Authors: Lord Heartless
Barbara Metzger (8 page)
Carissa knew he wasn't thinking about the raid on Hammond House but the rake.
Lord Hartleigh decided to stay in that evening. Byrd asked if he was ill, and the dog sniffed at him, as if he were a stranger in the house at night. He was exhausted, for one thing, not that he expected to get much sleep with a crying infant around, and worried about Maisie and the baby, for another. Would the young maid know what to do if Sue took sick? What if, heaven forfend, the babe did indeed fall out of the basket? Lesley knew precisely what to do: run across the street to fetch Mrs. Kane.
The widow had to be the most competent woman in his extensive experience. As he lay between clean, fresh-smelling sheets, Lesley mused how he had never considered competency to be a requirement in a wife. A fellow certainly didn't look for brisk efficiency in a mistress. He could see how life could be more pleasant in the hands of a capable female, however, easier on one's constitution. He was looking forward to the occasional meal at his own board, finding his books all in one place, having his apparel in order.
Why, if the new cook and servants turned out to be halfway acceptable, Lesley thought he might even invite some of his cronies over for dinner and cards one evening. Repay their hospitality, as it were. No, he amended, imagining the widow's pursed lips and pointed chin, dinner only. His acquaintances tended to become too raucous as the hours passed, much too loud for a sleeping baby.
Lesley had his best night's sleep in ages, dreaming about Mrs. Kane. He only checked on the baby three times, when he heard a noise, or pretended he did. The first time Maisie was sitting up in bed, nursing Sue. She was mortified, not because of the baby at her carefully draped breast, the way Mrs. Kane had shown her, but because she'd let the baby's cries disturb his lordship's rest. She'd get faster about the diapering, she promised.
The second time, when no one answered his soft scratch on the door, he tiptoed in. By the light of the oil lamp left burning on a dresser, he could see Maisie fast asleep on the wide bed, with the baby's basket next to her, and pillows mounded on the basket's other side. Sue was in no danger of falling. He leaned over the pillows and touched her angel-soft cheek.
"I will find you a good family, little one, never fear.” The baby reached out and grabbed his finger and raised it to her mouth. She sucked a few times, then went back to sleep. “A very good family."
After the child's supper Wednesday night, Carissa prepared to take Philippa across the street, along with her nightclothes, her doll, her favorite blanket, two books, and some gingerbread to share with Maisie. Carissa would also have brought Pippa's pillow, the miniature of her father that Pippa was used to saying her prayers to, and a jug of warmed milk. It was Pippa who dissuaded her, declaring, “Mama, I am not a baby, you know."
"You are
my
baby.” And what business did she have, Carissa asked herself as she put down extra food for her cat, going off with a notorious womanizer? Why, she'd feel like an intruder, if not a burglar, visiting a house whose front door was firmly closed to her by reason of her position. Lord Hartleigh should have sent her with a note to his housekeeper. Better, he should have had the staff at Hammond House pack up whatever baby things they found and send it all on to him in Kensington, to sort through there. Best of all, the blond-haired rogue should have kept his britches buttoned. But then they wouldn't have Sue, of course.
And Mrs. Kane wouldn't be abandoning her duties at Sir Gilliam's, for which she was guilt-ridden. Neither would she be abandoning her own precious daughter in a strange house with an inexperienced nursery maid, for which Carissa was petrified. Pippa could get eaten by a dog that should have been abandoned to his fate ages ago.
"Gladiator is harmless, I tell you,” Lord Hartleigh said, trying to reassure his nervous co-conspirator, “and Philippa seems to like him."
Carissa looked around the tidied study until she found her daughter. Pippa was sitting quietly alongside the hearth. The fingers of her left hand were in her mouth; Pippa's right hand was in the dog's mouth, feeding that filthy, hulking cur her gingerbread! If that wasn't enough to strike terror in a mother's heart, Pippa switched hands.
Carissa shrieked, causing Byrd to drop the plate he was carrying of the new cook's excellent pastries. Glad was there before the first macaroon touched the floor. Of course, he'd had to knock Pippa over to get to the fallen delicacies and step right across her, too. Mrs. Kane screamed again. The viscount dove to right the child, tripped over the dog, and bumped his head on the mantel. And Pippa laughed.
Lesley glared at the child, Mrs. Kane glared at him, Byrd glared at the widow, and Pippa laughed some more. The dog, of course, ate the rest of the macaroons.
