He was. “You don’t know that.”
Lydia’s blue gaze turned knowing. “I know indecent men. And you yourself said he did not do what the world thinks he did.” She paused, then added, “And he’s rich enough to save us all.”
If only he knew they were in danger.
Nothing you could say will make me forgive.
Nothing she could say would make him help.
Lydia was still talking. “ . . . but they seem to be enjoying it.”
Laughter and excited chatter streamed from the dining room, returning Mara to the present. She knocked and opened the door, the laughter noise immediately subsiding.
Temple looked up from his place at the head of the table and immediately stood when she entered. The boys followed suit. “Ah,” he said, “Mrs. MacIntyre. We were just finishing our discussion.”
She looked from one boy to the next, each more tight-lipped than his neighbor, appearing as though they’d been instructed in a series of mysterious arts. When her gaze fell on Temple once more, she said, “I trust all is well?”
He nodded, circumspect. “I believe it was a success.”
She left them again, vowing to leave them alone.
That vow lasted a full two hours, until she could no longer stop herself from leaving her office to ostensibly check on the status of luncheon, which happened to take her through the main foyer of the orphanage, where she was unable to miss the line of serious, attentive boys snaking along its edge, each one watching Temple, who stood in the middle of the room, Lavender in hand, Daniel and George with him.
She hesitated at the foot of the stairs, immediately backing away from the space to watch.
“He made me angry,” George was saying, simply. It was not the first time he and Daniel had gone head to head. It would not be the last.
Temple nodded, his attention focused on the boy. “And so?”
“And so I hit him.”
Shock flooded Mara. Physical aggression was not allowed inside MacIntyre’s. Obviously, allowing a bare-knuckle boxer into the orphanage was a horrible idea. She started into the foyer when Temple said, “Why?”
She stopped at the strange question, one she would not have though to ask. One George had trouble answering. He shrugged, looking down at his shuffling feet.
“A gentleman looks into the eyes of those with whom he is speaking.”
George looked up at Temple. “Because I wanted to make him angry, too.”
Temple nodded. “You wanted revenge.”
If the building had collapsed in that moment, Mara could not have stopped watching.
“Yes,” George said.
“And Daniel, did he have it?”
The other boy did not hesitate, pulling himself up straight. “No.”
Temple wanted to smile at the bravado; Mara could see it. Instead, he turned to face the other boy. “Truly? Because you seemed to grow quite angry once you were hit.”
“Of course I did!” Daniel said, as though Temple were mad. “He hit me! I was defending myself!”
Temple nodded, “Which is your right. But do you feel better now that you hit back?”
Daniel scowled. “No.”
Temple turned to George. “And do you feel avenged for whatever slight Daniel inflicted?”
George considered the question, his head tilted as he looked at Daniel for a long moment before he realized the truth. “No.”
Temple nodded. “Why not?”
“Because I am still angry.”
“Precisely. And what else?”
“And now Daniel is angry as well.”
“Exactly. And Lavender?”
The boys looked to Lavender.
“We didn’t see her!” Daniel said.
“She came from nowhere!” George cried.
“And she was nearly caught in your fray. Which could have been painful for her. Perhaps worse.” The boys were horrified. “Let that be the lesson. I am not telling you not to fight. I am simply telling you that when you do, you should do it for the right reasons.”
“Revenge isn’t the right reason?”
He went quiet for a long moment, and Mara held her breath, waiting for his answer. Knowing that he was thinking of something bigger than whatever had started the sparring match between the two boys. “In my experience,” he said, finally, “it does not always proceed as expected.”
What did that mean?
Another pause, and he added, “And sometimes it ends with a piglet in danger.” The boys smiled, George reaching out to pat Lavender’s little pink head as Temple moved on. “Now, more importantly, I would imagine your fists hurt no small amount.”
George shook out his hand. “How did you know that?”
Temple held out his own hand, the size of one of the boys’ heads. He made a fist. “You tucked your thumb inside.” He opened his hand and closed it again. “If you leave it on the outside, the blow hurts less.”
“Would you teach us how to fight?”
He did smile then, one side of his mouth turning up. Lord, he was handsome. And from here, tucked behind the stairs, she could look her fill. No one ever need know.