The Pursuits Of Lord Kit Cavanaugh. Stephanie Laurens
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her, he waved imperiously to the door. “I suggest we go directly there.”
Although her gaze stated she was still uncertain, she allowed him to usher her outside.
* * *
It was close to five o’clock when they reached Trinity Street, but the instant they halted outside the old hall, Kit felt certain they’d found the right place. Judging by the expression on Sylvia’s face as she stood beside him and scanned the front façade, she thought the same.
In keeping with the Augustinian creed, the building had few ornate features. Built of stone and weathered oak, it was solid and functional—the sort of place that would easily withstand the rigors of hosting a school. Although he’d gone to Eton, Kit doubted that boys whose fathers worked on the docks would be any less vigorous than scions of the nobility.
A small tiled porch protected the oak door. Without thinking, Kit touched his palm to the back of Sylvia’s waist, urging her toward the porch steps. She froze for a fraction of a second, but then, with a rather tense inclination of her head, walked forward and climbed the three steps to the porch.
After fishing in her reticule for the key, she unlocked the door and led the way inside.
Kit followed her into a comfortable space, well-lit despite the time of day, with the last rays of the westering sun pouring through high, clerestory windows. The floor was well-worn oak, smooth and clean. Kit glanced around. “No drafts.”
Sylvia had halted in the middle of the good-sized hall. “That will make a huge difference in winter.”
Kit nodded at the three small fireplaces built into the side walls. “And there’s those, too.”
Sinking his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat, he started on a circuit of the hall—following Sylvia as she did the same. They poked their heads into the small kitchen at the rear of the hall.
“This will be an added boon,” Sylvia said, and he could hear the building excitement in her voice.
He hid a smile and ambled at her heels as she proceeded to open the back door. He looked out over her head at the decent-looking privy standing in the small, cobbled rear yard.
Everything was neat and clean—and solid and enduring.
Sylvia shut and locked the back door, then turned and faced him; he had to wonder if she knew her hopes were shining in her eyes. “This will do admirably,” she said.
He almost looked to see if she’d crossed her fingers.
He contented himself with an easy smile and an acquiescing nod. “How much is the rent?”
Sylvia held her breath; now she’d seen inside the hall, it was even more perfect than the outside had promised. It would be a huge improvement over their current quarters. She could so easily see the boys and the school prospering here, she was almost reluctant to tell him how much it would cost for fear of hearing him say it was too expensive.
But...she cleared her throat, forced herself to meet his eyes, and stated the price the Abbey’s prior, sympathetic to her and the school’s plight, had named.
Then she hurriedly added, “Unfortunately, that’s the lowest price the Abbey can accept, and it’s still significantly more than the second place on my list.”
She looked down at the list, still clutched in her hand—only to see Cavanaugh’s hand come into view. He closed his fingers—broad-tipped, strong fingers—about the edge of the paper and gently tugged. She watched the list slide from her grasp and wondered what he was thinking—what decision he’d made.
“I don’t believe we need to look at any other places.”
Hope leaping in her chest, she looked up and saw him tucking the list, now folded, into his pocket.
He glanced around. “This place is ideal, and the rent seems reasonable and fair.”
He brought his gaze back to her face and lightly arched his brows. “So who do we see about the lease?”
* * *
The following morning, Sylvia set out for the school, light of heart and eager to tell the teachers and students of their good fortune.
She was especially glad to be able to lift the pall of doubt and uncertainty that had descended on both staff and pupils when she’d told them of having to quit the warehouse. Indeed, she felt like skipping at the prospect.
The meeting with the prior, with Kit Cavanaugh by her side, had gone extremely well. Not only was the Abbey happy to have the hall put to such use, but the prior had gone so far as to suggest that if the school ever needed medical assistance, they could call on the Abbey’s infirmarian.
She was worldly enough to know that she and the school had Cavanaugh—Kit—to thank for that. He’d stood like a rock—a distinctly noble rock—at her back throughout the process of leasing the hall.
She hurried across the end of Bell Lane, then cut between buildings to reach the Grove. Looking ahead, she spied a tall, greatcoated figure leaning against the bole of a tree opposite the warehouse the school presently occupied.
She blinked and looked again, confirming that the figure was indeed Kit. He saw her, pushed away from the tree, and ambled to intercept her.
Was she surprised? She wasn’t sure she was. After all, at the end of their successful foray yesterday, in return for his help in getting the prior to commence the lease on the Trinity Street hall immediately, she’d agreed that the school would move premises today, allowing Kit and his men access to the warehouse tomorrow, a day earlier than they’d hoped.
He’d said he would notify the Dock Company, and she had no doubt he had—or would. He was efficient and effective—she would give him that.
He’d halted, waiting for her, and as she neared, she discovered an entirely spontaneous smile of greeting had taken up residence on her face. “Good morning. Have you come to help me break the news?”
Kit drank in that smile—the first sincere smile she’d ever bestowed on him. He returned it with an easy smile of his own, nothing to get her bristling. “Good morning to you—and no.” He glanced at the warehouse. “You can do the honors. I’ve come to lend a hand with moving the school.”
She blinked in surprise, and he couldn’t stop his smile from deepening. To hide it, he glanced vaguely around. “Do you know of any men we can hire to help?”
“Hire?”
From her tone, the notion hadn’t entered her head—probably because she wasn’t accustomed to having the wherewithal to pay for such help.
But after several seconds, she said, “The boys will help, of course. And some of them will have older brothers out of work and possibly fathers as well...”
He nodded. “We can ask.” He waved her on. “Let’s go in, and you can break the good news.”
Kit followed her through the door. He halted just inside. In his mind, he could already see the transformation of the space that he and Wayland had planned. While Wayland busied himself checking on his orders and interviewing men for the key role of foreman as well as hiring a small team of carpenters to make a start on their necessary alterations, Kit had elected to devote himself to ensuring that the school’s vacating of the warehouse went smoothly.
Ahead of him, Sylvia came to a halt before the two rows of desks that were now lined up across the warehouse floor. Two gentlemen—Kit judged them to be much of an age with himself—both neatly and conservatively dressed, had been standing before the desks, one to either side, addressing the boys before them; having heard Sylvia’s heels on the boards, they, along with their pupils, had turned their attention to her.
She tipped her head to each man. “Mr. Jellicoe. Mr. Cross. If I could have a moment of everyone’s time, I have an announcement to make.”
Her