Carissa was wiping Pippa's hands with her handkerchief. “That's enough. I cannot go to Hammond House with you, my lord. You might choose to leave your daughter with a ravening beast, but I do not."
"Mama, you are fussing again."
Now Lesley looked at the child approvingly. “Yes, Mrs. Kane, you are worrying over naught. I for one enjoyed hearing the child laugh, even if it was at my expense. But if it will make you feel better, we can take Glad with us."
Ride in the carriage with the creature? Carissa would rather go to the tooth drawer. “No, this is simply not a good idea. Surely you can locate a cradle without my assistance. I can draw you a picture."
"The dog can ride up with Byrd, ma'am. Unless you are getting cold feet? I thought you were made of sterner stuff, Mrs. Kane."
Somehow she did not wish to appear one of those niminypiminy females, afraid of their shadows. And she wanted this handsome lord to look on her approvingly, also. Without stopping to inspect her motives, Carissa agreed. If she was lucky, perhaps the animal would fall off, or run off. If she was luckier yet, perhaps their route would take them past the Tower menagerie. Gladiator could be tossed to the lions.
The butler at Hammond House should have been guarding the palace gates, he was so stony-faced and toplofty. He looked past the viscount's shoulder to welcome Lord Hartleigh to his own house, ignoring the unaccompanied, unfashionable female with him. “I regret, milord, that Lady Hartleigh and the Misses Spillhammer are not at home. Almack's, milord.” His tone said he regretted having to open the door to anyone not granted vouchers for that pillar of propriety. “Would you care to leave a message?"
"Agatha insisted I hire Wimberly,” Lesley whispered to Carissa. “She thought Hammond House needed a more dignified majordomo than a retired prizefighter."
"I thought Mr. Byrd was a sailor.” Carissa would have laughed at the idea of Lady Hartleigh's morning callers being welcomed by a tattooed butler, but Wimberly was staring down his nose at her cloak. The viscount had removed her worn woolen mantle from Carissa's shoulders and held it out. The butler snapped his fingers for a footman to come remove the plebeian garment from the marble entry.
"No, Wimberly, I did not come to visit with the ladies. Mrs. Kane and I have come to select some things from the attics and the nursery. We'll need a couple of strong footmen to bring the things down, and a carriage to transport it all to Kensington."
"The nursery, milord?"
"Yes, you know, where one places small persons to keep them from staining the upholstery."
"But, milord, you cannot. That is, Lady Hartleigh would wish to—"
"Wimberly, whose house is this?"
"Yours, milord, but—"
"And who owns everything in it?"
"You do, milord, but Lady Hartleigh will have my—"
"And who pays your overinflated salary, Wimberly?"
"How many footmen did you say you required, milord?"
So they started in the attics, with lanterns. Lord Hartleigh had been right: His mother never discarded anything, nor did the three viscountesses previous to her. Luckily most of the trunks and boxes were labeled. While Carissa went through bundles of blankets and linens, all laid out with lavender, Lesley searched for the larger things they needed. He went past sleds and small beds and cricket bats and half-size top hats, until he reached a low-ceilinged section. He found an elevated chair, but that wasn't on Mrs. Kane's list, likely because Sue couldn't sit up yet. He directed the footmen to carry it down, just in case. He couldn't decide between his choice of three cradles, so he took two. He preferred the wicker pram to the heavy wooden one, but thought he'd have a new one made for Sue anyway.
Carissa had unrolled a frayed carpet onto the floor, noting that the attic was cleaner than the viscount's other house had been before the cleaners came. She started opening trunks and placing her selections on the rug, which could be folded over and carried down the stairs. “Some of the bonnets will need to be bleached, and I fear moths have gotten into one or two of the sweaters, but I should be able to mend them. The rattle needs polishing, of course, but I think that is everything, my lord."
The mound was as high as his waist. “Lud, I should hope so. There will be no room for Sue in that little bedroom."
On their way out of the attics, they passed a stack of paintings. The first one was of a beautiful woman in court dress of the previous century. “My mother,” Lord Hartleigh told Carissa. “Right after her marriage. This portrait used to hang in the library, before Agatha got here."
Carissa couldn't blame the viscountess for banishing the painting. What woman wanted to be compared to her husband's exquisite first wife? “Why don't you take it with us? The Kensington house could use something pretty."
