The Pursuits Of Lord Kit Cavanaugh. Stephanie Laurens
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of ferrying items to Trinity Street. “I’ll go ahead and open up the hall there. Please, before you leave the warehouse with anything, notify Miss Meggs”—Sylvia waved to the school assistant, who now stood by the warehouse door, board and pencil in hand—“so she can ensure that we successfully get everything to its new home.”
The men nodded readily.
One said, “We’re pleased to help, miss. But about our money...?”
Kit stepped forward. “Come to me at the end of the day for payment—at that time, I’ll be at the Trinity Street hall.” Kit ran his gaze over the boys and men alike. “And the end of our day is as soon as we clear this building and ferry everything to the new hall.”
The boys cheered, and the men looked eager to start lifting and carrying.
Kit waved them forward with the stipulation “Two to a desk. We don’t want any dropped and broken.”
The move got under way, with everyone in high good spirits. The men could easily handle a desk between two, and the boys loaded their arms with books and slates.
As Kit had suspected, Jellicoe and Cross folded the stands of the two big blackboards, then carefully set the boards into strap-like slings and set off, each carrying one of the boards slung on his back and the folded stand in his hands.
There was no spare man with whom Kit could partner. He looked around, amid the chaos of boys arguing over who should take what, trying to assess what item would be most useful for him to cart.
Sylvia had paused to speak with Miss Meggs and ensure that everyone was having their loads noted. Kit lifted a pile of slates, which was surprisingly heavy; wrapping his arms about the stack, he hoisted it and joined Sylvia as—apparently realizing how many men and desks had already passed out of the warehouse on their way to Trinity Street—she somewhat distractedly farewelled Miss Meggs. Seeing Kit with the slates, she waved him on and bent to lift a smaller box of chalks. Miss Meggs made a note and smiled and nodded to them both to proceed. Kit stepped out, pleased to find Sylvia falling in beside him.
“We’ll have to hurry.” She was, indeed, bustling along purposefully. “There’s no sense in the men reaching the hall before us. They won’t know where to leave the desks.”
Smiling, Kit inclined his head and, lengthening his stride, easily kept pace.
They strode quickly up Princes Street, electing to avoid the busy quay for as long as they could. She glanced sidelong at him several times, then said, “I didn’t expect you to carry things yourself. Your coat is likely to get chalk dust on it.”
He bent a faintly teasing smile on her. “My man will tut, but I really don’t care. A coat is a coat, after all.”
When she continued to look as if him carting things was something of a social solecism, he sighed. “Think of this as me ensuring that the warehouse is completely cleared by day’s end.”
At that, she looked openly disbelieving. “You didn’t have to help carry things to ensure that—you’ve already done more than I expected.”
He held her gaze for an instant, then quietly said, “Is it so hard to believe that I honestly like helping people?”
The way she blinked at him before she faced forward suggested it had been, despite her “Of course not. I just...hadn’t expected it.”
He hoped she was readjusting her image of him—one of his less-obvious motives.
Their procession had to cross the drawbridge over the Frome, and as the bridge was presently raised, they caught up with their eager helpers there, in the shadow of Viell’s Tower. The instant the ship had passed and the bridge was lowered, everyone set off again. Less encumbered than the other adults, Sylvia and Kit drew ahead.
When they got to the hall, he reached across and lifted the box of chalks from her arms. When she looked about to protest—the chalk!—he grinned. “I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”
She humphed, but consented to dive into her reticule and drag out the key. She unlocked the door and set it wide.
Kit followed her inside. “Where do you want these sorts of things?”
She pointed to the far-right corner. “Over there. Once we have the desks set up again, the boys will put what they each should have back into their desks.”
While he crossed to the designated spot and set down his burdens, she stood by the door and welcomed the men and boys who’d been following them.
He returned to her side and stood behind her as she directed the men as to where she wished them to place the desks, then Jellicoe and Cross arrived with their unwieldy burdens.
The teachers set the blackboards down along the front of the room.
“Well!” Jellicoe turned and, eyes lighting appreciatively, surveyed the hall. “This is certainly a step up.”
“And it’s going to be much closer for us,” Cross said. To Kit, he explained, “Our digs are on this side of the river—along St. Augustine’s Back.”
Jellicoe nodded. “Just a few minutes away, and we won’t have to wait for the drawbridge ever again.”
Sylvia came up. “Can you two remain here for the moment and oversee the boys?” She handed Jellicoe the key. “Once they’re all on their way back, you can lock up and bring the key back to the warehouse. I want to check on Miss Meggs, but by the time you get back, I’ll be ready to head over here again.”
Jellicoe took the key, and Cross tipped her a salute. “Given there are twenty desks, we’ll have to pitch in and muscle over a couple between us. We’ll see you back at the warehouse.”
“Thank you.” With a relieved smile, Sylvia turned away. She collected Kit with a glance. “Coming?”
As was becoming his habit, he grinned and waved her to the door. “Lead on.”
They went back and forth; on reaching the hall a second time, Kit left Sylvia chatting with the teachers and boys and slipped out to the tavern he’d spotted just around the corner. Emerging five minutes later, he fell in with several of the hired men hauling desks between them. He smiled. “Pass the word, if you would—sandwiches and cider for all who’ve helped with the move at the new hall at noon.”
The men’s eyes lit, and they hoisted their burdens with renewed purpose. “Thank ye, m’lord,” several called, while others tipped their heads to him.
Kit strode ahead, meeting Sylvia as she reappeared on the hall’s porch. “There are more desks just turning into the street. And I ordered food—sandwiches and cider—for everyone. The tavern keeper’s wife said she and her girls will deliver the food here at noon.”
Sylvia stared at him. “Thank you. I hadn’t thought...”
He grinned. “I’m used to working with men. We get hungry. And I could hardly eat all by myself.”
She sent him a look that seemed to say that she’d adjusted her preconceived notions of him already, then she looked into the hall. “Cross—did you hear?”
“Aye, and very welcome the sustenance will be,” Cross called.
Together with Sylvia, Kit set out for the warehouse again. Once they’d crossed the bridge and reached the top of King Street, he halted and turned to her. “You go ahead—I have to deal with something, but I’ll join you in ten minutes or so.”
She looked faintly surprised, but nodded. “All right. I’ll meet you at the warehouse.”
He saw her across the street, then turned and strode for his bank. He needed a small mound of shillings.
When he reached the warehouse fifteen minutes later, he was vaguely aware he was clinking with every step. Ignoring that, he halted beside Sylvia near the door and scanned the almost-empty space.
She