Page 35 of The Not So Perfect Duke

She led them into an adjoining room, but the safe was too large for two men to handle.

“Dawson! We need to head into Barking. Find us a grocer immediately!” Damon called to his driver as he assisted Althea into the carriage. Once seated, he reached into his pockets. “Damn it, all I have is six pounds.”

Althea reached into her bag. “And I have one, and that will buy more than enough to hold them over until you send additional aid.” Most people would think they were flush with money to have six pounds in their pockets. But to Damon, it was a mere pittance. When they conversed as if they were old friends, it was easy to forget Damon’s status in society.

“Hell, what a bloody mess. If possible, I would dig the late duke up and murder him with my bare hands,” Damon growled.

“Your father died sooner than he might have. Maybe that is one sort of punishment. But it means you are indeed left with a muddle. We need to find someone who can crack a safe. If Browning will not reveal the combination.”

“I will beat it out of him if I have to,” Damon spat.

“You must control your temper. You are allowing your feelings to run amuck for a man supposedly adept at hiding his emotions, which can cloud your judgment. On the other hand, if it were me, I would be furious, too.”

He sighed. “What do you suggest I do next? Beyond sending assistance?”

“Hopefully, there is a list of donor names in the safe. Men who have sent their children to the home. Shame them into contributing money. See that the children are adopted by kind people. You cannot take on this responsibility yourself.”

“They are my half-siblings,” Damon replied. “At least, some of them are.”

“I know it,” she replied delicately. “But there are too many of them. What are you going to do? Let us say half those children now at Chellenhome are your father’s. Will you take eight children into your home? What about all the others that came before?”

Damon plowed his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “I don’t know, Althea.”

“Ultimately, the decision will be yours. I am only offering my opinion. Take the time to think it through.”

“Wisely spoken.”

The carriage halted, and the window slid open. “Here is a grocer, Your Grace,” Dawson said.

“Good.” Damon took her hand and assisted her from the carriage.

Damon strode into the grocer and snapped his fingers. The proprietor must have seen the fancy carriage, for he immediately came over to Damon, eager to serve.

“May I help you, my lord?”

“Your Grace,” Damon replied icily. “Chellenhome. Do you know of it? Make any deliveries there?”

“Yes, Your Grace. But not for a couple of months. I did give Mrs. Seddon some bread, onions, and carrots recently. Complimentary like.”

“Thank you for your generosity.” Damon’s tone warmed, but just a little. “Does the home owe you money?”

“No, Your Grace. Mrs. Seddon always settled upon delivery.”

“Very well, Mr.—?”

“Mr. Walter Penn, at your service, Your Grace.”

“Mr. Penn. I have seven pounds here. Gather an order: flour, sugar, salt, tea, fruit, vegetables, meat, milk, firewood, and anything else Mrs. Seddon had previously ordered. I want it delivered immediately. I am sending a man tomorrow; to set up an account with you to guarantee steady deliveries.”

Mr. Penn’s eyes lit up, no doubt thrilled to have a duke as a regular customer. “At once, Your Grace. My wife made sugar biscuits today, and I will send them along at no cost. For the children.”

Damon slipped on his gloves. “Yes. For the children.” He took her arm and stood against the wall, watching Penn and his assistant gather food and other items, packing them in wooden crates. Damon pointed to a display of wool blankets. “How much for those?”

“Six shillings a piece, Your Grace. I can add them to the order, or your man can pay me tomorrow.”

“Good man. Add it to the order. See it done.”

Damon leaned in and said to Althea, “Can we leave Mr. Penn to see to this order? I want to return to London and have you question Browning.”