The Pursuits Of Lord Kit Cavanaugh. Stephanie Laurens

the rear of the procession came a burly youth bearing another huge platter of sandwiches.

      “There you go, your lordship.” The tavern wife, having set down her burden, turned to Kit with a huge smile. “Been a pleasure doing business, and if you need anything else, just send, and we’ll deliver.”

      Kit smiled. “Thank you. This should be sufficient, but”—he tipped his head toward the boys, now gathering in an expectant pack and eyeing the sandwiches as if they were gold—“with a lot like this, one never knows.”

      “Aye, you have that right.” The tavern wife beamed at the children, then looked shrewdly around. “A good idea, this—keeps them off the streets and teaches them their letters and hopefully”—she mock-glared at the boys—“some manners as well.”

      The entire platoon of boys adopted angelic expressions.

      “Huh.” The tavern wife turned from the boys and looked at Sylvia. “If you’d like, miss, me and Bertha can stay and take the platters and things away later. And we’ll make sure there’s no ruckus over the serving.”

      “Thank you. That would be a help.” Sylvia motioned to Miss Meggs. “We’ll get the boys in order and send them to you.”

      Kit found a stool against the wall, perched on it, and watched Sylvia and Miss Meggs, assisted by Jellicoe and Cross, marshal the boys into a queue in order of youngest to oldest.

      Next came the men he’d hired, all good-naturedly grinning and chatting with each other and, occasionally, with the two teachers.

      Once the boys and men had helped themselves, Sylvia waved Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs to the table, then looked at Kit.

      He rose and ambled across to join her as she trailed at the end of the queue.

      The platters of sandwiches had held up under the onslaught; there were still more than enough left to satisfy even Kit. Not that he was all that hungry; he’d enjoyed a substantial breakfast courtesy of Dalgetty, the male cook Gordon had hired, who had proved to have an excellent grasp of what men like Kit preferred to eat.

      After helping himself to one of the substantial sandwiches and a mug of the sharp cider, he perched on a stool beside Sylvia and the teachers and Miss Meggs and ate.

      Cross gestured at Kit with his sandwich. “Thank you, my lord. This sets the icing on our day.”

      “Indeed.” Jellicoe tipped his head Kit’s way. “I have to own to being amazed. I would never have imagined we could shift the entire school in less than a day. And with no fuss, much less major dramas.” Jellicoe gestured widely with his mug. “This took teamwork—and is an excellent lesson for the boys in what can be accomplished when we all pull together.”

      The others, Kit included, nodded.

      From the corner of his eye, he watched Sylvia nibble delicately on a sandwich...

      He shifted on the stool and told himself to focus on something else.

      Such as Cavanaugh Yachts and what more he could do to move things along.

      The answer was: not a great deal at this moment in time.

      Strangely, he felt comfortably resigned to that.

      He’d been facing a day of frustrating inactivity as far as getting the workshop under way, but thanks to Sylvia and the school and all who had crossed his path that day, he was feeling content in the sense of having achieved something worthwhile.

      He glanced around the hall—at the boys happily sitting cross-legged on the floor, at the men...

      An earlier idea resurfaced in his mind.

      He turned to Sylvia and the others. When they looked at him inquiringly, he tipped his head toward the men, gathered in a circle beyond the boys. “Do any of you know if any of those who’ve assisted us today are carpenters? Or for that matter, whether any of the boys’ fathers or relatives are shipwrights or carpenters?”

      Jellicoe replied, “I would say almost certainly, but we tend not to make a point of their fathers’ occupations.”

      “That said,” Miss Meggs put in, “I do know that several of the boys are only at the school because it’s free, and their fathers aren’t here now because they’re out looking for work, as they are every day. Other men, sadly, have simply given up. What with the new iron ships and what I understand are changes in construction, a lot of the older shipwrights and carpenters have been out of work for years.”

      Kit nodded. “Those are the sort of experienced craftsmen my partner and I are seeking to hire.” He transferred his gaze to Sylvia. “Would it be all right if I asked the boys to take home word of Cavanaugh Yachts and that we’re hiring shipwrights and carpenters?”

      “I can’t see why not.” Sylvia looked at Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs, who all looked as unperturbed by Kit’s suggestion as she. She turned back to him. “By all means. The more boys with fathers employed, the better.”

      Kit grinned and polished off his sandwich. He drained his mug, then returned it to the trestle and continued deeper into the hall. After passing the boys with a general smile, he stopped by the men, seated on the floor; when they started to gather themselves to rise, he waved them back.

      “First, to your wages.” He drew the pouch of shillings from his pocket, crouched, counted out the coins, and paid each man.

      All grinned and thanked him, genial and relaxed.

      “Now, to further business.” Kit returned the depleted pouch to his pocket. “My partner and I are starting up a yacht-building business in the old warehouse—that’s why we had to move the school here. We’re looking to hire shipwrights and carpenters—those skilled in assembling wooden hulls.” He now had the men’s avid attention—and that of the boys, their ears wagging as well; he included the latter group with a glance. “If you know of any craftsmen with experience in those fields, then my partner—Mr. Wayland Cobworth—would be happy to see them at the warehouse from tomorrow. We’ll be starting work then, fitting out the warehouse as our workshop.”

      The men exchanged glances, then one of them said, “We’ll pass the word around. Some may be interested.”

      Kit nodded and rose. “Thank you.” He looked at the tavern wife and her nearly empty table. “By all means take any food left over—we wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

      The men grinned and scrambled to their feet. “Aye, m’lord.” One saluted him. “We’ll head off now, if all’s done?”

      Kit consulted Sylvia, then they stood together on the porch and waved the men away.

      At a call for a moment’s assistance from Miss Meggs, Kit ducked back inside.

      The tavern wife and her daughter, carrying the empty platters and jugs and the basket of mugs, appeared in the doorway.

      Sylvia stepped aside to allow them to pass. “Thank you for that feast.”

      “Our pleasure, miss,” the tavern wife replied. “If you’ve ever the need for the like again, just stop in—we’re only around the corner on the Butts.”

      Sylvia assured the woman that she would remember, then stood and watched the pair walk off up the street. She was about to turn inside when her attention snagged on an older lady, garbed head to toe in black bombazine, who was standing poker straight behind the gate of a house farther up the street. The woman was staring fixedly at the school. There was something in the concerted focus of the woman’s stare that left Sylvia with the impression it was more of a glare.

      After a moment, she mentally shrugged, turned, and went into the hall.

      “I can’t believe we’re almost done!” Miss Meggs appeared and showed Sylvia the long list of activities the assistant had compiled, each now struck through. Miss Meggs looked to where Kit was assisting Cross and Jellicoe in placing the big blackboards, which, given that the hall was properly leased,