untouched, I’d believe her a dream. Her scent no longer hung in the air. I could barely remember it. But I swore, sometimes late at night, I could hear her laughter, mocking me.
The carriage turned.
Women were easy to understand, or so I’d always believed. They wanted a nice home, wealth, fine clothing and jewels. But Ginny…she hadn’t fit that definition. She confused and exasperated me. She’d had depth that even I didn’t understand.
The reports about her had only confirmed what I already knew: she was too good for me.
She fed these two children often, giving up her own meals.
Worked double shifts when someone was ill so they wouldn’t get fired.
Would teach the children reading when she had time. Although what children like that would do with reading, was beyond me.
A veritable saint.
The carriage slowed, drawing me back into the present. I brushed aside the curtains. More dreary, dark clouds hovering over dreary, gray moors. Hell, what a dastardly setting. Despite my determination not to care, guilt seeped in with the chill wind. This harsh land was no place for a child. I told myself I was protecting the boy, that I was doing what was best for everyone. But even I knew it was pure selfishness on my part. Blatant greed. I was more like my parents than even the gossipmongers realized. How proud Mother and Father would be if I told them the truth.
The carriage rolled to a stop. I didn’t wait for the footman but opened the door and stepped outside. Best to get it over with.
A fierce and inhumane breeze swept across the moors, whipping at my coat. Not one tree within glance. Mere acreage and acreage of field. Large, gray stone building that resembled a prison, more than a school. Dreary, desolate. No, this was certainly no place for a child. Yet, there were two hundred here, at last count. Sad, pale faces that peered like ghosts from dirty windows. The younger ones scared, confused. The older ones angry, defiant. I jerked my gaze away.
I’d been here only twice, and it was enough to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. But if not here…where? France? Italy? Did it truly matter? He could never attend somewhere like Eton, although he deserved it.
The double doors creaked open before Gibs had a chance to knock. A tall thin man stood on the threshold. Although he had a youthful bearing, his dour expression and colorless pallor made him seem as old as Alfred.
“My lord, we’ve been expecting you. Please, come inside out of the cold.”
“Mr. Wells,” I managed by way of greeting.
Although the stone walls blocked the wind, inside it wasn’t much warmer. I frowned, following the man into the foyer. No matter how many times I tried to visit unannounced, they were ready. I swore they had spies who watched the roads. Which meant, I’d never catch them off guard, and would never truly know what went on behind these walls.
I pulled off my leather gloves. “I’m here to see the boy.”
“Of course. Please wait in the parlor.”
Christ, I despised his nasally voice and beady eyes. The man seemed to always be hiding something; his elegant façade merely a diversion. I headed into the sitting room, the same room where I’d waited last month.
The room was nicely furnished in rich brocade curtains, and walnut settee and matching chairs. A roaring fire burned brightly in the hearth. Warm, cozy, even. My unease fled some. I settled on the settee and waited. When I’d last visited, I’d not been allowed in the dormitories as there had supposedly been an illness. What would be their excuse today?
I was pleasantly surprised when the door opened only moments later and the boy stepped gingerly inside. His wary gaze met mine. Even though I didn’t know much about ten-year olds, I realized he was small for his age, his face a little too pale.
“Come on then,” I snapped. “Don’t be a coward.”
His blue eyes flashed with anger. “I am not a coward.”
I had to bite back my smile as he shuffled closer. He reminded me of…me. I didn’t miss Mr. Wells hovering in the foyer, gaze much to keen. “Shut the door, Mr. Wells.”
“Yes, of course.”
The man scurried forward and pulled the door closed, giving us privacy. I expected nothing less. It was amazing what a title and money could do. I’d learned that at sixteen, the moment my uncle had died.