“The next time you go out at night to meet someone, hire a large bloke to accompany you.”
“I think I demonstrated I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” She stepped through the opening she’d created and quickly closed the gate, causing it to rattle and protest with the force of her actions.
“Vivi.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around, didn’t chastise him this time for using the pet name he’d given her. Lady Lavinia had always seemed too complicated a name for the girl she’d been—or perhaps it had simply been too complicated for him, a constant reminder of her place in the world, atop a pedestal, while he was destined to remain in the muck, always looking up at what he shouldn’t touch. “I’ve no doubt you can handle yourself under most circumstances, but you weren’t prepared when I unarmed you—either time. There truly are dangers about this time of night that you might not be prepared to face.”
She did turn then, but he couldn’t make out her features. She was merely a shadowy outline standing in far darker shadows. “Are you one of them?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the boy who shared his dreams with me?”
“He died.”You killed him, you and your father.
“As did the girl who shared her dreams with you. What a fine pair we are.”
She spun on her heel and began walking away. The sorrow reflected in her voice took him off guard, almost had him going after her, but what good would come of it? Merely recriminations, accusations, and a flaring of the bitterness of her betrayal.
Besides, he had an appointment to keep.
Coming in through the rear door, Lavinia stepped into the kitchen where a single lamp rested on the large wooden table, where she had left it before departing for her late-night excursion. Drawing comfort from it, she neared, placed her walking stick on the table, wrapped her hands around the back of a chair, dropped her head forward, inhaled deeply, and tried to stop the trembling that had overtaken her from the moment she’d seen Finn standing there. He knew where she was. How long had he known?
Swinging around, she returned to the door, checked the lock, ensured it was secure. Not that it would stop him, but she couldn’t imagine him breaking into the home of a religious order. Surely not even he would be so sacrilegious.
Pressing her forehead to the door, she fought back tears. Having him so near, talking with him, had reopened old wounds. She’d thought them healed, only to discover they’d merely been festering. Dear God, what sort of man was he to speak with her without begging forgiveness for nearly destroying her?
“No children tonight?”
Turning at the voice, she smiled sadly at Sister Theresa. She fought off the melancholy that was hovering because the night had not gone as she’d hoped, because she’d not been able to rescue more children. But eventually she would send an article to theTimesrevealing the details of her adventures. The trial and eventual hanging of Charlotte Winsor several years earlier had helped bring to light some of the abuses of baby farming, but still not enough was being done to protect children. Doing so had become her cause, her reason for rising in the morning, for carrying on. Had given her life purpose, so she was no longer existing but was actually living. If she could just make people listen—
Which seemed an insurmountable task when she hadn’t even been able to make Finn leave off. Damned irritating man. She should have run him through. If he approached her again, she wouldn’t hesitate to do so.
“Not tonight. No one showed.” A small lie, but she didn’t want the sister to worry. Tonight was the first time she’d been faced with violence. Poor timing to have met with a woman last week who was arrested soon after. She hated to admit that Finn might have the right of it and she would have to hire someone to accompany her in the future. It was quite possible she was becoming known, and if others were arrested she might be seen as a danger.
“I’m glad you returned safely. Sleep well, Miss Kent.”
When she’d sought shelter here, she hadn’t told them she was the daughter of an earl. She’d wanted to be as anonymous as possible. “Good night, Sister.”
Sister Theresa retreated down the hallway to her bedchamber. After picking up the lamp and her walking stick, Lavinia wandered out of the room, along a hallway, and finally up the stairs to where several bedchambers lined one side of a lengthy corridor while the other side boasted only one large room that ran from one end to the other. Three doors led into the single room, each one left open so any troubled cries could be heard. Quietly she entered, taking some satisfaction in the twenty-five beds lining each wall and the sight of the children filling most of them, several here as a result of her endeavors.
She glanced over at the sister who had fallen asleep in a chair while keeping watch over the little ones. Many of them often awoke with nightmares. Few would talk about what their lives had been. But she couldn’t look at any of them without wondering how much Finn’s life might have mimicked theirs had he been delivered to a different farmer. Based on all the things he’d told her, the woman to whom he’d been given loved him, and he loved her. Not all by-blows were as fortunate.
Slowly, quietly, she walked between the beds, shining the lamp on each occupant, bringing up a blanket here, tucking a stray strand of hair behind an ear there, moving a rag doll into the crook of an elbow. Each child was precious, and she imagined herself as mother to each of them, caring for them, singing them lullabies, holding them close, showering them with love. Rescuing them filled an emptiness inside her that had only grown over time as more weeks passed with no word whatsoever from Finn.
Then tonight when she’d wanted no words from him at all, they’d flowed off his tongue, threatening to drown her.
With a quiet sigh, she retraced her steps and wandered back into the hallway. Although she doubted she’d be able to sleep, she wasn’t of a mood to haunt the corridors like some ghoulish wraith either. She made her way to the chamber she shared with Sister Bernadette, not at all surprised to find her asleep, although her snores were in danger of waking the dead.
Quietly she stripped out of the frock she’d found at a local mission, someone else’s castoff. It was a bit worn but still serviceable. When she’d run from the church, she’d been wearing her wedding gown and, in fear of having her escape thwarted, hadn’t taken the time to return home for other clothes.
Thorne deserved someone who could give him the whole of her heart, and Lavinia’s remained a shattered mess. Although she hadn’t realized the true extent of the unfairness to Thorne until she caught sight of Finn at his brother’s wedding, two weeks before hers was to take place.
She slipped into her nightdress, another castoff, worn but incredibly soft from so many washings. As carefully as possible, because the bed did tend to creak, she made her way beneath the scratchy blankets and stared at the shadows playing over the ceiling.
Seeing him that day at the church had been like having her heart broken all over again. She’d anticipated he might be there. She simply hadn’t expected the sight of him to hit her so hard. He was a full-grown man now, with none of the boyishness of his youth remaining to him. More handsome than he’d been when she’d fallen in love with him. She thought he might have gained some height. His shoulders had definitely broadened. He’d worn the finely tailored clothing well, a mark of success.
After whispering to Thorne, who’d accompanied her to the ceremony, that she’d quite suddenly taken ill—something she’d eaten she was rather certain—they’d made a quiet discreet exit from the nave. He’d escorted her home and then made his way to the wedding breakfast to wish the couple well. She didn’t know if Mick Trewlove had read the guest list and known her name was on it—she rather doubted it. Her brother hadn’t attended because his wife had been truly ill that morning. Which had no doubt worked out to everyone’s benefit as she suspected the Trewloves wouldn’t have welcomed him with open arms. Wouldn’t have welcomed her either, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Sometimes when sleep eluded her, she’d wonder what had become of Finn.
