Rory marched right up to her and looked down at her. “Your father.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. And then she kicked him.
Rory made a sound of surprise and made a grab for the chit, but she was smart and fast and had taken off running. “Frances Louise Lumley! Come back here this instant!”
“No!” she called over her shoulder, her dark hair streaming out behind her. “I hate you. I hate all of you!”
For a moment, the world dimmed. She’d sounded so much like her mother in that moment. He couldn’t count the number of times Harriet had screamed that she hated him, as though he had been the one who’d deceived her instead of the other way round.
Rory looked at Mrs. Mann. If he hadn’t been the son of a duke, he would have asked what he was supposed to do now. But as he was the son of a duke and was presumed to always know what to do in every situation, he said nothing. Mrs. Mann had known him long enough, though, to know when he wanted her advice. “I’ll send one of the maids after her. Mary is young and pretty. Perhaps she can bring the young lady inside.”
“Good idea,” Rory said. “Did she not come with a nanny? Or would she have a governess at this age?”
“A nanny still, I think,” Mrs. Mann said. “Mrs. Dowling mentioned she did have a nanny, or rather she’s had half a dozen over the last few months. The most recent just resigned her position. I assumed it was because she did not desire to travel to Devon.”
“That must be why,” Rory said drily. They were both perfectly aware, after meeting the child, the girl had run the nannies off. After all, the Dowlings themselves also lived in Devon, which was another reason Harriet had wanted a home here.
“You will place an advertisement for a caretaker straight away.”
Mrs. Mann’s brows went up. She was a woman of middle years, her light brown hair going gray at the roots and temples. “Then the child will be staying here?”
“For the moment,” Rory said. Until he could figure out what else to do with her. He couldn’t send her to his parents. If they didn’t send her right back, they would pack her off to school.That was what they had done with him long before he was the customary age of eight. Rory didn’t know his daughter, but the one thing he would not do was send her away to school.
He’d engage a nanny or a governess or whatever was appropriate, and then he wouldn’t have to think about the child again. She could stay in the nursery learning French or embroidery or whatever girls learned, and he could… Well, he didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t expect to stay in England. He’d returned because he’d received several odd and rather disturbing letters from his friends. First King had written, and then Henry. The letters had been somewhat delayed, and Rory had no idea if his friends still needed him.
But he’d come nonetheless.
He’d sort his friends out and help as needed, and then he’d decide what to do and where to go. And it would be somewhere far, far away from Lilacfall Abbey and the memories it held.
Chapter Two
Rory sat downto dinner that evening with King’s letter in his hand. If he didn’t know better, he’d think King had gone completely mad.
“Why the devil are we eating in the middle of the day?”
Rory looked up as Munro (“It’s a family name,” the man told everyone) Notley stumbled into the dining room. His friend was either still drunk from the night before or had started drinking before dinner.
“Country hours,” Rory said, placing the letter on the tablecloth. “We’re not in Paris any longer.”
“More’s the pity,” Munro said, tugging out a chair and sinking into it. A footman rushed forward to lay a place setting for him. “A fellow doesn’t even have time to dress before he has to change for dinner.”
Rory could see that Notley hadn’t taken much care with his dress. His auburn hair was too long and unbrushed, his coat was wrinkled beyond repair, and he had three days’ growth of beard on his chin.
“I told you to stay in Paris. There’s nothing for you to do here.”
The footmen poured wine and brought in the first course, a white soup. Rory wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t want his cook quitting, so he made a point of tasting it and complimenting it. Notley ate like a starving man, which he very well might be, asRory hadn’t seen him all day, and this was likely his first meal since last night’s dinner.
“I thought we were traveling to London,” Notley said, finishing his wine and pointing to his glass so the footman refilled it.
“You should go on without me. I’ve had a problem arise.”
Notley raised a brow, and the expression gave him that inherited air of nobility that made him almost socially acceptable. “What problem?”
Munro Notley was not the sort of fellow Rory thought could offer advice on rearing a young child. Rory had met Notley in Venice, where he had certainly lived up to his reputation as Mr. Notorious. He’d caused a brawl between two courtesans, begun a fight in a brothel that had ended in its closure by the Venetian authorities, and won a fortune in a wager against a Prussian prince, who had been so incensed at losing, Notley had to flee in the middle of the night.
Rory had thought it prudent to flee with him, as everyone considered them friends. He wasn’t so certain they were friends. He couldn’t even remember meeting Notley. He barely remembered arriving in Venice. After Harriet’s death, he’d boarded the first ship he found and drunk until he was numb. When he was finally dead enough inside to be able to moderate his drink, he’d discovered he was surrounded by Notley as well as several other Englishmen, and Rory was up to his knees in their ridiculous antics.
They’d traveled to Rome and Brussels and several other cities Rory didn’t remember. In each city, Notley, who had been on the Continent for more than a year, found a group of degenerate nobility, and they drank and whored through the city until it was time to move on to the next. They’d been in Paris almost a month when King and Henry’s letters had reached Rory, and he announced he was returning to England.
