Barbara Metzger (7 page)

No woman he knew, she'd be willing to wager. Aloud she said, “Yes, and those women help their husbands plow the fields, too. And then they die young. Maisie needs nourishing meals if she is to nourish the baby. From what I have seen of Mr. Byrd's cooking, tea and hardtack are about his limits."

"That's not hardtack, ma'am,” Byrd put in as he brought a fresh pot of tea into the viscount's study. “They are scones."

"And I am sure they will be excellent teething biscuits for Sue in a few months, Mr. Byrd."

Lesley tried to bite into one of the lumps. He'd always assumed Byrd had lost his front teeth in a prizefight. Now he wasn't so sure. “Very well, a cook. One who can also act as housekeeper, I see."

"Yes, you'll need someone to oversee the female servants, especially since you said you wished to retain day help only."

What he'd said was that Byrd would leave his employ if he filled the house with gossipy, giggly housemaids. He kept reading. “Bootboy, tiger, undernursemaid, scullery maid—Gads, ma'am, this household consists of one person and a child, and I am gone most of the time. You are staffing a palace."

Carissa bit her lip. “I know my estimates are a trifle extravagant, my lord, but the matron at the foundling home happened to mention that she had a quantity of youngsters ready for employment."

Byrd took the pot of cold tea away. “Half-pints and females,” he muttered. “Females and half-pints. It's enough to make a body go back to sea."

"At least he hasn't served notice again.” Lesley sipped at his tea, wondering how he could sneak the scones out to Glad while Mrs. Kane was busy adding lines to her list with a pencil from her pocket. She handed it back to him. “An exercise boy? Why the deuce do I need an exercise boy? I only stable my chestnuts and a gelding here. My other horses are kept at Grosvenor Square or Hart's Rest, my country seat. Both of which, you'll be delighted to know, employ a veritable army of servants."

"The dog, my lord. It occurs to me that if the creature were kept on a lead, taken on long walks—outside this neighborhood—he would not be such a threat to Lovey, ah, Sue. Or the shrubbery. At night the boy could sleep in the stables, guarding the horses.” And keeping the wretched mongrel company.

"I will consider all of this if you will consider coming tomorrow to help with the interviews. You have already been a lifesaver, accomplishing far more than I ever hoped or expected, but I confess I would not know how to begin hiring a cook-housekeeper, to say nothing of an exercise boy."

"I was going to come to see how Maisie and the baby are getting along, but I would be happy to select candidates, for your approval, of course, if Sir Gilliam does not require my presence tomorrow. And I can talk to Matron also, if you wish."

There was a teasing sparkle in the widow's brown eyes that Lesley found enchanting enough that he nodded his agreement. The female was a conniver, like all her sisters, but she was not underhanded about it. He admired that in Mrs. Kane, if not her efficiency. The blasted woman was handing him yet another list.

"They need you at the War Office, madam, to keep the troops better supplied. What is this list about?"

"The other list was what the household needs. This list is what the baby needs, if she is to be here any length of time."

The list was two pages long, in neat double columns. “Good grief, ma'am, Wellington travels with less."

"Wellington is not an infant, my lord. Sue cannot be expected to sleep in a food hamper, you know."

Lesley didn't see why not. The little darling looked adorable in her basket.

"As soon as she learns to turn over, she'll tumble out onto the floor. If you place her on a bed, she might creep to the edge."

Lesley borrowed Carissa's pencil to circle
crib.
“But all this other paraphernalia? Surely babies do not need so many ... things."

Surely they did, Carissa proceeded to convince him. A pram so the child could get outside for healthful fresh air, a rocking chair to help her get to sleep. More blankets and bonnets and booties. Talcum and special soap, a rattle and a teething ring. A cradle so Maisie could lay her down when she came to the kitchen for meals.

"Did you have all of this for your daughter?"

"Yes,” she answered curtly, volunteering no further information.

Hartleigh looked around. “Deuce take it, where the devil is she? The chit is so quiet, I forget she's around half the time."

"Pippa is upstairs with Maisie and the baby, having a nap. And yes, she is a quiet child. Living at Sir Gilliam's, she had to learn to be unobtrusive and well behaved."

