Minerva smoothed her hands over the plain grey gown she wore, her black hair done up in a simple style of a working woman and covered by a demure hat. Any passerby would have thought her a governess or perhaps the wife of the vicar, just as she preferred when she went into town to deal with the architects and foremen that were concluding their work on the new orphanage building. All the finery didn't belong among the rough and tumble of construction, and truth be told Vera always felt more like herself when she was dressed like this. You could dress the seamstress's daughter in the finest gowns, but you couldn't make her feel like a Duchess.

She stood in front of the newly finished building some ten minutes' walk away from the town of Marshall Glenn, Cornwall, and felt the warm embrace of pride and adoration. This would be the children's new home. One that would never be taken from them. The humble but sturdy building stood two floors tall and was surrounded by a garden for the children to play in. The architecture was tasteful but not plain, the building overall had rather a welcoming look. At the entrance, some of the staff stood waiting for her to begin the tour while the children busied themselves in a game of hide and seek under the watchful eyes of the governess and the tutor.

A flurry of courtesies and bows were offered to her-she never would get used to that bit, she thought- as she entered the orphanage. The architect prattled on about the design and the rooms and the layout; all of which she had heard before, of course, as she had been rather intimately involved with every step of the process. But, the man was rather proud of his work and had been gracious to her in spite of her interference, so she allowed him his moment.

'And lastly, on the left, we would have the boy's quarters.' Concluded Mr. Whitt, the architect she had hired, as a volley of cheers went up behind them. Exasperated, Vera turned to the two miniature hellions that had not listened to her command to stay put in the yard outside with the rest of the children.

'It's so very big, Yer Grace. Are we really going to sleep here? It's so much bigger than the room in the church.' Little Timmy asked, his sweet brown eyes filling with so much awe her heart twisted. She didn't even have it in her to correct his speech. The room in front of her was large enough for the four boys and another four, if the need presented itself. Ever since the roof of the old orphanage building had collapsed, they'd been sleeping in the humble upper chambers of the local church. She thought of the church in her hometown near Boston where children had been piled into one room that was far too small to house even one of them and sent a silent prayer of thanks to her friendly adversary, God, for the good she was able to do with her elevated station.

'Yes, my sweet.' She felt him slide his fingers into her hand and she gave an adoring squeeze back. 'All four of you. And more, if need be.'

'Are the classroom and bathroom on the same floor?' Michael, the other boy, asked, brow furrowed in concern.

'Yes, they are, down the hall to the right for the classrooms and back towards the stairs for the bathrooms.' The architect provided.

'Good.' He nodded, tension leaving his body.

'Why'd ye ask?' Timmy tilted his head in confusion, Michael just rolled his eyes and called him a buffoon under his breath.

'It'd be hard for Nicky to climb every time he needs to take a pi- relieve himself.' He explained with an aged wisdom that had no place in a young boy's countenance and Vera felt her heart flutter with pride. Nicholas was one of the other charges of the orphanage, he had been born with a heart defect and a malformed left leg, making physical exertion very difficult for him. The boy's mother had been a bit too fond of laudanum, even her pregnancy had not prevented her indulgence, the orphanage's administrator had told her.

And his father.... She had no wish to think about the odious aristocrat that had abandoned his sickly by-blow to a negligent mother, not even sparing a shilling to provide for him. The man was now looking for a wealthy heiress to save him from his debts, not unlike how she had ended up wedded to the Duke of Rothbury. The blackguard had had the audacity to ask his friends to introduce him to American businessmen with daughters of a marriageable age because no peer's daughter would have him.

Vera's mouth twisted in distaste at the comparison of her circumstances to those of whichever poor girl he would take as his wife, and it occurred to her that while Rothbury was a sorry excuse of a husband, he was at least honest. They had never courted, she was never made to believe that their marriage was anything more than an arrangement that had suited them both for different reasons. Her husband would never have her affection, but he damn well had her respect and the comparison to Nicky's father had been an insult to both him and Vera.

'Yes, you're absolutely right.' Vera nodded, shaking her head to free herself from the dark turn of her thoughts. 'The dining hall is on this floor too. Only the storage rooms, the offices, and the ladies' bedrooms are upstairs.'

Michael nodded in approval then dragged Nicholas with him back to where the rest of the children were playing, clearly satisfied with their appraisal of their new home. As the children left, she saw Mister Steele, the administrator, approach with the governess and tutor in tow. They offered polite greetings and fell into conversation.

'Everything seems to be in order, I wager we can start shifting in this afternoon after the children have had lunch.' Steele smiled graciously. 'Once again, I cannot thank you enough for your generosity, Your Grace.'

