Chapter Twelve

The Worthy Heart

At the museum, Wolferton wandered about until Jaclyn pleaded fatigue and asked if they could forego teatime. Of course, he agreed but experienced the odd sensation of an emotion. Jealousy? Halifax’s besotted attention to her indicated his deceitful ways since the performance seemed genuine. The prior evening, the scoundrel had been with Marguerite, his mistress. Wolferton regretted his presence at the dubious establishment of ill repute since it supplied Halifax with another arrow to direct at him.

The carriage pulled near his townhouse and relief rained over Wolferton. The proximity to Halifax and Jaclyn filled him with premonition.

They all departed the carriage, but the duke stayed behind. “I have another appointment to attend. I should return in two hours.” He signaled his coachman to switch to his unmarked carriage that he used when he wished to remain anonymous. “Make sure the gifts are secured in the baggage trunk.” The footman nodded and secured the packages.

“In the meantime, do not tarry too long, brother. Miss Jaclyn is tired from the long afternoon and the emotional discourse. I will not allow Halifax to stay long.”

He nodded, entered the plain black carriage. “Take me to The Quarters Home.”

Perhaps unwise to leave them with Halifax, Camille would watch over Jaclyn like a mother hen. He’d made a promise to visit The Quarters. He removed his pocket watch and noted the time. The home he owned was on the outskirts of fashionable Mayfair and occupied by troubled young lads, some who had disabilities. He’d hired a schoolmaster and an elderly housekeeper to maintain the school he funded.

“See to the gifts.” he said to the coachman after the horses stopped at the residence.

“Yes, Yer Grace. I’ll fetch them and give them to the footman to carry for you.” He jumped down and went to the back of the coach rack and barked instructions. The door to the townhouse swung open. Three excited, tousled-haired youths rushed to greet him.

“Now, my men, how many times must I state that you are an example to the younger boys? True gentlemen learn all the arts of etiquette and masculine endeavors. At least allow me to enter the house before you surround me.” He loved to greet them as adults so they could feel mature, his laugh genuine with affection. The footman placed the gifts on the table in the foyer and left.

One of the lads bowed low. “Sir, ’tis a pleasure to see you. Mister Pidgeon is in the classroom with the others. We asked to wait for you and received permission to do so.”

Wolferton placed his accessories on the table next to the gifts and brightened his smile. “James, your elocution has gotten better. Soon we’ll have you speaking like an Englishman.”

“Heaven forbid. No offense intended, sir. I’m a Scot.”

He went to the sitting room with the lads in quick-step behind him. “The red boxes are for you three older boys. Bring them in with you.”

It was a wonder they didn’t trip over each other as they ran to the presents. These visits gave him a comfort he’d never known before. For all his past faults, he was responsible for the rehabilitation of young men who would otherwise be on the streets, where the options were either prison, death, or homicide. He’d given them another option—life, education, and a means to support themselves, and perhaps their families. To him it was a badge of honor.

James, the older lad, would graduate soon. A slight impediment caused him to limp, and Wolferton determined he would make a great solicitor, perhaps even a barrister. He had a bright smile, soulful brown-tinged eyes, curly brown hair, and when he spoke, his voice commanded attention in a resonant tone. Soon to be employed in a law firm as a clerk, James McClintock would work during the day and study further at night. A former soldier friend, now a famous barrister, at Wolferton’s request, agreed to assist in his apprenticeship.

The boys never knew him to be a peer of the realm. He preferred they address him as Mister Wolferton. “Sir, we were about to give up on you. I leave soon to start work.”

The boy limped toward him box in hand. “This is heavy. Is it filled with bricks?” His mirth warmed the room. “I made sure we lit the fire for you. May we open them now?”

Wolferton sat in a worn leather chair. He cautioned, “As if I could stop you all. Yes. Gentlemen, remember you are no longer children. James, you are the eldest. Remove the string and open the package without a tear of the paper.”

James beamed a smile and did so, his happiness glowed upon his face. “It’s a…”

“Fencing mask.” Wolferton beamed and tented his fingers. “The three of you will attend classes here twice a week with an instructor. The back room will transform into a studio, and after you’ve acquired some skill, the younger boys will watch all you do. You will become role models for them to emulate.”

