It didn’t even register that he had plowed his hand into the oak wardrobe until the jolting pain of it traveled up his arm. Slamming his eyes closed, he fought for control.
Her father might be dead, her mother silent, her brother ignorant, but by God that didn’t mean he wouldn’t confront the ones who remained, wouldn’t find a way to bring her peace, to bring them both peace.
By the time Meg had finished assisting her in dressing for the day, Lavinia was surprised not to find Finn waiting for her in the office. Instead she found Robin, looking quite dapper, a small replica of a lord if she’d ever seen one.
“Morning, miss. I’m here to run yer errands.”
Her gaze shifted over to the invitations stacked on the desk. She couldn’t quite find the energy to hand them over to him, to explain where they needed to be delivered.
“Have you seen Mr. Trewlove?”
He shook his head quite forcefully, and she couldn’t help but believe that Finn was in his rooms striving to disseminate all she’d confessed that morning. She’d never meant for him to learn the truth, to know how she had failed him and their child. She’d never wanted him to experience the devastating grief of it. She’d had seven years to come to terms with the sorrow, and yet still it lingered. For him, it was fresh and raw. And she didn’t know how to lessen the hurt of it.
She looked over at the lad who was waiting so expectantly for her to give him a chore, and suddenly all the running, all the avoiding of her family, seemed unbecoming and cowardly. She was no longer a girl of eighteen, young and naïve. She was perfectly capable of standing up for herself. Hadn’t her nightly excursions taught her that? Hadn’t her time with Finn shown her that she was different than she’d once been?
She’d told him everything and felt stronger for it. She knew what she needed to do, what she must do. “Tell me, young Robin, would you welcome earning five hundred pounds?”
His dark eyes widened, his mouth dropped open. “Five hundred quid? It’d make me bloody rich, the richest in all of London!”
“Not quite that rich. You’d have to put it away in the bank. You can’t spend it all at once.”
He scrunched up his face. “I could hide it under me mattress.”
“No, it must go in the bank. It’ll still be yours, but they’ll protect it for you.”
He didn’t seem to like that notion but eventually he nodded. “Good lad.”
She penned a quick note for Finn and left it on his desk. Then she set out to do what she should have done long ago.
Chapter 22
“Lavinia, are you seriously insisting that this lad found you, brought you here, and is deserving of the reward?” her brother asked incredulously after she’d walked into his library and explained he owed Robin five hundred pounds for bringing her to him as indicated in the handbills.
“Did I not just say that?” It was a little lie. The lad hadn’t actuallybroughther, but he had accompanied her in the hansom.
Neville stood behind his desk, appearing somewhat flummoxed. “He can’t be more than eight or nine.”
“Old enough to git a bird to come with me for some fun,” Robin piped up.
Her brother scowled. “What does that even mean? This is ludicrous.”
“Simply pay him, Neville, so we can get on with this.” If she was going to return to the residence, she wanted someone to benefit from it. She was wearing the navy frock. It made her feel powerful, in control, even if her stomach was trying to tie itself into an assortment of knots.
“But I called off the hounds. I wrote you a letter telling you so. Trewlove was supposed to deliver it to you.”
“He did. You let the men go. You didn’t cancel the reward.”
“They are one and the same.”
“No, Neville, they are not. The idiots you hired passed out handbills, so I was not completely free as anyone could have hauled me over here for the blunt. And young Robin did.”
With a put-upon sigh, Neville sat, opened a drawer, withdrew a leather-bound book, opened it, and began writing.
“Ye’re not s’pose to write in books,” Robin announced. “The duke says so.”
Her brother paused, his pen lifted from the parchment. “You hang about with dukes, do you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact he does,” she said. “Thornley, to be precise.”
