Chapter 7
Jane Street, London, Four days later
Tilly alighted from the hired hackney cab, faced the plain, red-brick exterior of Hope House, and not for the first time, experienced a smattering of surprise at finding herself here.
Well, not surprise at finding herself at Hope House in general.
She’d been here before to lend a helping hand. Several times, in fact.
Today, however, she wasn’t here to offer help.
She was here to observe.
That was what had her surprised.
The reason for her presence here—in the specific.
The first surprise had been that the letter had come at all.
But yesterday, there it had been in tidy black and white—Lord Rhys Osborne requesting her presence at Hope House at two in the afternoon to bear witness to his first noble deed.
Until then, she’d figured Lord Rhys wasn’t as reformed as he claimed and would deem the price for getting his pa’s ring back too high.
That was the conclusion most lordly wasters would have reached. Most lords, the wasters and the righteous alike, didn’t appreciate having to work for that which they wanted.
In fact, Tilly hadn’t believed those black-and-white words the first time she’d read them.
The second pass hadn’t yielded much more belief.
Upon the third read, those words finally communicated themselves as fact.
And with that acceptance came a feeling.
A light, little feeling that whissed through her that she thought it best not to examine closely.
The thing was, she’d come away from her afternoon with Lord Rhys Osborne with an altogether different feeling from the one that had begun it.
By the end, she’d been enjoying it.
There.
She’d enjoyed herself.
A few reasons why presented themselves.
First, she wasn’t so above the superficialities not to take a measure of delight from having the upper hand over the handsome son of an earl.
Well, once he realized he couldn’t bully her.
Or had he tried to bully her?
Upon reflection, she didn’t think so.
Also, he hadn’t tried it on with her.
That was new.
Most men of a type took one look at Tilly Birdwell and made up their minds to add her to their stable of female conquests.
Or to, at least, try.
They discovered right quick the error in their thinking.
But Lord Rhys… His eyes had shown his attraction, and he’d flirted a little, but he hadn’t seriously pursued a dalliance.
He’d treated her like someone he was interested in—not as someone to be seduced and discarded.
It had allowed her to relax and enjoy her fancy tea at Mivart’s.
A suspicion had entered her mind regarding Lord Rhys Osborne.
That he might not be like most lords.
That he might have a good heart.
But he didn’t seem all that acquainted with that part of himself, as the necessity to use it had likely never presented itself.
This was the case for most lords and ladies.
They built up a world of luxury around themselves so they never had to experience a genuine feeling in all their lives.
They never had to use their hearts.
After all, things like hearts and real feelings could be inconvenient, and if there was one thing aristocrats didn’t like, it was being inconvenienced.
Lord Rhys, it surprised her to think, might not be like that.
Of course, she’d been wrong about lords before.
But then she’d been sixteen, and Sir Felix had been an accomplished deceiver.
Now that was something she and Lord Rhys had in common, wasn’t it? They’d both been on the deceived end when it came to their dealings with Sir Felix Mortimer.
She entered the front door of Hope House, and her feet stuttered to an immediate stop.
Usually, Hope House was a place of quiet and stillness—calm.
Today, it sounded as if Bedlam itself had relocated within its four walls, so noisy and energetic was the air.
A child with a gold bow affixed to the top of his head streaked past, a second boy charging fast on his heels.
A sudden squeal of laughter erupted from the drawing room door they’d bounded through.
Actually, several squeals of laughter.
Tilly took a step in that direction to investigate—a suspicion of what or who might provoke such an atmosphere forming and firming in her mind in the same instant—when a voice sounded at her back, “Tilly, we have a visitor.”
She twisted around to find Lucy had joined her in the foyer. Tilly supposed she should call the step-daughter of her employer Miss Bretagne, but she’d always called her Lucy. Lucy returned the favor by calling her Tilly. An arrangement that suited them both.
“What sort of visitor is that?” Though Tilly knew.
“A male one.” That male held more than a hint of exasperation.
“Oh?”
“A lord, in fact.”
“Lawks, fancy as all that?”
Lucy nodded, blonde curls bobbing, her lively light amber eyes sparkling with confounded amusement. “A few days ago, I received a letter from Lord Rhys Osborne, asking how he could be of use at Hope House.” A dry laugh sounded through her nose. “I thought it must be a jape.”
“Why’s that?”