Granted the viscount did not know much about youngsters, but he knew the brats on the street were always running and shouting. He could not believe that Philippa Kane's reserve was quite natural. Lesley wondered if the sobersided little chit ever laughed or cried or played with other children, and why not. His curiosity about Mrs. Kane and her daughter was growing.

As was Mrs. Kane's list as she thought of new items an infant needed. “Bibs, of course. How could I have forgotten?” She'd embroidered scores of them for her baby, and smocked so many infant dresses that Pippa hardly wore the same one twice before outgrowing it. Then there were tiny undergarments, for warmth. And wool for sweaters. Carissa could teach Maisie to knit if she did not already know how.

"Where the devil am I going to get all this stuff?” the viscount demanded. He'd be chasing from dry goods stores to furniture warehouses to carriage makers—if the manufacturers of his curricles were the same ones who made baby carriages. And Lesley could just imagine himself going into Mme. Pouquette's millinery shop, where he was used to shopping with his latest barques of frailty, and asking for baby bonnets. “Byrd!"

"I ain't picking out no dainties,” the man replied when shown the list “You want a cravat, that I can buy. Handkerchiefs are at the haberdashers, no argle-bargle there, Cap'n. But nappies and nightgowns for the nit? No way."

Carissa took pity on the helpless males. “Most likely you have nearly everything you need right in the attics of your family home. Most households do."

Hartleigh saw sweet salvation. “Do you have all of your daughter's infant things over at Sir Gilliam's then?"

"No, I had to leave it all behind when I came to London.” Carissa had had to sell everything, the tiny lace-edged caps and the cradle she'd commissioned, everything Pippa had outgrown or could spare, to pay her coach fare. “I didn't need any of it since I was unlikely to have any more children, and there were too many years to wait for grandchildren. I would have been happy to see it used for Sue."

Lesley wondered at the sad look in Mrs. Kane's eyes. Did she miss her husband so much, still, or was she regretting the change in her circumstances? He could not keep from speculating whether she really was what she seemed, a respectable widow fallen on hard times, or a rich man's mistress. She spoke so fondly of the old gent, it was possible. And hidden behind the dreary demeanor was a spirited woman who might appeal to certain men. Not himself, of course, but Sir Gilliam might not desire a dasher.

Mrs. Kane was kind and gentle; anyone could see that from watching her with her daughter. Hell, he owed her his life for finding Maisie, for showing the maid how to change the infant's diapers. He'd have traded his gelding, his diamond stickpin, and Byrd for that alone. But there was some secret Mrs. Kane was holding, some hesitation about her past, as if she were weighing each word. He'd never trusted a woman yet, and saw no reason to take at face value all this one said, or didn't say. But he owed her. He was fairly certain she would not take money for her efforts, but Mrs. Kane had a small, doe-eyed weak spot. She'd never deny her daughter some toys and books, and Lesley knew right where there were cartloads.

"Now that I think on it, the attics at Hammond House must be full of baby things, for my mother never threw anything out. I know all my old toys are still in the nursery. Agatha, my father's second wife, would never exert herself to climb to the upper stories, so I am sure everything is exactly where my mother left it."

"Excellent. Then all you have to do is go over there with a wagon."

Byrd slapped his knee. “Aye, and listen to a lecture on your wicked ways. Lud, I can't wait to hear you tell Lady Hartleigh you're outfitting an infant"

"I was hoping she'd hear of it through the gossip vine and wash her hands of me entirely.” For Carissa's benefit he explained, “The woman is a carping shrew who uses her health as an excuse for her bad behavior. As much as she deplores my style of living, Agatha still has hopes of haranguing me into holy matrimony with one of her rabbit-faced relations. I would not put it past her to try to catch me in parson's mousetrap, either, so I cannot say I relish bearding the lioness in her den. Unfortunately she is my father's widow, so I cannot give her the cut direct or her marching orders."

He did not speak for a minute, contemplating the dire fate of being buckled to one of the Spillhammer sisters. Then he looked up. “But wait. Tomorrow is Wednesday, is it not? They will be attending Almack's, without a doubt. Agatha's agues never seem to occur on evenings of social importance, and there is none more crucial to her sisters’ success than the weekly assembly. She'll never snabble them husbands if she can't pass them off as Quality there."

