An Improper Proposal (The Distinguished Rogues Book 6) (3 page)

Martin glanced over the housekeeper carefully, considering his options and Mrs. Hughes. He judged her at least fifty, with her white hair and well-rounded figure any child would like to cuddle up to. Although Vivian’s employee, she had a value beyond price. She was here. She would do for the child.

“Leave everything as it is.” He gestured at the tiny shape the woman leaned over. “An orphanage isn’t necessary.”

Mrs. Hughes met his gaze, eyes boring into his. “Will you take responsibility for her upbringing?”

“Yes.” He sighed deeply. His life was about to get a great deal more complicated and that couldn’t be helped. An illegitimate child could be embarrassing for his family so he would have to make plans to remove her from London soon. He truly wished he had known of it before so he might have made better arrangements. “The child is to remain here, under your care for the time being.”

“Mine? Oh no.” Mrs. Hughes shook her head. “I am the housekeeper, not a nursemaid.”

“Appearances to the contrary. You have the touch too.” The babe had fallen fast asleep under Mrs. Hughes’s gentle hands. “And you seem more than capable to care for the child.”

She straightened and met his gaze squarely. “It is not as simple as that. As much as I wish to help you, it is out of the question. I had but a week of service left to my mistress at the time of her death and I have already delayed long enough. You don’t need me. She has a wet-nurse to appease her hunger, but the woman is owed wages already in order to keep her coming back.”

Martin dug into his pocket and considered what coin he had. A wet-nurse often had other responsibilities, didn’t they? A family of her own to feed. He’d pay well to keep the wet-nurse coming back to look after the child. He handed over a generous payment. “I will pay you double your previous wages.”

“Double? Sir, you misunderstand. It is not a question of money but of affection.” Mrs. Hughes skimmed her fingers over the little girl’s cheeks. “She’s a darling girl and I will miss her so much.”

Martin scowled. “Then don’t go.”

“I had forgotten how formidable you could be, but it changes nothing.” Mrs. Hughes straightened her shoulders. “I am sorry to let you down, my lord. I’m letting you both down, but a woman my age doesn’t get too many second chances. You see, I am to be married. My Reginald is a dear man and willing to wait until you’ve found my replacement. But you must be quick about it. I am leaving this place as soon as arrangements can be made.”

He scraped his fingers over his skull. This couldn’t be happening to him. First the mother of his child and now her housekeeper. He glanced down at the cloth-wrapped bundle sleeping in blissful ignorance while he discussed upending her world, and the beginnings of panic crept over him. He could not care for her himself. She had to remain a secret and safe from mishap. Perhaps forever. “If I were not as I am, I would not need you to stay.”

Mrs. Hughes sighed. “There are many good women who could easily take my place as housekeeper. Nothing has to change in the arrangements already made. The house is more than adequate; the staff is loyal and discreet. You must think of your reputation. Your cousin’s reputation is at stake as well.”

He glanced at her sharply. “What do you know of my cousin?”

Mrs. Hughes appeared abashed and glanced down swiftly. “Only that you have one living with you. My mistress took an interest and spoke of her often in respect to her prospects of making a match.”

He’d clearly unburdened himself once too often if Vivian’s servants were aware of his cousin’s dubious chances of making a good marriage. “My cousin’s prospects are the reason no one must ever learn of the child, do you understand?”

“I understand completely. Your secret is safe with me.” Mrs. Hughes stepped back. “I will speak to my Reginald and maybe he could be willing to wait a bit longer.”

Surely the additional funds of her doubled wages would sway him. “I would appreciate that. This situation has caught me unawares.”

“Of course. A man of your reputation must do the right thing, and carefully, to protect the innocent from harm. I always thought you a kind man. I know you will take good care of the little one.”

Martin tucked the blankets a little more snugly around the child’s tiny shoulders. He would never hurt the babe. Not intentionally. When he compared his hands to the child’s size, he had even more incentive to keep a distance. When he glanced up, Mrs. Hughes beamed at him. He jerked his hands back. He should not get too attached to the girl. Once his head ceased to spin from the shock, he’d send her away from London for his own piece of mind.

He groaned under his breath. Juggling one more demand could prove difficult. He didn’t want to think of how his friends would look at him should they learn he’d a bastard child living not one mile from his home. He’d be a laughingstock among the
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and he had no excuse for his carelessness. And as Mrs. Hughes had pointed out, there was Whitney. She had to be kept ignorant too, if that was at all possible. “I’ll visit the Godwin Employment Agency today and see about a replacement housekeeper.”

“That would be for the best.” She fussed with straightening the room then paused at the door. “Should you like me to interview the women they send?”

By rights, he should do that himself. After all, the woman he hired would be responsible for the child, but perhaps Mrs. Hughes would understand what her needs might be where he did not. If he was not present, no one might connect him with the child for some time as well. “I will make arrangements for all interviews to be conducted here.”

“Very good, my lord.” She slipped from the room.

Martin stayed to watch the child sleep for some minutes. A daughter? He couldn’t help but reach out to touch the soft hair on her tiny head even as his hand trembled. It was hard to believe the child could be his but Mrs. Hughes seemed sure, and he could admit to some similarities in appearance to his own.

Why hadn’t Vivian revealed the pregnancy to him? He would have married her and made sure the child had the protection of his name. For the well-being of his own children, he’d have done anything, suffered celibacy for the rest of his days if necessary, so they might have a name.

He touched the curve of her ear gently and she squirmed, her face scrunching up in a delightful picture of sleepy protest. What should he do with her later? Send her to the country for strangers to raise? Allow her to be adopted? He had some understanding of the difficulty finding homes for orphans could bring, through his association with Lord Carrington and his wife. It wasn’t easy to find kind families, good people willing to overlook the circumstances of an irregular birth, but it could be done.

