The Pursuits of Lord Kit Cavanaugh (The Cavanaughs 2)

For a second, he considered being annoyed about that, but then decided that, with a female like Sylvia Buckleberry, seeing would be believing.

His expression impassive, he held out the list. “Let’s look at the place in Trinity Street.”

If she was surprised, she hid it well. Taking back the list, she said, “I have to warn you that the Trinity Street property is the most expensive option. It’s owned by St. Augustine’s Abbey, and the rent is...well, in keeping with that and the location, which is on a street between the Abbey and the Frome.”

Kit gave a noncommittal shrug. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I can afford it, and such a location—and landlord—sounds much more like the sort of accommodation I’d want a school I was sponsoring to have.”

Facing 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?”

* * *