Barbara Metzger (20 page)

Carissa clutched the bodice of her dress, to maintain some shred of decency and dignity. “No, I would not bother you."

"Don't be foolish, you cannot go back to your room looking like that. What if your aunt awoke?"

"She would not be surprised. She already believes me to be your mistress. Everyone does.” She added a bitter afterthought: “Except you."

Still smiling—no, grinning—Lesley told her, “It's not that I'm not attracted.” He gestured vaguely to the snug fit of his satin knee breeches, bringing a furious blush to her cheeks. “But I simply do not need a mistress."

Of course. He had that opera dancer in keeping. Carissa wondered if they'd seen the woman performing tonight. Perhaps she was waiting for him even now in her rooms, or a hotel, or another love nest, since this one was overflowing with cuckoo birds. The viscount might, on the other hand, be waiting for some tonnish gentleman to retire for the night, so he could visit the man's wife. Carissa had seen the way every woman looked at him like a prize bull, assessing the strength and stamina. Any one of them would be willing to share his bed. He had no use for a dowdy housekeeper in her Cinderella-goes-to-the-ball togs. No, he did not need her at all, not even to run the household. Cook could manage, now that she and Byrd had come to an understanding. She'd have to, for Carissa did not think she could live under Lord Hartleigh's roof after this shame-filled night.

As if he could read her thoughts, Lesley reached out and gently touched her cheek. “You see, what I really need is a mother for my daughter."

Carissa brushed his hand away. If he was not going to be swayed by her presence in his bedroom, she was not about to be affected by his touch. “You said your man of business was looking into finding her a family."

Lesley took a deep breath and admitted, “The fact is, I don't think I can part with her anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous. That's the way people adopt puppies and kittens, not children. They come begging on your doorstep, looking adorable. Why do you think God made them so appealing and so helpless? That's how I got Cleopatra. There she was, a tiny scrap of black fur, mewing on the stoop. I thought, A bowl of milk and that's all. Then it rained, so I let her dry near the stove, thinking one night wasn't going to hurt. That was before Pippa was born, and she hasn't left me yet. But Sue? You have to think what is best for the child, not what your inclinations might be when you see her smiling at you."

"I have been thinking of little else since she came, Carissa. And I believe that I can make a good life for her, providing I find the right woman. I think you are the one."

Carissa loved the baby, as much as she'd tried not to become attached, knowing Sue would be leaving. And she could understand his thinking: If he set her up in a cottage somewhere, he could visit at his leisure. Carissa could give out that she was a more recent widow, which people would believe until he came to call. Continuing her reasoning, Carissa realized that if she were far enough away in the country, Phillip mightn't find her, mightn't be a constant sword hanging over her head. And Pippa would be happier there if she could bring her pony. Carissa would not have to be seeking position after position, uprooting them every time—and she'd get to see Lord Hartleigh every now and again. “Yes, I think it could work. If Maisie can come, of course."

"Of course."

"And Aunt Mattie? I could not send her back to that boardinghouse, you know. And she would be good company for me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way. You can even bring Glad."

"Too generous, my lord. He stays here. The cottage will be too small for him."

"Cottage?"

"Why, yes, a cottage in the country. You didn't think we could go on here? Everyone knows Sue is not my daughter. Well, everyone who counts."

"I, ah, had something larger in mind. Larger and closer. Hammond House, in fact."

"Now, that is foolish beyond permission. We could never be welcomed at your family's home. Imagine the mare's nest you'd stir up bringing your housekeeper and your unblessed babe to Grosvenor Square."

"But if I brought my wife home, and my adopted ward?"

"No one will believe Sue is—Wife?"

"Wife.” He nodded. “I am, my dear Mrs. Kane, asking you to marry me."

Carissa did not have time to find a seat; she collapsed onto the floor, amid the roses and hairpins. “Wife?"

Lesley sat beside her, picking up the rosebuds and placing them in her lap. “It won't be a bad bargain, I promise."

"You'd marry to acquire a mother for your child?"

"There are worse reasons, like marrying for money."

She was shredding the roses. “But to wed so Sue can have a mother?"

