, her fear seemed to outweigh her hunger, making it impossible for her to do more than take tiny, birdlike bites of whatever was put in front of her.
“You have to eat,” Bridget told her gently, putting a soft hand in the middle of Emma’s back, between her shoulders. It was a touch that she had learned Emma would accept—she still flinched away if anyone came near her face. “You need to build up your strength if you’re going to be healthy.”
Emma looked up at her, eyes wide and full of questions.
“What is it?” Bridget encouraged. “You can tell me. You can ask me anything you want.”
But she couldn’t, of course. Emma still hadn’t spoken since her arrival, and tonight was no different. She looked down at her plate and began to tear her bread into larger chunks.
Bridget was about to try again when she heard a commotion from the direction of the entrance.
Emma’s head darted up, her eyes wide with fear.
Bridget got to her feet. “It’s all right,” she murmured.
It wasn’t uncommon for people to arrive at the orphanage at this time of night, often constables with street urchins in tow.
It worried Bridget to think of having to tend to a new child while her hands were still full with Emma, but she had managed such things before, and she would do it again.
Just as that thought resolved in her mind, a group of men walked in the door.
The one at the front of the group caught her eye.
He was tall, so tall that he probably could have reached up and touched the low ceiling in this room.
He had dark hair and eyes that seemed to flash with anger.
But what really caught her attention were the twin scars on his face, one running from his hairline to the corner of his eye and the other slightly lower, across his cheek.
She felt more than saw Emma flinch beside her, and the word monster sprang to her mind. The man certainly looked monstrous. Was this the person who had hurt Emma?
He was flanked by a couple of men who seemed to defer to him. They stood back and watched, waiting for instructions, and in fact, the whole room seemed to have frozen to see what this man was going to do.
His gaze was fixed on Emma.
“Emma,” he said. “Come.”
Bridget found her voice. “Sir,” she said. “I don’t know who you are, but you cannot just walk in and lay claim to one of the children here. You’re going to have to leave.”
“You mistake me,” the man said gruffly. “I have every claim to the girl. I am her father.”
Bridget looked down at Emma. Could this possibly be true?
Emma sat rigid, frozen, her expression giving nothing away.
Bridget turned back to the man. “What is your name?”
He scowled. “Is that your concern?”
“It most certainly is. I’m responsible for every child under my care, and no matter what claim you may think you have to her, I’m not letting this one out of my sight until I am satisfied that you are who you say you are. Tell me your name.”
“My name is Reeves Langford,” the man said with a scowl. “I am the Duke of Greystone. And I have no time for this nonsense. I’m here to get my daughter.”
A weight settled into the pit of Bridget’s stomach. She had to admit, she had hoped the man would give the wrong answer, for at least then she would have known what she needed to do.
But he had answered correctly. That was the name of Emma’s father, as far as she knew.
The question was, how could he have known Emma was here?
Prudence had never responded to the letter Bridget had sent.
She didn’t know if her cousin had even received it.
And with that much uncertainty, she couldn’t trust that the man was who he claimed to be.
She couldn’t risk it. Emma looked so frozen, so fearful.
Of course, she always looked that way—but shouldn’t the presence of her father have thawed her?
What if this man wasn’t her father, but was actually the “monster” Emma had been so frightened of?
Emma still wasn’t moving. The man scowled and began to move across the room in her direction.
Bridget stepped between them. “Sir, I’m not going to permit you to take this child.”
He stared at her, eyes wide with disbelief. “Do you think you’re going to stop me from taking my own child?”
“I think I’m going to stop you, yes.” She shivered as his eyes bore into her.
He was terrifying. He was much bigger and stronger than she was, and if she was being honest with herself, she knew that she didn’t have a prayer of stopping him.
If he wanted to take Emma, he would pick her up and move her aside as easily as Bridget might set aside a napkin, and then he would throw Emma over his shoulder and be off.
She knew that. But even so, she had to try.
She fully expected the man to shove her aside, so she was surprised when his scowl deepened, and he barked, “Move.”
“No,” she said firmly, her voice sounding much stronger than she felt.
“Do I need to call the authorities? You’re keeping my daughter from me. It’s kidnapping.”
“I can’t know that you’re her father,” Bridget insisted. “If she’s really your daughter, you ought to be thanking me for not handing her over to the first man who walked in claiming she was his.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to do to convince you.”
Bridget didn’t know either. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt this child again,” she said. She knew that at least.
“And you think I would hurt her?”
“You claim to be the Duke of Greystone, but how can I know you’re who you say you are? If you are the duke, how did you even come to find out Emma was here?”
“I was informed by a friend.”
“By what friend?” Bridget folded her arms. “I didn’t tell anyone she was here.”
“And you expect me to see you as anything other than a kidnapper? Keeping my daughter without telling anyone you had her?”
“Sir—”
“Your Grace,” he corrected.
She wasn’t going to give him that while she was still so unsure.
“This is an orphanage,” she said. “Surely, you’ve realized that.
I’ve kept her here for days. I’ve fed her and cared for her.
And if you were really her father, I would let her go with you.
But you have to give me something. Some way to be sure.
It’s out of concern for her safety that I insist on this. ”
“Well, you must have told someone she was here,” the man said. “Because I was told by my friend Leonard that this was where I’d find her.”
Leonard.
Leonard was the name of Prudence’s husband, the Duke of Desford.
It made sense.
But she had to be sure that Emma would be safe.
“Your daughter has suffered,” she said. “I don’t know if it was in your hands.
But father or not, if she doesn’t want to go to you, I’m not going to force her.
I won’t let anyone harm her again. If she wants to go to you, she can, but if she doesn’t … ”
“I’ve had enough of this,” the man said in a low, ominous tone. “You’ll have to step away from my child. Move, or I’ll make you move.”
Then a soft voice piped up from behind Bridget. “Don’t hurt her.”
Bridget was so shocked that she turned around.
Emma had spoken.
She was on her feet, tears in her eyes, arms wrapped around herself, but she faced the man in front of her and spoke again.
“Don’t hurt Miss Bridget, Papa,” she said. “Please.”