Anne smiled gently, leaned forward, and laid a comforting hand on his sleeve. “I’ve read the reports—the notes we make when we take in a new child. She died very suddenly of a virulent fever—she had no time to make any arrangements.”
Portsmouth nodded. After a moment, Anne added, “If it’s any help, I’ve seen the street she—they—lived in. It’s a poorer area but respectable, not the slums. She made her living by sewing and fine emboridery. I gather her husband died before Benjy was born.”
Portsmouth raised a brow, but when Anne held his gaze steadily, he refrained from asking how she knew that.
She drew back, sitting straighter. “It seems abundantly clear that Benjy’s your grandson. If you will give me a letter stating as much, and your intention of taking him in and seeing to his welfare henceforth, I believe I can have our solicitor deal with the legalities in short order.”
Drawing breath, she fixed her gaze on Portsmouth’s face. “I realize you might not have thought far ahead, but it would help to know what your plans for Benjy are.”
“Plans?” Portsmouth blinked at her, his incomprehension quite plain. “No need to think! He’ll go to Eton, then Oxford, just like all the Caverlocks. Neville’s tutor can polish him up—” He broke off, frowned, then looked at Anne. “Incidentally, who taught him Latin? Never would have thought to hear such fluency coming from…well, no point making any bones of it, a child from the streets.”
Anne beamed. “The Latin you may lay at my sister Penelope’s door.” She rose; she felt so happy, so relieved—and her and Reggie’s continued presence would only delay a family reunion far happier than anyone had supposed. “I really don’t think I need anything more aside from that letter.” She held out her hand as Portsmouth rose. “Perhaps you could post it to the Foundling House?”
“Aye. I’ll do that.” Portsmouth shook her hand, then Reggie’s. “My very deep thanks to you both.”
They took their leave of the other family members; Thomas walked them out to where Reggie’s curricle stood waiting, shrouded in shadows in the drive.
“It’ll be late before you reach town—are you sure you won’t stay?”
Imogen had pressed the invitation, but both Anne and Reggie had firmly declined.
“The light’s good enough,” Reggie said as he handed Anne up. He turned to Thomas. “And I imagine tonight will be a moment best shared within the family.”
Thomas smiled and didn’t deny it. He raised a hand in salute and stepped back as Reggie shook the reins.
He steered the curricle down the drive, and out onto the road.
Anne was silent for the first few miles; he assumed she was reliving the unexpected resolution. A soft smile played about her lips; satisfied, he gave his attention to the narrow lane leading back to the Brighton Road.
They’d reached it and were bowling along in good style when he felt Anne’s gaze, glanced at her swiftly, and realized from the steady seriousness of her gaze that she’d moved on and was thinking of other things.
More personal things.
He was forced to look to his horses. She shifted beside him and looked forward, too. He sensed more than saw her steel herself.
“What we spoke of before …I realize…” She stopped and hauled in a breath. “It seems likely you’ll soon be Northcote, and then everyone will remember you’re in line for the earldom—you could have your pick of the marriageable young ladies, even those from the highest families, or the incomparables, or the heiresses…”
He glanced at her; her face was set, determined.
She stared ahead; she didn’t look at him. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather—shouldn’t rather— marry one of them?”
He didn’t need to think. “Don’t be daft!” Irritation—masculine aggravation—rang in his tone; he made no attempt to mute it. “If you must know, the very thought has kept me firmly facing the other way for years. Sweet young things, huh! They giggle! Anyway—can you imagine it? A female like that would make my life a misery. I wouldn’t know what to do with her. I don’t want to marry anyone like that.”
For one instant, the only sound about them was the sharp clop of the horses’ hooves.
“I want to marry you.” He stated it clearly.
He glanced at her just as she glanced at him, her eyes wide.
“You do?”
“Yes!” He would have glared, but his leader chose that moment to jib; he looked back to the horses—
With a horrendous crack!, a bolt of lightning cleaved the now darkening sky.
“Oh!” Anne grabbed the side of the curricle as the horses bolted.
Reggie held them, steadied them. Luckily they were on the main road; the macadam was smooth, and at that hour there were few other vehicles about.