"Half the marriages in the ton are contracted for no other reason than to beget an heir. How is this so much different? I know you're fond of Sue and I dote on your daughter.” He rubbed one soft bloom against the skin of her neck. “I would have to take a wife eventually anyway, to ensure the succession, and you know we are attracted to each other."

She knew that too well. Her head was spinning, even without his seductive stroking. Marriage. A father for Pippa, a home of her own. Respectability. And Lesley in her bed. Now there was a fairytale ending to put Cinderella's to shame.

"No."

It was Lesley's turn to be dumbfounded. This was the first marriage proposal he had ever made, and an impoverished widow with a dicey reputation was rejecting it. “No? You are turning me down? I would come down heavily on the settlements, you know, if that is your concern."

She shook her head, behind the veil of her fallen hair. She could not look him in the eyes for fear of giving in to this promise of heaven on earth.

"I see. You want tender words, a proper wooing. I thought I would appeal to your logical nature, lest you accuse me of turning you up sweet. But showing you my deep and sincere regard will be no hardship, I assure you. So many marriages offer much less. And in time..."

Carissa kept her head down, hiding her tears. “I cannot."

"It's my reputation, isn't it? I cannot swear to be a faithful husband, because I've never put it to the test, but I aim to try. And I would never be so indiscreet as to cause you embarrassment. I find I do not like being the center of gossip when my feelings are involved, and I daresay you feel the same."

"Gossip?” Carissa found her voice. “Your reputation? That is rich, my lord. I have no reputation! Marrying me would sink you beneath reproach. Your name would be dragged so deeply through the muck that you'd be ashamed to show your face in London. You'd have to rusticate, or else be constantly challenging all comers to duels. And you are so well known that even in the country you'd be the addlepated peer who was taken in by a scheming harpy of a housekeeper."

"Stop thinking of yourself as less than a lady, blast it!"

"I
am
less, I am a servant! It's you who will not recognize the truth. When you do, you will come to hate me. Let me take the children, Lesley, let me find a tiny cottage somewhere and make a life for them, while you go on with yours."

"Very well. We will not marry. Yet."

Perhaps because he could not imagine any woman of reasonable intelligence refusing such an advantageous offer of marriage, Lesley spent the rest of the night trying to make sense of Carissa's rejection. Pride was not the issue, not Lesley's at any rate. He knew she was fond of him. A woman like Carissa did not offer herself to a man otherwise. Therefore, he reasoned, she must have said no because of their unequal stations. He couldn't give up the viscountcy, but she could damn well give up being a housekeeper. Mrs. Kane wanted a little cottage somewhere? Too bad. Lesley was only so understanding. She'd just have to make do with Hammond House.

First he needed help.

One did not call on the dowager Duchess of Castleberry without an appointment or an invitation, unless one was Her Grace's favorite scapegrace godson.

"Well, jackanapes, what is all this rumgumption I am hearing? And what do you want me to do about it, for you wouldn't be calling on me else?"

There was no sense in wasting flummery on the downiest bird in London, so Lesley explained his problem.

Her Grace sipped her tea, deliberating before she issued her verdict: “There is no way you can bring that one into fashion, no, not even with my help, short of marrying her."

"I am trying, dash it. She won't have me."

"What, losing your touch, scamp?” The grande dame was enjoying his discomfort as much as her macaroons. “The father is a cabbagehead, of course. He practically pushed the chit into a runaway marriage by arranging an abysmal match for her. The rumor mill had it that Macclesfield gave his consent for Packword to pay his addresses."

"Packword? The man is close to sixty and pox-ridden!"

Her Grace shrugged her thin shoulders. “Was she better off with her handsome young soldier? I wonder. Still, the chit just might be the making of you. Turned you down, eh? If you are determined to have her, I'll talk to Macclesfield. The gel will need clothes and such, and our job will be that much easier if it's seen that her father approves. The rotter might as well be good for something."

No one refused the Duchess of Castleberry, Lesley knew. The Earl of Macclesfield might as well be sharpening his pen to write the cheques.

"Be warned, though, my lad, some doors will always be closed to your Mrs. Kane, no matter how many strings I pull."