"Surely the, ah, Spillhammer sisters are Quality or they would never be granted vouchers to attend in the first place,” Carissa chided, revealing a telling familiarity with the ways of the Polite World.

Lesley waved a manicured hand. “Jumped-up gentry. That's why Agatha wanted my father's title so badly, so she'd have the cachet of Hammond House behind her when she tossed the dismal duo on the ton. No, they'll be hunting at Almack's tomorrow night, I guarantee it. Hammond House will be vacant, therefore, so we can steal in, get what we need with no one the wiser, and be gone in less time than it will take Sally Jersey to dragoon some poor sods into dancing with the chits. Madam Housekeeper, how would you like to be a housebreaker?"

[Back to Table of Contents]

"You mean to say Lord Hartleigh is going to sneak into his own home to purloin his own baby clothes?” Sir Gilliam laughed himself into a coughing fit. Carissa jumped up from her seat next to him to pat his back and hand him a glass of water before Mason could. The butler scowled, making him look more like a weasel than ever.

Sir Gilliam had requested that Carissa join him for dinner that evening, as he did on occasion, to Mason's disapproval. She'd put Philippa to bed in the room they shared, hoping she wouldn't awaken, and donned her one evening frock. It was hopelessly out of fashion and she had sewn it herself, of course, but the dark amber crepe made her feel almost pretty. It wasn't black, at least. Carissa coiled her hair into a crown atop her head, not her usual severe bun, and even let a few wisps of soft brown hair curl around her cheeks.

Sir Gilliam had smiled appreciatively, indicating that she should move her plate closer to his, at the top of the linen-draped table. Mason muttered about females knowing their station, female ewes parading as lambs, and females playing off their tricks, too softly for his employer to hear. Mason, of course, had set Carissa's place at the foot, as far away from the aged knight as possible. Sir Gilliam, however, did not wish to miss a word of her report on the neighborhood's most renowned resident.

With tears of laughter in his eyes, the old banker asked her to begin again. “You mean he nearly required smelling salts? Hartleigh?"

"He turned every shade of green as soon as I asked him to dispose of the baby's soiled linens. In all honesty, his lordship wasn't in prime twig to begin with, but that sent him for the nearest basin—and not to put the diapers in, either."

"And then?"

"And then Sue smiled at him. ‘Twas gas, most likely, but our supposedly hard-hearted lord turned to mush in front of my eyes. Why, if Sue could have asked for the moon, I am sure he'd be thinking of ways to get it for her. The little sweetheart will have him firmly wrapped around her tiny fingers as soon as she figures out how."

"And you are going along with him to Hammond House?"

"With your permission, of course, Sir Gilliam."

He brushed aside her concern for his approval. “I have no objection, my dear. You have this place organized so efficiently, it runs itself without you. But is it necessary for you to accompany his lordship?"

"Heaven knows what he will fetch back, else. Between him and his odd manservant, they wouldn't know a cradle from a coal scuttle. And I will put Philippa to sleep at his house, where Maisie can look out for her. Pippa seems fascinated by the baby, and Maisie seems both conscientious and caring."

That suggestion had been Lord Hartleigh's, when Carissa had objected that she could not leave her daughter alone at Sir Gilliam's, for there would be no one to comfort the child if she awoke in the night. In truth, it was Carissa who was anxious, since she had never been parted from Philippa for more than an hour or so, in the four years since her birth.

Sir Gilliam was not convinced of the wisdom of pillaging Hammond House. “Does the child really need so many things?"

"His lordship is going tomorrow to speak to his solicitor about finding a good home for her. He thinks it might take some time, however, since he has no proof that the child is his to give away. Those distinctive blue eyes do not count in a court of law, I suppose. The fact that Sue was left on Lord Hartleigh's doorstep should be proof enough, but he fears his man of affairs will have to track down Sue's mother or a baptismal record or some such."

"I am sure his lordship's man will know which fist to grease, to see him named legal guardian."

"Yes, but that could take considerable time, time in which Sue deserves a proper place to sleep. She might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket, but she is entitled to as many blankets as she needs."

Sir Gilliam placed his gnarled hand over hers at the table. “Be careful, my dear."