chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm. That won’t do, will it? Can’t reach the muffins.”
The girl stretched out a hand, trying to grasp the imaginary muffins, further demonstrating his point that she was too short.
“Well, I suppose you could eat on the floor . . .” That earned a little giggle from the far too serious child. “No, that won’t do either. Ah! I have it!” He strode to a small settee that was backed against the wall overlooking the gardens and plucked two plush pillows from it. Isla slid out of the chair so Rafe could set the cushions down, and he hoisted her back onto the chair.
“Better?”
She grinned and nodded.
Satisfied, he pushed his little charge’s chair close to the table and sat down beside her. A footman soon brought in the first wave of food. Muffins, kippers, hard-boiled eggs, toast, and a pot of marmalade were among the offerings.
He helped Isla prepare a heaping plate.
“Isla,” he said once she began to eat, “would you mind if I asked about your family?”
She shook her head.
“You mentioned that your papa is gone. Do you know if he’s still alive?”
“He’s passed,” Isla replied. “Fever.”
“Oh.” He had feared the father had simply abandoned his wife and child, though he wasn’t sure which outcome was more tragic.
“Your mother . . . ?”
“Fever too. She wouldn’t wake up. I . . .” Isla set the muffin down on her plate. “I was crying, and I went downstairs to find help. They heard me, and when I told them my mama wasn’t moving, they came and took her away.”
“They?”
“The men who took my mama.”
Rafe frowned. “Was your mama still breathing when they took her?”
Isla shook her head. “She made a terrible sound, like a rattle, and then she was very quiet. I was so scared.”
“Do you know who these men are?”
“They stay at the inn sometimes. They are bad men.”
“That they are,” Rafe agreed. He wished he had met them last evening. He had no deep-seated objections to grave robbing, per se. The dead didn’t need any of their mortal baubles, and doctors made far better use of their corpses than the worms.
But Lydia had heard these men say that they intended to silence the girl to both cover their sins and line their pockets. And for that, he would have killed them.
Rafe put a hand on the child’s head, brushing her hair back in an attempt to soothe her. “That’s all I needed to know. I’m sorry, my dear. Finish your breakfast.” He moved her plate closer in encouragement. After a moment, she reached for her muffin again.
Poor thing, Rafe thought. But the child was safe now. Brodie and Lydia would not let her go uncared for. But when those two parted ways, he wondered if there would be a battle for who would take the child. Brodie may bluster and growl as all Scots do, but he had a soft spot for helpless creatures as much as his brother Aiden did.
“Isla, have you ever had chocolate to drink?” Rafe asked.
“No,” the girl replied.
Rafe chuckled and prepared her a cup of hot chocolate. “Well then, you are in for a treat.” He added two scoops of sugar to it.
When Isla took a sip, her eyes widened and she licked her lips before she beamed up at him.
“Like it?”
She nodded vigorously.
“Then drink up and I might let you have a second cup.” He felt he’d already proven himself to be an excellent uncle-in-training, but he wasn’t sure what to do to keep her occupied after breakfast.
“Do you know how to play whist, by any chance?”
Isla shook her head, and he grinned wickedly.
“Excellent, I shall tutor you to fleece the richest men in His Majesty’s kingdom without them ever knowing, through a simple game of cards.”
Jane Russell barely had time to think as she rushed out of her bedchamber in nothing more than a chemise and a dressing gown, clutching the letter her maid had given her to her chest. She burst into the room next to hers, and in her surprise, the letter fluttered down to the floor.
Jackson Hunt stood facing a gilded mirror as he shaved himself, while his valet set out clothes on the bed. Both men paused in their activities to look at her, curious and surprised by her entrance.
But Jane’s attention was solely on Jackson and the fact that he was bare-chested. He wore only a pair of lean, buff colored trousers, which clung to his narrow hips but displayed far too clearly his