'Some of the mothers in the village were wondering if their children could join in with the children's lessons, what do you think of that, Your Grace?' Steele asked. 'Some even offered to pay a small fee for it. There would be about five more children in total.'

'It's hardly up to me, what say you Miss Gerard and Mister Tomes? Are you up to the task?' She nodded at the other two in their company. The governess and tutor hastily gave their assent, commenting that there would be no issues.

'We should also send a gift to the vicar and his wife for housing the children for the last few months.' She murmured thoughtfully.

'And we must find an apprenticeship for Robert, he will be four and ten come autumn. He is growing restless and wants to find employment. If he starts to work, it will be a good example for the rest of the boys, too.'

Vera murmured her assent and made a mental note to speak to the local carpenter about taking Robert on since Robert had no love whatsoever for his books. The carpenter would likely oblige her, given that she had sent a significant business his way during the refurnishing of her own home as well as the new orphanage.

'I think,' Tomes interceded with a conspiratorial wink at Miss Gerard, who colored prettily at the gesture. 'That Robert is sweet on the vicar's daughter, hence his eagerness to become an earning man.'

'A sweet thing, isn't it?' Vera beamed. She had indeed just seen Robert picking some wildflowers outside.

'I suppose we all should go back to the church and start moving. It is high time, I dare say, for the children to come home.' Mister Steele sighed wistfully and offered her a gracious bow, her other companions followed suit and shuffled out.

She did not feel like returning to her home just yet, every time she was alone she found herself feeling incredibly gloomy. All the sad thoughts would just envelope her. Thoughts of Mama and Papa and Charlie and Benedict. In her worst moments, she even thought of the man who had stolen her childhood from her when she had resolved to never let him control her from beyond his grave. And then she would force herself to think of Richard so that she could come back to reality and not get swept up in the torrent of despair that threatened to drown her.

How let down would poor Papa be, to see that she was such an abject humiliation to the title he had bought for her? The odious business with Richard was only the final nail in the coffin, but it was not as if she was the toast of the ton before. She was too unrefined, too forward, and she didn't know how to play their games of witty snubs and cold setdowns. She was useless with a needle, she couldn't ride for her life and she only spoke passable Italian that her tutor had to shove down her throat.

She shook her head, trying to physically disperse her thoughts as she resolved to go visit the carpenter and the vicar's wife. And yet, she couldn't help but feel absolutely wretched. She was so embarrassed, so lonely and she desperately wished she could disappear.

Why had Papa done this to her?

She knew the answer to that of course, he had known that he was dying and he had wanted a secure future for his stepdaughter. For the daughter of the woman he had loved with his whole heart. The New Money families of Boston and New York found no appeal in her enormous dowry, and her common breeding, of course, was something they all disdained. And so her poor Papa had set his sights on England in order to find her a husband. It had been easy enough for him to find the late Duke of Rothbury, it was funny and a little sad how low an addiction to opium and some bad investments had brought a man as mighty as her father-in-law. He basically sold his sons off in order to escape the hole he had dug for himself.

Money, my sweet child, comes and goes. The influence, security, and prestige that this man can afford you are unparalleled. I have more money than I need, so if I can use it to buy these things for you, then use it I shall.

He had said that about Charlie and not Benedict, of course, but it little signified. It was the title her Papa had intended for her, whichever brother bore it had been of little matter.

She wondered now, what would have happened if she hadn't been cowed by the debt she owed her stepfather and had refused to marry both Benedict and Charlie? Easy enough to think about such things as a woman of six and twenty than a child of nine and ten who thought that the world would end if she let down the only father figure she had ever had. He had been doing what he thought was best. She had never doubted his love for her.

Sometimes, she thought traitorously about what her life would be like if Charlie, indeed had not died as he had. He had been at his heart, a kind man. He made effort to make her laugh, to get to know her. He had bought her gifts. He could have loved her, unlike Benedict. He would have tried to be a good husband. Perhaps not a faithful one but a kind one, though it was not as if it was any different now.

But he had been a wastrel, too fond of both the drink and the gambling tables, compounding their debts each night he was out. Could she have ever looked at him with fondness, given her incredible distaste for his habits?

No. She was too full of raw emotion in that regard. Even during their betrothal, when he would speak to her with the smell of gin on his breath she would have the most vivid, unpleasant flashbacks to her childhood. She would recoil at his very touch, how it used to sicken her to her stomach.

Doubtless, his death had been a terrible, senseless thing. And yet, perhaps one of the only selfish acts of her life, she had been shamefully relieved.