Another box contained three books on fencing by Domenico Angelo Malevolti, the legendary fencing master to royalty the world over. Wolferton stood and reached for one of the books. “It is a second edition dated in the year seventeen ninety-nine. Fencing is an art where two competitors fight with the use of rapier-style swords. Points score by contact with the opponent, based on the traditional skills of swordsmanship. The Italian school modified classical fencing and single-handedly changed the world.”

Three pairs of eyes locked on him. He held the book. “This is for you to read and learn. To fence is a skill and an art form. While the rapiers you work with have blunt edges, it can be a sport to the death. There are manners to be observed at all times. You will have studies and tests before you use the rapier. Come round me, lads.”

They went to him and sat at his feet. “This is serious business, and while you will be tempted to practice on your own, you must give me your word that you will not use these unless your instructor is present. The rapiers will be in a locked cabinet, and each of you will have a key. Your honor is at stake. Is this understood?”

They nodded, but he asked, “Each of you swear to me you will adhere to these instructions.”

“I swear,” sounded three times.

“Good, you will be fitted for fencing gear. I am told females fawn over men in these dress whites.” Wolferton laughed until he realized the oldest lad, eighteen, lowered his gaze.

James raised his eyes. “But how will I know what to do with a lady…” The blush across his cheeks flamed like a beacon.

Bloody hell! “Instruction will come personally from me before you leave, but let’s take things one step at a time. You’ll find your older compatriots will be happy to educate you. But there are facts of which you should be aware. I will speak to you again. Now, deliver the other gifts to the boys and ask Monsieur Pidgeon to attend me.”

It then occurred to him James felt his impediment might inhibit relations with a woman. This fact was a bit more than he could handle, but he would encourage the lad that a limp did not affect the manly parts of his body—when the proper time came. And it appeared the time was near—very near. Wolferton ran his finger along his cravat and then became amused. It intimidated him, but he would prevail. He would tell the lad it wasn’t the size of the male appendage, but there are techniques used to make women crave more of the same. He considered it soldier talk but had not anticipated this type of instruction. As an afterthought, it gave him a chuckle.

“Thank you, Mister Wolferton. You have been most kind.”

“Remember always, lads, pass kindness to another person, but do not let anyone provoke you to malice if you can help it. Ours is a civilized society, and you will become part of it. What you need is judgment to decide what is good and what is evil. There is goodness in this world if you seek it.” Bloody hell, Wolferton was a sinner who preached to the church choir. Why didn’t someone good lecture such things to him? He well knew the answer. He endured sin, not saintliness.

They smiled, told jokes, and carried their masks and books with them along with the other packages.

The housekeeper came into the room. “Mister Wolferton, I heard you were here. May I get you a spot of tea?”

“No, I must leave soon. The boys are doing well and do not misbehave?”

“They’re good lads, sir. Full of mischief, but ’tis a better life for them than they could have. I’ll be missin’ James when he leaves. He’s a kind way ’bout him and treats them like brothers.”

“Yes. It is my hope James will make us proud.”

“Thank you, sir. If you need anything, ring for me.” She left the room.

Monsieur Pidgeon walked in. “Mister Wolferton, I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. The lads are so excited about their fencing equipment, there’ll be no sleep tonight.”

“Good, they need to know some people care.” He handed the schoolmaster a voucher for money drawn on his bank. It was a separate account established to fund the school. His money was not inexhaustible, so he maintained his ledgers with vigilance—and pride of his accomplishments. “This should keep you for another three months. The younger boys tend to their chores?”

“The eight young lads do well, all things considered, sir. They are young and restless, but they do know their place. They’ve become close to each other. The youngest one has a hard time, but I’ll make sure he progresses.”

“Good, Monsieur Pidgeon. I will now take my leave and visit you again in a few days. This note contains my instructions on the fencing lessons. If you have a question, contact me through my barrister.”

He left The Quarters Home with a good, solid sense of accomplishment. His unmarked carriage waited, and he entered, tapped his cane on the roof, and the driver turned the horses around.

Wolferton might have acted in the past as his father’s son, but this accomplishment was because he was also his mother’s son. And he might add, his own man.

I can’t deny being my father’s son biologically, but I can deny him for all he was not…a good model of fatherhood.

Satan, be gone.