Ellen had her own theory. Noni might very well be his natural child. That would explain the look of horror on his face upon realising he hadn't been able to get rid of the fruit of his indiscretion as easily as he'd hoped. It was the most likely and most despicable explanation.
Her lips pressed to a tight line and her hand closed protectively around Noni's.
The two men stared at Noni.
Ellen pulled out the letter. "I have got proof. It clearly says Baron Tewkbury of Hanover Square Eleven." She held it out to the baron, but he stared at it as if she'd held out a furry creature with sharp teeth.
Jenkins stepped forward, took the letter, unfolded it, and read it. "It appears to be true, sir. It asks for admission to the seminary and is signed with your name. My guess is that your last secretary, Roberts, arranged for this before he retired. I recall you telling him to deal with any last-minute business before he left, and not to bother you with any of it, no matter how urgent."
Tewkbury rubbed his temples with a groan. "That must be it. Roberts must have arranged it. I recall having been in a hurry to sign a pile of papers. That cursed wager! Jenkins, remind me not to imbibe again."
"Yes, sir. For how long?"
Tewkbury thought. "Five hours. I have to be at the club by mid-afternoon at the latest."
"Very well, sir."
"Well?" Ellen tapped her muddy boot impatiently on the carpet. It had been a long journey. She was tired and hungry and anxious to get home to her family and then back to Bath. The child would stay with his guardian, and she hoped he'd be well looked after.
She tried to gently untangle Noni's fingers out of her skirt and pushed him forward. "Why don't you go to your Uncle ... " She looked at the baron questioningly. When he didn't answer, she added, "What's your name?"
"Tewkbury."
"I know that," Ellen said with exaggerated patience. "But is that what you want a little child to call you? What is your given name?"
"Edmund Arthur."
She turned back to Noni. "Why don't you go over to your Uncle Ned and shake his hand?"
"Uncle Ned?" Tewkbury spluttered.
Noni had popped three of his fingers into his mouth and sucked on them while regarding Tewkbury's colourful glamour with amazed, rounded eyes. To Ellen's surprise, he didn't hide behind her back but did indeed step forward, taking his fingers out of his mouth and holding his hand out to Tewkbury.
Tewkbury pressed his own hand to his chest, looking panicked. His nostrils twitched.
The look Ellen shot at him would have killed the most hardened hussar.
In the slowest possible motion, Tewkbury extended two fingers and shook the boy's grubby, saliva-coated hand. Then he withdrew, wiped his fingers on his handkerchief, and handed it with two fingers to Jenkins.
Ellen rolled her eyes. This man, this fop, who looked like something out of a Cruikshank cartoon, was not worth her time. She dropped to one knee and put her hands on Noni's shoulders. "You will stay with your guardian now." She swallowed. "He will take good care of you and show you to your own room where you will be given a lovely bath, a glass of warm milk and a good hot meal. A healthy stew with bread would be best," she added, looking hard at Tewkbury. "And then the cook will give you a biscuit—plain shortbread, not too sugary, though he is allowed a dollop of raspberry jam on it. Then you'll wash your face, brush your teeth, go to bed, say your prayers and sleep. If you ask nicely, your Uncle Ned might read you a story beforehand."
The look of utter horror on his lordship's face was so comical that she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting out laughing.
She planted a kiss on Noni's forehead and stood up.
"Well then, sir. My work is done. I shall leave Noni in your good, capable hands and trust that he will be taken care of." She picked up her reticule from the sofa and started for the door. But the man was standing there, not moving. She stopped short in front of him and tilted her head aside in a question.
"Jenkins, do as she says, in exactly that order and detail, excluding my involvement in any of it. Show the boy to his room, if you please." He hesitated for a tiny moment before adding, "And also for Miss—" he looked to the butler for help.
"Robinson," he put in.
"A room for Miss Robinson too."
Ellen's head snapped up. "I beg your pardon?"
Tewkbury tapped his quizzing glass thoughtfully against his lips. "Yes." He turned to Jenkins with renewed determination. "Miss Robinson needs a room as well."
"Very well, sir." Jenkins left.
