“With a vengeance, Miss A, with a vengeance,” he assured her. “That frivolous fop I bailed out the day before had the distinction of being my last client among the titled and wealthy. I am a children’s advocate now. When they come in the docket, I represent as many as I can. Yes, some are transported—I cannot stop the workings of justice—but they are not incarcerated with men old enough to do them evil, and they go to Australia, instead of Van Diemen’s Land. It is but a small improvement, but the best I can do.”
“How did . . . how did you manage that?”
He smiled for the first time in a long while. “Like all good barristers, I know the value of blackmail, Miss A! Let us just say that I lawyered away a juicy bit of scandal for our dear Prinny, and he owed me massively. God knows he has no interest in anyone’s welfare but his own, but even he has a small bit of influence.”
It was her turn to relax a little, relieved that his tone was lighter. She could not imagine the conditions under which he labored, and she had the oddest wish to hold him close and comfort him as a mother would a child. “Lord Trevor, I think what you are doing is noble. Why do you say that you are the family’s black sheep?”
He sat down again and took another sip of his sherry, then looked at her over the rim of the glass. “It is your turn to be naïve. What I do, and where and how I do it, has cut me off completely from my peers. It is as though I wear my Newgate clothes everywhere. No one extends invitations to me, and I am the answer to no maiden’s prayer.”
“And people of your class are a little embarrassed to be seen with you, and you don’t really have a niche,” she said, understanding him perfectly, because she understood herself. “That life has made you bold and outspoken, and it has made me shy.”
She looked at him with perfect understanding, and he smiled back. “We are both black sheep, Miss Ambrose,” he said.
“How odd.” Another thought occurred to her. “Why are you here?”
To answer her, he reached in his vest pocket and pulled out a folded sheet. “You may not be aware that my niece Lucinda has been writing to me.”
“She did mention you in sketching class once,” Cecilia said, and her comprehension grew. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh! She said you worked with children, and several of the other pupils started to laugh! Their parents must have . . .”
“I told you I am a hiss and a byword in some circles. I sometimes keep stray children at my house until I can find situations for them.” He hesitated.
“Go on,” she told him. “I doubt there is anything you can say now that would surprise me.”
“There might be,” he replied. “Well! Some of my peers think I am a sodomite. These things are whispered about. Who knows what parents tell their children.”
“Really, Lord Trevor,” she said. “It is warm in here.”
He crossed the room, and threw up the window sash. “I assure you I do not practice buggery, Miss A! What I do have are enlightened friends who are willing to take these children to agricultural settings and employ them gainfully.”
“Bravo, sir,” she said softly.
“I do it for Jimmy Daw.” He tapped the letter. “Lucinda tells me how unhappy she is, and damn it, I’ve been neglecting my own family.”
“She is sad and uncomfortable to see her sister growing away from her,” Cecilia agreed. “I had wanted to talk to Lady Falstoke about that very thing. I suppose that is why I came.”
He folded the letter and put it back in his waistcoat. “I came here with the intention of giving them a prosy lecture about gratitude, well larded with examples of children who have so much less than they do.” He rubbed his hands together. “Thank God for a fire in the chimney! Now we are thrown together in close quarters to get reacquainted. Do you think there is silver to polish below stairs?”
She laughed. “If there is not, you will find it!” She grew serious again. “There is more to this than a prosy lecture, isn’t there? Lord Trevor, when did Jimmy Daw . . .”
“Eleven years ago on Christmas Eve,” he answered. “Miss Ambrose, for all that time I have thrown myself into my work, and ignored my own relations.” He shook his head. “I see them so seldom.”
She went to the window and closed it, now that the room was cooler, or at least she was not feeling so embarrassed by this singular man’s blunt plain speaking. “I must own to a little sympathy for them, Lord Trevor. Here they are, stuck in close quarters with two people that they don’t know well. It is nearly Christmas, and their parents are away.”