As he kissed the old lady's parchment cheek, Lesley replied, “Some doors are not worth walking through."

One door that was important was the front door to Hammond House. When he opened the door to see Lord Hartleigh, the butler there looked as if he'd eaten something that disagreed with him.

"Cheer up, Wimberly,” Lesley told the man. “I haven't come to take anything else away. In fact, I'll be bringing it all back, as soon as I speak to Lady Hartleigh."

"The mistress is not receiving. My lady has contracted a slight palsy of her left eyelid. The doctor recommends bed rest in a darkened room."

"Ah, then I shall have to rearrange the bedrooms myself, to prepare for our guests. And the nursery, of course. You do like children, don't you, Wimberly?"

"I'll fetch Lady Hartleigh."

Both of Agatha's eyelids started twitching when Lesley explained his mission. “Not even a rake like you would bring a loose woman into your own home, Hartleigh. You have more respect for your family name."

"Oh, I wouldn't and I do. That's why I am bringing Mrs. Kane here, and her aunt, of course. So everyone can see she is welcomed as an esteemed guest."

"Well, she won't be. The servants won't wait on her, I'm sure. They can always recognize Quality, you know."

"There are other servants. Ones who recognize a good position when they find it. You might pass that on to Wimberly. He cannot seem to recall who pays his wages."

"The devil take Wimberly. What about the child?” Agatha was blinking so hard, her sausage curls were flapping.

"Pippa? She'll be moving in too, naturally. Mrs. Kane would never leave her behind, unlike those tonnish mothers who let nannies and governesses rear their children for them. I am sure you'll adore Pippa. She's a serious little thing, but her laughter is as sweet as birdsong."

"Why, you're smitten! With the baggage's brat."

He pulled a cat hair off his superfine sleeve. “Quite unfashionable of me, isn't it? I shudder to think what the fellows at White's will say."

Since he'd never given a rap for what anyone said about him, ever, Agatha was not deceived. “And the other child? The infant?"

"Sue comes too.” He did not elaborate, he only stated the fact.

"Impossible. You might as well drape the bar sinister over our front door. It would sink my stepsisters’ chances on the Marriage Mart to be living in the same house with your ... your..."

"Ward,” he supplied. “And since the Spillhammer sisters have been at Hammond House for their presentations, their debutante balls, and the past three Seasons, all at my expense, without receiving one offer between the two of them, I do not think Sue can be held responsible. If you think their reputations will be damaged, however, feel free to send your relatives packing. Make no mistake. Sue is coming. And Mrs. Kane is coming, with her child, her cat, and her aunt. And the aunt's canary, I suppose."

"If you bring that woman here,” Agatha screeched, worse than Dickie Bird, “I am leaving."

The viscount struck his forehead. “Now why did I never think of that before? Lud, I could have brought Bijou LaBianca here and reclaimed my house years ago."

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Lesley's next call was to Bow Street, to see if his various inquiries had borne fruit. Thunderation, he wished that second will would come to light. If Carissa owned the Parkhurst house and the fortune that went with it, she would no longer consider herself a servant, an outcast of the elite. Hell, he'd purchase the blasted house from Parkhurst, if the cawker weren't too castaway to transact business nine hours out of ten. Then again, if Carissa became a woman of property, she'd never need Lesley's offer. He wouldn't think about that, that she might have another, more personal reason for rejecting him. She
did
like him. His years as a womanizer had taught him to recognize that much.

The officer handling his investigation was a wizened gnome of a man, small enough to have been a jockey in his prime, old enough to have ridden with the Normans. He tamped some tobacco into his pipe and riffled through a stack of papers on his desk.

The first report was on Mason. Parkhurst's butler was followed on numerous occasions to a local pub, a certain coffeehouse, and a particular emporium, where he seldom came out with packages. The barkeep, the waiters, and the shop owner had nothing good to say about the man, except that he paid cash. Most often, however. Mason's time away from his place of employment was spent at a set of rooms near the docks. Runners weren't too popular in that neighborhood. Inspector Nesbitt informed the viscount through a thick cloud of bluish smoke from his pipe.