“I could not ask it of you,” she protested as she looked up to him.
“You did not ask. I volunteered. Do not forget I have a staff who adores the child. I believe we might all manage while you rest,” he instructed.
“How am I to return to Mr. Sustar’s shop this evening?” she bemoaned. “I shall never forget poor Mrs. Taylor. How might I return to where she was killed?”
“You do not,” he said in firm tones.
“I cannot permit you to pay my way in the world,” she argued.
“Brunswick said something this morning regarding the number of hours you are spending in Sustar’s shop. Why can you not sew from your home? If there is no one in the shop to watch over you, then you could work equally as well from your home. In the daylight, not the overnight hours. So you might save your vision. Sustar is basically paying for your completing the work in a timely manner, is he not?”
“I suppose, but do you not think the child would be a distraction?” she challenged him.
“A delightful distraction,” he argued. “You regularly practice self-discipline, and the child is happy as long as he is fed and changed regularly.”
Though a bit of hope had lodged in her chest, she attempted to deny his words. “Mr. Sustar would never permit it.”
“We do not know that to be true until someone approaches the man. Sustar is benefiting from the orders I promised him. I imagine my man of business knows something of persuasion. The women Mr. Sustar uses to hem the draperies can do so from his shop, but you, for the immediate future, will complete the embroidery from your home, and, if such does not suit Sustar, we might start our own seamstress house. I own fifteen houses that require the items we discussed previously. We can hire in a few others to execute the stitch work. Whatever you think is most important. If others in the area learn a lord has employed you to update his properties, more work will flow in. I guarantee it. I am rarely wrong on such matters.”
“Why do you insist on being my guardian angel?” she asked softly.
“I ask myself that same question often,” he admitted. “The only answer that comes readily to mind is I can do nothing less.”
They were quietthen until they reached his house. Once he had set her down, she rushed into the house, saying, “I wish to see the boy.” He heard her speaking to those in the kitchen, but Benjamin did not follow; instead he waited for Brunswick to walk up from the mews.
“Once his office opens, I wish you to carry a message to Mr. Froschele. I will write it now and leave it on the salver for you to retrieve. I have been thinking about what you said of Mr. Sustar. I see no reason Miss Whitchurch must be made to work overnight when she has time during the day for both the boy and her work,” he explained. “If Sustar desires more of my business, then he must see reason.”
Brunswick bowed. “For what it is worth, all your servants totally agree. I am happy to serve you in any way you have a need of me, my lord.”
Benjamin made his way into the house through a side door and went first to his study to write his note before he told Patterson to start the breakfast set up.
“Miss Whitchurch told Cook that the lady was not hungry, my lord,” Patterson said tentatively.
“The lady had a horrendous night, but she will see reason once she has assured herself of the boy’s safety. I will bring her and the child around while you prepare the service.”
“Yes, my lord.” Patterson rushed away to do Benjamin’s bidding. Meanwhile, Thompson made his way to the connecting door between the two houses. He knocked, but did not wait for someone to admit him. He found Miss Whitchurch teasing the boy with a feather, like one of those that women wore in their hair, and he wondered where she had come by it, for he doubted she had attended even a country assembly in more years than was appropriate.
“How is our young man this morning?” he asked as he knelt by Miss Whitchurch’s chair to catch the boy’s hand in midair. The child’s fingers wrapped quickly around Benjamin’s index finger, and contentment took up its customary place in Benjamin’s heart. This was his dream. The lady. The child. And, perhaps, if they were fortunate, children of their own.
“It is wonderful when he is not crying,” she said. “His tears always make me feel so helpless. My sister is missing all these moments.” Her bottom lip trembled. “How could she simply walk away from her own child?”
Benjamin had his opinions, but he swallowed his criticism of Miss Cassandra Whitchurch. Instead, he said, “My father frequently spoke of how God always places the right person in our lives just when we need him most. God wanted this child in your care, for He has greatplans for this young man. The Lord knows you possess the capacity to provide him a life like no other, even what his actual mother might do. God does not make mistakes in such matters.”
“Do you really believe your words?” she pleaded.
“With all my heart,” he assured. “Now, come. We require our meal where we discuss both the small and the big plans we hope to accomplish. It is one of my favorite times of each day.”
“I feel the same,” she admitted with a small smile. She stood to join him as he picked up the child and placed him in the basket, adding a quick tickle to the boy’s midsection and receiving a gurgle and the boy’s fists and legs pumping in delight. Benjamin followed her through the house to the morning room.
Mr. Patterson held “her” chair for the lady, while Benjamin placed the boy’s basket in his usual spot between them.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said as she sat. “I must also remember to thank God for London’s rain.”
“Londoners curse it often enough, but I agree, Miss Whitchurch,” he concurred, as he sat proudly at his place at the head of his table. It was the first time Benjamin had really appreciated the moment. The first time he thought he might deserve the distinctions thrust upon him.
She waited until Mr. Patterson stepped away to fetch their meals before she said, “Considering all you have done for me, I would think it appropriate that you call me ‘Victoria,’ at least when we are within these walls.”
“I would consider it a privilege to do so,” he said through the flood of emotions threatening to choke him, “I am ‘Benjamin.’”
