Page 27

This forced slothfulness grated more and more with each passing day. Thank God Lilly permitted him to wander the private part of the house as long as he avoided the children. She was adamant about that stricture.

Charles had approved Zander rising from his convalescence bed, but only if he continued to recuperate at a sedate pace.

No long treks outdoors.

Certainly no rigorous hikes, and heaven forbid that he go for a horseback ride or a swim.

How was he to discover who he was, confined to a few rooms in the house?

He may as well take up knitting, tatting, or embroidery.

Still, prowling about the local hamlets and villages probably was not the most prudent action. Not only might he encounter the sheriff—something he was not prepared to do just yet—it stood to reason, his abductors may well still lurk in the area.

Not that he would recognize them should he stumble upon the blighters.

All the more reason to stay put, as Lilly had calmly extolled two mornings ago when he had nearly begged like a two-year-old for an outing.

Fiend seize it.

Childish as it was, he could not hide a scowl and a pang of envy yesterday when four older children rode past the drawing room on their return to the stables.

What kind of orphanage provided riding lessons, among other unusual, but useful, training to the students?

A remarkable one.

Run by the extraordinary, forward-thinking Miss Lilibet Granger.

“I assure you, Miss Granger,” a man intoned in a maddening, reedy voice that could have peeled paint from the ceiling, “I am most capable of instructing the children in geography, mathematics, and natural philosophy, and I am positive you will agree, my references are impeccable.”

“So you have mentioned,” Miss Granger replied. “I look forward to reading them.”

Zander detected the merest hint of sarcasm in her dry response.

Another interviewee for the position recently vacated by the remiss Miss Sanders, according to Mrs. B. The cook had no qualms about tickling Zander’s ears with the latest household and village gossip. And curse him for a twaddling fool. He looked forward to her chin-wagging sessions.

The old dear had imparted many interesting morsels.

Without a jot of compunction, he wandered to the doorway to earwig on the conversation between the potential teacher and Lilly. Peeking around the corner, Zander spied a long-faced chap with an impressive pair of sideburns the size of baby quokkas, but not nearly as adorable.

How the devil do I know what quokka is?

The fellow carried a well-oiled leather portfolio under one arm.

The sot looked and sounded like a humorless prig.

Precisely the sort of instructor children abhorred.

That made five—no, six—this week, but this chap was only the second male to apply for the position. Probably because most men did not like being accountable to a woman, and although Charles was part-owner of Kelston Hall Children’s Home, he did not partake in the day-to-day operation of the orphanage and school.

Zander scratched his nose.

In truth, Charles and Miss Granger inheriting the place, was quite odd. Zander could not think if a single other instance where a peer simply deeded a manor to two orphans, but then again, his ability to recall anything relevant prior to his awakening, proved an irritating obstruction.

Mr. I am-full-of-my-own-self-importance spoke again, and Zander winced.

God, that voice.

The children would hie for the hills with bits of rag stuffed in their ears just to escape his orations.