Lord Day and Lady Night

05. The True Story

More giggles.

"Need I further explain myself?" His Lordship raised an aristocratic eyebrow.

"So, they're not sufficiently swanlike, well-bred, elegant and aristocratic to make 'the list'?" Titus waggled his eyebrows. "How many are on there again? Two hundred? Three hundred?"

"Three," Lord Patrick said, looking straight ahead.

"I sincerely pity you."

"And I sincerely regret ever telling you about the list."

Cackling, Titus patted Lord Patrick on the shoulder. "Life is full of regrets, my friend. As I'm sure you'll find out if you don't turn around and talk with those lovely ladies. Are you sure you don't want to?"

Lord Patrick cast a glance in the direction of the giggling women. "If I wish to battle with ruthless, hungry predators, I can travel to the African interior in a zebra costume."

"But Saint Catherine's is so much closer and more convenient." Titus smirked. "Do you mind if I go hunting in your stead?"

Lord Patrick gave his friend a look. "Truly, Titus, I do not understand you. These creatures have no class, no breeding, let alone a title. They're beneath us in every possible way. Especially beneath me."

"Well..." Titus shrugged, and his grin widened. "I wouldn't mind them being beneath me instead. Sounds fun."

"Be my guest. They are all yours."

Patrick turned away from the vapid females. He did not often come to a place like this himself—but that did not mean he didn't know how important they were. This house was a lifeline! People who only came here to go husband-hunting held less than zero interest to him.

Face grim, he glanced up at the towering iron gate with spikes on top. He did not know much about the raising of children, but his layman's mind had always wondered why a place that should provide children a home had more security measures than most prisons. Still...there were far worse places than this. Also, the lady who ran this place was the very best friend of his mother. This was the least he could do.

"Matron?" The iron gate still remained closed, and Brandon had apparently had enough of waiting. Grabbing the wrought iron bars, he shook them. "Matron! Damn and blast, where is that dratted woman?"

Reaching up, Brandon grabbed the knocker and banged it against the gate. One of the children who had been playing in the yard came running up to the gate. The little girl cocked her head.

"Ye ain't supposed ta use naughty words, ye know. If ye do, Matron'll pull down yer breeches and spank ye good!"

A sound came from behind The Honourable Gilbert Theodore Brandon. When he turned, he found Lord Patrick holding a hand tightly across Titus' mouth.

"Did you say something, cousin?"

Lord Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Not a word. Why do you ask?"

Snorting, Brandon turned back towards the iron gate. "Now, listen here, you little squirt—ow!" He jerked back as a flying rubber band hit him on the nose. The little girl stuck out her tongue and dashed away across the courtyard, pulling faces.

"Get back here, you bloody little devil! I'll...I'll—oh. Ehem. Matron." He cleared his throat. "Good morning."

The middle-aged woman who had just appeared at the gate cocked her head at him, her piercing eyes boring into the English aristocrat, laying bare his sins up to and including the time he'd snuck into the kitchen when he was five and stolen cookies from the jar. "You were saying, Sir?"