Page 28 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

After a while, Kit saw Miss Petty waiting and went over to speak with her. She had, he noticed, stopped watching Jack.

She held up her notebook as Kit approached. “I believe I have all the information I need, my lord. I’ll get the necessary orders in first thing in the morning.”

Kit nodded. “Good. If at all possible, push for delivery on Monday. We want to get this space fully transformed and functioning as soon as may be.”

“I understand you expect more men to commence on Monday?”

“Yes. It would be helpful, perhaps, were you to spend at least half the day here, taking down details. Mulligan or Mr. Cobworth can help you with rates—not my forte, I fear.”

“Of course, my lord. I’ll pop into the office on Monday morning and deal with anything urgent, then I’ll make my way here.”

A burst of general laughter had Kit glancing to where the men were working at attaching various anchors for wheels and pulleys to the gantry prior to hoisting it into position above their heads. The men were still chuckling, and from the direction of their gazes, it was clear the source of merriment was Jack. But the men weren’t laughing at him but with him, and from the pleased smile on Jack’s face, he knew it.

Kit surmised Jack had made some comment that had elicited the laughter. In an environment in which activity could sometimes become intense, that wasn’t a bad talent to have.

Beside him, Miss Petty cleared her throat. “I have to say that although I harbored reservations, Jack seems a worthwhile addition to the crew.”

“He does, indeed.” Kit noticed a gentleman sporting a cane—one more for show than use—walking briskly toward the workshop door. “Who’s this, I wonder?”

Miss Petty looked, then swept around. “I will ask, my lord. One moment.”

Bemused, Kit watched as Miss Petty sailed up as the gentleman, seeing her coming, halted just outside the open doors. Straining his ears over the steady din of hammering, Kit heard Miss Petty inquire, “Can I help you, sir?”

The gentleman looked rather peeved to have been forestalled, but he offered, “Councilor Peabody to see Lord Cavanaugh. It’s about the school.”

“Please wait here, and I will inquire as to whether his lordship is available.” Miss Petty swung around and walked toward Kit, her eyes widening in question.

Realizing that his remarkable secretary was giving him a chance to avoid the man, Kit sent her a nod of thanks and moved forward, passing her on his way to the door.

Fetching up before the shorter man, Kit arched his brows. “Lord Cavanaugh. What did you wish to say about the school?”

“My name is Peabody, my lord—Councilor Peabody.” Peabody sketched a bow, then straightened and fixed Kit with a man-to-man look. “I have the honor of being the councilor for Abbey Ward, into which neighborhood the school that previously occupied this warehouse has moved. I spoke with the school administrator this morning, and she directed me to you—she claimed you have agreed to stand as sponsor to the school?”

Kit inclined his head. “I have.”

Peabody looked ingratiating. “I understand that you have underwritten the transfer of the school to its new premises and that Prior Robert—a godly man with scant experience of secular matters—at your petition, agreed to the school moving into the Abbey’s hall. However, I suspect no one in the city has yet made known to you the…ah, community expectations that apply in various areas. For instance”—Peabody gestured widely—“this area, around the docks and harbor, plays host to homes that house dockside and shipyard workers, as is sensible. In contrast, the area around the Abbey is inhabited by citizens of rather higher social standing. To relocate a school for dockyard brats to such an area risks disrupting the social norms.”

Despite having taken a deep dislike to the man, Kit kept his expression unreadable and arched his brows. “Is that so? Pray tell, which of society’s norms do you consider to be at risk?”

Peabody blinked. The silence stretched as he patently tried to find acceptable words in which to cloak his complaint.

Kit made no move to help him out and simply waited.

Peabody’s color rose, then he harrumphed and said, “Social norms such as in which areas the various classes live.”

“I wasn’t aware the city imposes restrictions on where people of various classes reside.” Kit kept his tone mild. “But regardless, the boys are only visiting, as it were. They’re not taking up residence in Trinity Street.”

“Be that as it may,” Peabody huffed, “those who do live in Trinity Street are complaining!”

“Indeed?” Kit looked thoughtful. “The school relocated yesterday—today was the first day of classes. How many people have complained?”

Peabody looked frustrated. He glowered. “When even one of my constituents complain, it is incumbent on me to act.”

“Indeed.” Kit smiled, the epitome of helpfulness. “You’ve acted and brought the complaint to my notice. Sadly for whoever complained, I’m less than impressed.”

Peabody started to gobble, but Kit rolled on, ruthlessly charming. “You see, I happen to adhere to the doctrine espoused by Prince Albert and the Queen regarding the education of the poor.” He continued, smoothly explaining the belief that education could alleviate poverty. “And you must admit that in a city suffering under the difficulties currently afflicting Bristol, then it is—to use your phrase—incumbent on every gentleman to do his part. Why, my brother the marquess and his wife have established several schools in their area, and at the moment, it’s a rather more prosperous one than Bristol.”

Enough of Kit’s words penetrated Peabody’s brain that, judging by his expression, his belief in the righteousness of his complaint started to falter.