dreadful situation, one with dire consequences."
"You, cousin?" A faint smile played around Lewis's mouth.
"I know I can't in good faith ask that you abandon your post for me, but I do depend on your affection for Grandpapa."
Lewis's smirk disappeared. "Why would any problem of yours affect Lord Reynard?"
"Because it is my grandfather's bank. He started it, he worked there even after entrusting the running of it to my father, he trained me after my father's death. I know you hate the figures and the finance, and I know you swore you would never labor therein, but I pray that your affection for Grandpapa will overcome your distaste."
There it was again. Guilt, writ for Kerrich to see. Hadn't Lewis thought how his crime would strike at Lord Reynard's heart? Or was he so lost to all scruples he didn't care?
When Lewis didn't at once respond, Kerrich continued, "I know. You will say Grandpapa isn't your grandfather, but a great-uncle. Yet I think you feel affection for him, and while he would never mention it, you also owe him your education."
Under the weight of the guilt Kerrich piled on, Lewis's resistance caved in. "Yes," he said. "I owe your grandfather everything. If I judge your problem at the bank to be as grievous as you claim, then of course I will help you."
"It could not be any more grievous," Kerrich answered. "As you know, we print our own banknotes for distribution in Norfolk."
Lewis nodded. Probably he didn't dare open his mouth for fear confession would come flying out.
So Kerrich told Lewis what he already knew. "Someone is counterfeiting our banknotes."
CHAPTER 4
Boys were such obnoxious creatures. Pamela pondered that truth as she searched the eager crowd of orphans gathered around her in the refectory. Each was showing off, each trying to get her to choose him to be taken away from the sterile environs of the orphanage, and the little boys' antics reminded her of the big boy's antics she'd recently observed.
The big boy being Lord Kerrich, and his antics yesterday being the silliest bit of posturing she'd ever seen in an adult man. Yes, he was handsome, wealthy, and titled. Yes, his smile could charm the birds out of the trees. No, she didn't care.
No more than she cared about the whistles and tricks the lads used to assault her ears and call attention to themselves. Kerrich's charms were as obvious and wearisome as his cousin's were refined and studious. Kerrich could learn a lot from Mr. Athersmith.
He would not, of course. Pamela remembered observing Kerrich at Kensington Palace and diagnosing him as a vainglorious young man with a high opinion of himself. He hadn't changed. He thought himself above the common run of gentlefolk. She could only hope that someday someone some womanwould put him in his place. And that she was around to see it.
One of the eight-year-old boys began to sing in a high, sweet voice. He was gifted, and with training could become a great vocalist, but although Kerrich disclaimed interest in his orphan, Pamela suspected she knew what he wanted: a manly boy, one he could slap on the shoulder.
A responsible and well-paid governess should try to give Kerrich what he wanted, so she steadfastly ignored the talented boy, and also girls who sat on the stairway with their faces pressed between the banisters. Too bad, for Pamela had a weakness for the unloved, the outcast, the leftover children. She understood them so well.
"Hey!" One of the larger boys shoved the younger ones aside. "I'm Chilton. I be a good 'un. See?" He rolled up his sleeve and flexed his muscle. "I could carry yer coal and black yer stove better than any o' these other fellows."
"Cannot." Brave and furious, one of the younger boys shoved back. "Ye're bigger, but ye're lazy."
Chilton doubled his fist. "Am not."
Another boy shoved him from the back, and the toughest boys tumbled to the floor in roiling turmoil.
"A feisty bunch, aren't they?" Mrs. Fallowfield, the orphanage director, tried to put a
"You, cousin?" A faint smile played around Lewis's mouth.
"I know I can't in good faith ask that you abandon your post for me, but I do depend on your affection for Grandpapa."
Lewis's smirk disappeared. "Why would any problem of yours affect Lord Reynard?"
"Because it is my grandfather's bank. He started it, he worked there even after entrusting the running of it to my father, he trained me after my father's death. I know you hate the figures and the finance, and I know you swore you would never labor therein, but I pray that your affection for Grandpapa will overcome your distaste."
There it was again. Guilt, writ for Kerrich to see. Hadn't Lewis thought how his crime would strike at Lord Reynard's heart? Or was he so lost to all scruples he didn't care?
When Lewis didn't at once respond, Kerrich continued, "I know. You will say Grandpapa isn't your grandfather, but a great-uncle. Yet I think you feel affection for him, and while he would never mention it, you also owe him your education."
Under the weight of the guilt Kerrich piled on, Lewis's resistance caved in. "Yes," he said. "I owe your grandfather everything. If I judge your problem at the bank to be as grievous as you claim, then of course I will help you."
"It could not be any more grievous," Kerrich answered. "As you know, we print our own banknotes for distribution in Norfolk."
Lewis nodded. Probably he didn't dare open his mouth for fear confession would come flying out.
So Kerrich told Lewis what he already knew. "Someone is counterfeiting our banknotes."
CHAPTER 4
Boys were such obnoxious creatures. Pamela pondered that truth as she searched the eager crowd of orphans gathered around her in the refectory. Each was showing off, each trying to get her to choose him to be taken away from the sterile environs of the orphanage, and the little boys' antics reminded her of the big boy's antics she'd recently observed.
The big boy being Lord Kerrich, and his antics yesterday being the silliest bit of posturing she'd ever seen in an adult man. Yes, he was handsome, wealthy, and titled. Yes, his smile could charm the birds out of the trees. No, she didn't care.
No more than she cared about the whistles and tricks the lads used to assault her ears and call attention to themselves. Kerrich's charms were as obvious and wearisome as his cousin's were refined and studious. Kerrich could learn a lot from Mr. Athersmith.
He would not, of course. Pamela remembered observing Kerrich at Kensington Palace and diagnosing him as a vainglorious young man with a high opinion of himself. He hadn't changed. He thought himself above the common run of gentlefolk. She could only hope that someday someone some womanwould put him in his place. And that she was around to see it.
One of the eight-year-old boys began to sing in a high, sweet voice. He was gifted, and with training could become a great vocalist, but although Kerrich disclaimed interest in his orphan, Pamela suspected she knew what he wanted: a manly boy, one he could slap on the shoulder.
A responsible and well-paid governess should try to give Kerrich what he wanted, so she steadfastly ignored the talented boy, and also girls who sat on the stairway with their faces pressed between the banisters. Too bad, for Pamela had a weakness for the unloved, the outcast, the leftover children. She understood them so well.
"Hey!" One of the larger boys shoved the younger ones aside. "I'm Chilton. I be a good 'un. See?" He rolled up his sleeve and flexed his muscle. "I could carry yer coal and black yer stove better than any o' these other fellows."
"Cannot." Brave and furious, one of the younger boys shoved back. "Ye're bigger, but ye're lazy."
Chilton doubled his fist. "Am not."
Another boy shoved him from the back, and the toughest boys tumbled to the floor in roiling turmoil.
"A feisty bunch, aren't they?" Mrs. Fallowfield, the orphanage director, tried to put a
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