But could he do that to his own flesh and blood and never think of her again?

He lingered one more moment without finding an answer before turning away, heading for the front hall and stepped out onto the street. He didn’t know the first thing about children but if he was to be responsible for one then he’d better learn, and quickly. The first step was finding a competent woman to replace Mrs. Hughes.

And then he’d decide on a name for the child.

Three

The walk from the Marshalsea to Lady Heathcote’s modest home on Conduit Street was a good three miles, and had given Iris ample time to think about her situation. She was in trouble, with few options before her. She didn’t know how to save herself or her father from being sent away. If anyone connected her to the recent robberies among the
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, she’d be ruined, imprisoned or transported, and might never see her father again. She sniffed but then lifted her chin, determined not to show her overwhelming emotions on the very street where she’d once lived as a rich man’s daughter, oblivious to the harsh realities of life.

Unfortunately, she sighted Mr. Charles Talbot ahead and a new chill swept over her. Would he never give her a moment’s peace? Would he ever allow her to end their arrangement? He was making himself rich off the misery of others and she feared there’d be no end. In the beginning, he’d suggested her help would be settlement for her father’s debts. In the months that had past, he’d made no further mention of how much longer she had to aid him.

Iris ducked behind a slow-moving carriage to avoid his notice, as she’d been doing every day for the past week on her way home from the Marshalsea, and followed behind it a short distance. She was starting to suspect Talbot followed her and that was extremely unsettling.

Since she knew the area well, as soon as the carriage drew near a particular corner, Iris made a break for it and sprinted the short lane to reach an adjacent street then pretended nothing was amiss.

As she’d been doing for the last year, and especially so since Talbot had threatened her father.

But she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. She was lost. Her future taken away, leaving her to the mercy of others. She would rather choose her life than have it thrust upon her. To live the life her father had raised her for.

She let herself into Esme’s home by the servant’s entrance and hurried up to her room, her chest aching with panic. Tonight was yet another ball. Another opportunity to commit a crime. She checked her appearance in the mirror and saw a windswept woman with blazing cheeks and none of the accomplice. Exactly as Talbot wanted. “How can I do this again and not hate myself for the rest of my life?”

“You are beautiful,” Lady Heathcote murmured a moment later as she slipped into the room with her maid trailing after. “But very late indeed.”

Iris turned away from the mirror quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring at her own reflection, and rushed for her wardrobe to begin dressing for the evening in the first gown her hand encountered. “I am sorry. My father was talkative today and made me late to reach Madame du Clair. I promise I will not be long.”

Esme’s maid replaced Iris’s selection with a different gown of burgundy silk and finished the task of her dressing so she’d be worthy of attending the night’s ball. She murmured her thanks and sat down to have her hair styled, grateful that her own shaking hands were put to better use fitting her gloves in place.

Esme drew closer. “What troubles you, my dear?”

The widow arched one elegant brow and a teasing smile graced her lips. Closer to forty than thirty years, she had retained the skin and figure of a much younger girl, which men openly appreciated. Iris had heard many other women complain of it. What they never mentioned often enough was how kind Esme could be.

Iris darted a glance at her reflection as she secured the last button. “Am I that obvious?”

Esme pulled a string of amber beads from her reticule and toyed with them, allowing the colors to flash and distract her. “I have become well acquainted with your frowns and sighs over the years of our acquaintance, my dear. You have something on your mind and don’t want to tell me.”

Esme slipped the necklace around Iris’s throat. The coldness of the gems sent a shiver down her spine and she removed them immediately. “You’re too kind but I cannot wear your gems.” Talbot would see and might try to take them away under the guise of another payment toward her father’s safety. She could not bear to have anything stolen from Esme, so she declined all jewels in favor of flowers and never shared the location of Esme’s safe, or suggested there might be one.

“I have been thinking that it is time I moved on with my life. Away from society.”

Esme shook her head firmly and motioned her maid out of the room. “I won’t allow you to consider such a thing. I want you here where I can look after you until your father’s release.”

“You always have,” Iris said then bit her lip. Esme couldn’t protect her from Talbot. Not really. “But I think its time to find someone else to do that.”

Esme’s gaze narrowed. “Are you in love?”

The question surprised her. Once she’d been engaged to marry a viscount but since she’d released him from their engagement on account of her lost dowry, she’d not missed him enough to consider herself to have been even a little in love with him. “Goodness, no.”

“Then what?”

Iris rubbed her hands on her arms. The friction settled her nerves a little. She couldn’t tell Esme the whole truth. Esme would never forgive such duplicity. She had to lie. A hot blush heated her cheeks. “I would like a home of my own.”

Esme smiled and sank into a chair. “Of course you do, and one day you will have one.”

“I want that now. I want somewhere to call my own. A man to call my own, at least temporarily.”

Esme straightened. “You’re not speaking of marriage are you?”

“No, I am not.” She winced as Esme glanced away, a frown marring her beauty. Wasn’t it better to be thought a wanton than a thief? She needed a good excuse to remove herself from Esme’s life, and from society at the same time. Once she could legitimately avoid entering the homes of the wealthy, her part in Talbot’s schemes would be over. “I am sorry if I disappoint you.”

“I am not disappointed but I am sad you feel unhappy here.”

Iris bit her lip. She might be happy living with Esme if not for Talbot and worry over her father. “I have no dowry, few connections to recommend me. If I were to become a wealthy man’s mistress, though, I would have a home and at least some money of my own to spend instead of taking yours.”

“More money than you can imagine now, I suspect.” Esme stood and brought her to her feet. Her gaze raked her from head to toe with the cool detachment with which she usually regarded strangers. She stretched out Iris’s arms wide and then circled her. “Do not ever underestimate your appeal.”