“This is a better arrangement, trust me,” said Hortense.
Rafe scoffed. “Trust ye? I don’t know ye. I only seen ye ’round Doyle’s.”
Hortense thrust her hand forward. “I am Hortense.”
Warily, he took her hand and gave it a shake. “I’m Rafe.”
“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Rafe.”
He jerked his thumb toward Jamie. “Is ’e a real nob?”
“He is.”
“And ’e’s me da?” He still wouldn’t look at Jamie.
“You’re the spit of him, I’d say.”
At last, the boy’s eyes shifted toward Jamie, taking him in, sizing him up. “I reckon.” He didn’t sound too excited about the prospect.
Soon, they were pulling to a stop before Asquith Court. Rafe pressed his nose to the carriage window, eyes wide. “This yer digs?”
“Aye.”
“Lawks be,” the boy muttered with no small amount of wonder.
That any child of his should feel such awe at his father’s house sent a fresh infusion of rage spiraling through Jamie. While Rafe would have never been in line to inherit Asquith Court or the title of marquess, the boy would have grown up no stranger to luxury. That boy would have hardly batted an eyelash at Asquith Court. But this boy…
Well, he was an altogether different proposition, one Jamie wasn’t at all sure how to handle.
They were met in the receiving hall by Sir Bacon, who wouldn’t stop barking and running excited circles around Rafe. A smile broke across the boy’s face, the smile of an equally excited child. Something resembling happiness surged inside Jamie. He knew nothing was truly solved, but this was a start. A good one.
Having caught wind of the ruckus, Mrs. Blanche joined their rowdy, little party. While Jamie might not have had the first clue as to how to proceed with Rafe, she did. She took one look at the lad, quietly drew her own conclusions as to his identity, and took charge. “Let’s get you to the kitchen for a bite, then a”—clearly the woman was using all the self-restraint in her arsenal not to wrinkle her nose at the stench coming off the boy in waves—“bath.”
Rafe allowed himself to be led away, Sir Bacon at his heels.
Jamie found himself alone with Hortense.
“You will need someone to keep an eye out for him,” she said, breaking the silence.
“He has me.”
She laid her hand on his arm, empathy shining bright in her eyes. “I know, but to ensure he doesn’t try to run back to Doyle.”
“Ah.”
“You must go to him now. Talk to him.”
“I don’t speak his language.”
“You must learn it. And—” She held his gaze. “Teach him yours.”
Now that he had Rafe, Jamie hadn’t the faintest notion of what to do with him.
Hortense must have sensed his misgiving. “You must put in the effort. He needs to see that, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
Jamie sensed she was correct, but something else prevented him from leaving just yet. “Will you—” He had no right to ask.
“I’ll be here,” she said, rightly intuiting his question.