Lesley nodded to the footmen. He also pointed to a vase he recalled from his mother's sitting room, an embroidered fire screen, and a footed sewing basket. “Perhaps Maisie could mend the baby's clothes if needed."
"We are going to require another wagon soon if you don't stop."
"But we haven't even inspected the nursery."
"I cannot imagine what's left that an infant could use, especially in the short time Sue will be in London. You did see your solicitor today, didn't you?"
Lesley said something about the man making inquiries but was already on his way to the lower level. Carissa had to trail behind him, hoping the viscount did not intend to give the baby his toy soldiers or some such. He was looking around the schoolroom, directing the footmen to lift this small chair, that pile of picture books. The rocking horse, with its flowing mane and glass eyes, he carried himself.
"It will be years before Sue can ride that thing,” Carissa protested. “And you said yourself how crowded her room will be."
"It's not for Sue. I thought Pippa would like it."
A rocking horse? Carissa thought of all the things she had never been able to give her daughter, would never be able to provide: other children to play with, a proper governess, riding lessons, and more. Toys were the least of it. She'd saved her pennies just to provide ribbons for Philippa's hair and a scrap of lace for her petticoats. Carissa had never so much as considered a rocking horse, it was that far beyond her finances. Pippa would adore it, but...
They were on facing seats of his carriage, the rocking horse on the floor between them. Carissa almost reached out to touch the wooden steed's silky black mane, but she caught herself in time. “I am sorry, my lord, I cannot accept."
"The toy is not for you, Mrs. Kane. It is for your daughter."
She rubbed her hands together, cold from the chill of the attics. “You must know that it would not be proper for me to accept so lavish a gift."
He leaned closer, as if he would take her hands in his and warm them. Speak of improper! Carissa sat back against the squabs.
"Mrs. Kane,” he was saying, “if I wished to make you an improper present, I would offer jewels or furs. Or a real horse. Do you ride?"
"Of course,” she answered without thinking, though there was no “of course” to a housekeeper's equine experience. “And now you are talking fustian. You must know I could never let you provide me a horse, even if I had the time to ride, which I do not. You forget that I am in service."
"No, I don't. I only wish you worked for me. I don't suppose you'd reconsider?"
"Leaving Sir Gilliam? Never. But you are merely trying to change the subject,” she accused, and his boyish grin in the glow from the carriage lamp proved her right. “I cannot accept such an expensive gift, not even on Pippa's behalf."
Lesley sighed. He'd known this was going to be difficult. “Mrs. Kane, do you have any idea how helpful you have been to me?"
"Gammon. Anyone would have done the same."
"Hardly. So-called ladies wouldn't know where to start, if they deigned to acknowledge Sue's existence in the first place. They let nannies and governesses rear their own infants, then send them off to school. No, Mrs. Kane, you have been invaluable. And you will not let me reward you financially, will you?"
"Pay me? Of course not! Why, that would be infamous, taking money to help an innocent child. Especially when Sir Gilliam already pays me a very fair wage. Besides, I quite enjoyed myself. Why, the look on Wimberly's face when you walked out with the rocking horse was worth every minute of my time."
"And Pippa shouldn't enjoy herself?"
"Whatever can you mean?” Carissa asked, ready to take affront that he'd think she would deny Pippa anything in her power to provide. “She likes the baby very well and was quite looking forward to the adventure of sleeping away from home tonight."
"I mean, Mrs. Kane, that it seems to me your daughter does not laugh nearly enough. Winning a smile from Miss Philippa is a rare and golden treasure that I would hope to repeat. If I cannot repay you for your goodness, at least let me show my gratitude in this simple manner. I am not being extravagant, either; Old Blackie here has been gathering dust for decades. And I am not asking you to compromise your principles. This is just a repayment of debts, between friends."
"Friends.” Carissa repeated the unfamiliar word. It had been so long since she'd had a real friend. And it had been forever since anyone had given Pippa a gift, she realized, other than herself. Certainly not the father who couldn't wait for his daughter's birth to leave them for the army, and not the grandfather who refused to acknowledge the child of a match he had not arranged. Sir Gilliam was generous, handing Carissa a shilling or two to purchase something for the child at Christmas or her birthday, but that money was carefully hoarded against the future. Carissa had vowed never again to be at the mercy of callous fates. Now this. Blackie was the most beautiful gift anyone had ever received, right after Lord Hartleigh's friendship.