“Lord Rhys Osborne has a reputation.” Lucy waggled her eyebrows for emphasis.
“Does he now?”
Tilly supposed he hadn’t been exaggerating that past of his.
Lucy seemed only too happy to elaborate on the topic.
“I’ve personally heard him described as a rake from a lady who, honestly, probably knows firsthand.
Oh, and unrepentant waster. That was another description.
” She shook her head on a snort. “I thought he must be inveigling himself into Hope House to look for his favorite, erm, lady of the night. He does have a reputation, you know, so one must be forgiven for thinking as much.”
“Cuts quite a figure in society then?”
Lucy’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Even with his reputation, half the ladies I know would run off with him at the slightest crook of his pinky.”
From everything Tilly had observed of the man, that squared.
“A real paragon of manhood, it sounds like.”
That got another snort from Lucy.
Yet there was something else Tilly felt she must say on the subject of Lord Rhys Osborne… “Maybe he’s here trying to reform himself.”
Or earn back his pa’s ring, she wouldn’t say.
Tilly found herself of two minds.
On one side, she itched to ask questions and get answers.
Plainly, she wanted to know more about Lord Rhys.
But Lucy knew him only by reputation.
Which, according to him, was the man he was a year ago.
The man he was trying to no longer be.
Which led Tilly to the other side of her mind.
That she should resist gossipy curiosity and come to know Lord Rhys as the person he was today.
That in doing so, she could allow him to be that person.
After all, nine years ago, wasn’t that the grace Isabel had extended to her?
Shouldn’t everyone get the opportunity at a second chance when they were really trying?
Unable to keep her curiosity at bay a moment longer, Tilly stepped into the drawing room’s open doorway, the sight before her stopping her in her tracks.
“See what I mean?” said Lucy, her voice pitched low.
This was definitely a scene from Bedlam.
Frenetic children running around and playing—some laughing…
some squealing—while others sat still and quiet, half seated around the massive boat that could only be a Noah’s Ark with all the attendant animals littered about and the other half gathered before the four-story dollhouse and the little people and furnishings.
Meanwhile, the children’s mothers were arranged on the sofas and adjacent armchairs, taking tea as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening in their day.
A scene straight out of Bedlam, yes, but also curiously magical.
And it was down to the man whose back was to them as he shuttled to and fro, obeying one command after the other from the women, whose eyes shone with equal parts mischief, appreciation, and delight. They were having a right grand old time, weren’t they?
Tilly leaned toward Lucy. “Lord Rhys brought all this?”
Lucy nodded. “I think he meant well.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m not sure he fully understands the order of events as pertains to the giving of gifts to children for Christmas.”
A smile tickled at the corner of Tilly’s mouth.
That heart of Lord Rhys’s… It was a good one, wasn’t it?
“An hour ago, he turned up with the toys and wrapping paper.” Lucy shook her head, thoroughly bemused. “It took at least five trips back and forth from his carriage to unload it all.”
Tilly could see it would, given all the toys and decorations.
“I think he thought the children would help wrap the toys?” Lucy sounded unsure herself if she was asking a question or answering it. “It’s a conundrum,” she continued. “But then, the more I contemplate the man, I think Lord Rhys is a bit of a conundrum. Just look at him.”
He was presently pouring tea for a trio of former doxies who were clearly thrilled at having their own personal lord they could order around.
And not just any lord, but this lord.
Just look at him.
And weren’t they all, just.
Tilly’s giggle that wanted airing would be held back no longer and spilled over. Lucy joined her for a few chuckles, then was off.
Leaving Tilly with her laughter—and this priceless view.
She knew the instant her giggle reached Lord Rhys, for he went still, his head cocked. Then he turned, and Tilly had to suppress a gasp.
Just look at him.
During these four days she hadn’t seen him, she’d almost had herself convinced he wasn’t as handsome or magnetic as she’d left Mivart’s thinking he was.
No man could be.
But Lord Rhys Osborne…was.
All that floppy black hair that curled at his collar. Those silver eyes. Those cheekbones. Those lips that were a little too beautifully formed for a man’s mouth.
My, oh my, the havoc this man must’ve wreaked upon the female sex during his wastrel rake days.
And as his eyes held hers, Tilly experienced a frisson of heat and something else, too. Something that fizzed through her and awakened all her senses. Something that made her feel more alive than usual.
All that from simply meeting his gaze.