Page 2 of Her Rake Fiancé

But if Jane wanted to help these children, she needed to find a way to relate to them and make them want to be here.

“Education is not a waste of time,” she said. “Peter, if you learn to read and write, you won’t have to work in dangerous mills, or pickpocket, or beg on the streets. You could find work in service or as someone’s apprentice, learning a skill such as carpentry, cooking, or shoemaking…”

And not on the gallows, she wanted to add. But the mere thought of that made a chill run down her spine. A mental image slapped her internal vision: a ten-year-old boy hanging by the neck, swinging, black against the dark storm clouds. Two years ago, she’d witnessed a public execution when the coachman took the wrong turn, and they were stuck in a crowd of onlookers.

Thorne had told her not to look, but she couldn’t turn away. When she asked him what the boy had done, Thorne had said somberly, “He did what many Whitechapel children do every single day. The difference is, he got caught.”

She prayed she could help these children escape that fate. And, if her school was a success, not just these seven, but many more.

“Young’uns, don’t you worry yer heads about work or stealin’,” said Reuben. “Mr. Blackmore, that’s Miss Grant’s brother, he’s gone and paid your folks for the work you’re missin’ today.”

While the children murmured among themselves with satisfied smiles, shock hit Jane like a slap.

It was all false. It wasn’t her doing that these children sat here.

It was all Thorne. Always Thorne, protecting her, shielding her, making sure her every wish and whim came true.

And yet, she had thought, finally, it was all because of her. She had assumed she’d succeeded in convincing the children’s parents to send them here after weeks of going door to door. She’d thought that she had managed to make a difference, that she’d taken one small step to feeling like she belonged here, like she mattered.

She’d believed that she wasn’t just a criminal lord’s overprotected, lonely, aristocratic sister who didn’t know what to do with herself among thieves, sex workers, and thugs.

“Time for me to head off,” Reuben announced, lifting a finger. “Now, you lot better listen to Janie—er, I mean, Miss Grant. If you don’t, I’ll tan yer hides so hard you won’t be able to sit right for a week.”

Jane stared at Reuben with horror. “No, no, Reuben,” she said. “There will not be corporal punishment, not in this school. The children struggle enough already.”

Reuben chuckled but threw a warning scowl at the children, who glared back at him. He pointed his index finger again without a word.

“I’m not jokin’, Janie,” he said quietly as he leaned to her. “If these little devils cause you trouble, they’ll have to deal with me.”

With that, Reuben left under the watchful eyes of Hercules. With the sound of the door closing, seven pairs of rebellious, challenging eyes landed on Jane. She smiled, stepping from foot to foot.

Never had she felt more out of place. What could she know about their lives? What did she know about needing to survive day to day with a growling stomach and only rags on her shoulders? What significance could reading and writing have for them when they didn’t know if they would eat tomorrow?

Nevertheless, she had to go on. Perhaps it would be difficult today, but later on, it might mean the difference for them between the gallows and a safe home. She took a deep breath and walked up to the blackboard.

“Let’s start with the alphabet,” she said. “A is for apple. B is for ball…”

She went through the entire alphabet, writing the letters out. The children repeated after her, but their voices were dull and uninterested. Until, when she reached W, they started giggling and yelling again.

She turned around. Alfie had drawn a surprisingly skillful sketch of a lady in spectacles with a perfectly tied knot at the back of her head, her skirts flapping in the wind and her petticoats quite scandalously exposed. As she gasped, a satisfied roar of laughter sounded from the children.

“Alfie,” she said, “that is quite enough. This is inappropriate.”

“What are you goin’ to do, Miss Grant?” demanded Peter. “Send us home?”

An approving, joyful howl rolled through the room.

Jane’s cheeks blazed with heat. Whatever Thorne’s good intentions were, he couldn’t help here. It was between her and the children. But it was as though she simply couldn’t find the right words to make them see why they should want to be here.

“No, of course not, but you have to understand—”

But they weren’t listening. Alfie jumped on the chair and started some sort of a wild dance. Peter shook Alfie’s chair, threatening to drop him on the floor, and Jane yelped. While Lily giggled, the rest of the children crumpled the remains of their paper into balls and started a fight. Hercules jumped to his feet and barked in earnest, adding to the mayhem.

“Please!” cried Jane, desperation clawing at her chest. Who was she jesting? She was not a governess, not a teacher or a mother. She was simply a lady, a lady who had been raised to understand etiquette and act with grace, not to control a room full of children. Her upbringing as the daughter of a baron was meant to prepare her to be the wife of a noble lord, spending her time in a drawing room, not the schoolroom. Yet here she was, with no intention to ever marry, chasing a dream that felt as distant as the stars. “Please, everyone, calm down!”

In the midst of the chaos, Hercules ran to the door, barking madly.

The door was flung open, and the most handsome man she’d ever seen stood in the doorway.