“One more minute,” she groaned.
“In another minute she will knock the door down and the situation will be far worse,” Neil observed.
“Whose voice is that? Who is in there?”
Something she heard must have finally penetrated her brainbox because she started like a frightened fawn and tried to sit but ended up falling off the couch. Neil winced when he heard the thump. He probably should have caught her, but he rather thought he’d held her enough for the time being.
She popped up again, pushing her tousled hair back from her face. She looked at him. “Oh no.” Then she looked about the room. “Oh no.” Then she looked at the door. “Oh no!”
“Juliana Rose, if you do not open this door this minute, I will have this man—What is your name, sir?” There was a muttered reply. “This Mr. Goring knock it down.”
“Mrs. Dunwitty?” Juliana asked more to herself than anyone else.
“It is I. You did write to me, did you not? And this is the welcome I receive!”
Her gaze met Neil’s, and there was the panicked-fawn look again. “She cannot find us here together.”
Neil’s brows drew together. “Do you want me to hide like some sort of rake?”
“No, of course not.” She looked wildly about. “I want you to escape through the window.”
“With whom are you speaking, Juliana? I know there is someone in there with you. Open this door.”
“Just a moment, Mrs. Dunwitty!”
“Who is Mrs. Dunwitty?”
“This is no time for questions!” She rose, grasped his hands, and yanked him up. His back protested, but he stood anyway.
“Jump out the window,” she demanded, rushing across the room and yanking the draperies back from the rectangular window looking out on the street, obscured somewhat by a light fog. At least the rain had ceased.
She tried to push the sill up, her face turning as red as her hair as she strained.
“I cannot jump out the window.”
“This is the first floor,” she said between clenched teeth. “You won’t be hurt.”
“What I mean is the window is sealed.”
She slumped down, breathing heavily. She was dressed in her robe and night rail again. The robe had come open, exposing the vee of her breasts, and though Neil had been trying to keep his eyes on her face, all of those heaving breaths made it difficult to act the gentleman.
She gave him a pained expression. “Why is the window sealed?”
“I sealed all the windows whose locks were broken beyond repair.”
“And what shall we do if there is a fire?”
“Break the window or use the door.” The pounding on the door to the parlor resumed. “Speaking of breaking doors, you should probably let her in.”
“I can’t do that! Do you know who she is?”
“No. You said there was no time for questions.” Neil crossed the room. Apparently, he would have to admit the dragon, else he would be repairing this door later, and God knew he had enough on his hands with patching the leaky roof, building a rodent enclosure, and keeping Slag away from Juliana. Neil opened the door. He spotted Mr. Goring right away. The servant looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. Behind him, every boy in the orphanage, in various states of dress—or undress—had lined up to gawk at the newcomer.
Neil had to look down to address her. She was easily the most petite woman he had ever met. He doubted she was five feet in pattens. She wore all black and her small face looked up at him from under a tiny hat perched on a tower of white hair. He remembered reading that Marie Antoinette had worn towering wigs with birds and ships and probably whole pleasure gardens depicted in them. This woman’s hair was not a wig, but it was piled high enough that a nest of birds could inhabit it. He couldn’t help but wonder how she kept the hat pinned in place.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Neil had never been called charming. He was a soldier through and through, better with orders and strategies than charisma. Rafe was the charming one, but at that moment, Neil would have traded places with his friend. He bowed, giving the gesture a flourish he’d seen Rafe make many times. “Major Neil Wraxall at your service.” He never used his rank any more, but he needed all the fortification he could in the face of this tiny tyrant.
Mrs. Dunwitty put her hands on her tiny waist. “And what were you doing in the parlor with Lady Juliana, Major?”
The lady certainly did not have a small voice. Neil was fairly certain all of Spitalfields had heard the question. He held his hands up defensively. “Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then why was the door locked?”
“For…safety?”
Juliana rushed out of the room then, and Neil wished she had taken a moment to right her appearance. Not that he minded her rumpled hair or her gaping robe. But he minded Mrs. Dunwitty the Terrible seeing her thus. Mrs. Dunwitty’s large, green eyes widened behind her spectacles. “Lady Juliana! What on earth!”
Neil glanced at Mr. Goring, who quickly looked at the ceiling as though something up there interested him greatly. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private,” Neil suggested.
Mrs. Dunwitty glanced behind her, seeming to notice the audience of orphans for the first time. “Boys,” she said, her voice full of authority. “March right back upstairs. I want you in the dining room in twenty minutes—beds made, teeth brushed, hair combed, and dressed impeccably.” She clapped her hands. “Off with you!”
To Neil’s astonishment, the boys scattered, running like squirrels when a carriage approached. He could have used Mrs. Dunwitty in the dragoons. As the boys retreated, he heard Charlie say, “What does ‘’peccably’ mean?”
“I don’t know,” Robbie answered. “But we’d better do it.”
“And you.” Mrs. Dunwitty looked at Mr. Goring. “Do you not have duties to attend to?”
“Yes, madam. I’ll see to them right away.”
Then she turned her gaze on him. “If you would, Major.” She gestured to the parlor. Juliana scurried in and Neil followed. Mrs. Dunwitty closed the door with a thud behind them. “Now, I think we all know what happened here.”
Juliana shook her head. “No, madam, you do not. Nothing happened.”
“Do not talk back to me, young lady. I may not be a woman of the world, but I am not a fool. A man and a woman alone in a locked room is bound to lead to frolics.”
“Madam,” Neil said as seriously as he could, “I vow there was no frolicking between Lady Juliana and me.”
She glared at him. “And even if I believe you, sir, what does that matter? It is the appearance of frolicking that is the problem. You have ruined the lady whether you had your wicked way with her or not.”
“My wicked way?” If he wasn’t afraid she’d smash him over the head with her cane, he might have protested further. How fitting that he, of all men, should be accused of deflowering the lady.
“I am not ruined, Mrs. Dunwitty. Not that it matters. I told you that I will not marry. Regardless, Mr. Wraxall did not compromise me. He arrived late last night and fell asleep on the couch in the parlor. I…accidentally fell asleep too.”
Neil studied her expression. There was more to the story, but he would wait until he was alone with Lady Juliana to hear it. He rather wondered how the lady had come to be asleep in his arms this morning.
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“It is the truth.”
Mrs. Dunwitty looked at Neil, and he nodded his agreement.
“Very well,” said Mrs. Dunwitty, seating herself in one of the armchairs. “I will accept that explanation for the time being. But we have not finished our discussion of this matter. However, I see there may be more pressing matters to discuss. You wrote that you needed a teacher?”
“Yes. Have you come to help?”
So this was Lady Juliana’s former governess. It all made sense. No wonder she played the overzealous chaperone. And no wonder Lady Juliana had asked for her assistance. If anyone could teach these boys, it was obviously Mrs. Dunwitty the Terrible.