by Deb Marlowe
“Running a household, that sort of thing, you said?”
She shrugged. “Yes, that sort of thing. I’m good at seeing to people, keeping things working smoothly, balancing the needs of a home, gardens, farms and stables, and all the people involved.”
Being a wife, he thought, with a surge of completely irrational jealousy. To some damned lucky chap. But he didn’t say it out loud. “You’d be wasted as a common housekeeper,” he said instead.
“I fear there’s nothing else I’m so well suited for,” she replied with the faintest touch of gloom.
“What? Come, you should at least aspire to be a grand châtelaine.” He tried to lift her spirits.
“A châtelaine?” She frowned.
“You know, French for ‘mistress of the castle’ or something like it?” She frowned again and he hurried on, fearing she misinterpreted him. “The dragon who cares for the castle, guards the keep and carries the great, clanking ring of keys?”
“Oh!” She sat a little straighter. “Yes, I understand now.” Her eyes unfocused. “It does sound better than a plain housekeeper. I’m flattered that you think I could carry off so weighty a position.” She blinked. “How does one find a position as châtelaine?”
“One does not, if one is you, Miss Moreton. It was merely a joke.” Not ornamental? Unless she’d completely blotted her copybook she should be exactly that, an ornament on a man’s arm of an evening, a blessing to his days and the brightest star featured in his nights.
She was frowning again. “I don’t find it funny. Why should I not aim as high as I can?”
She was aiming too low, he felt sure—which was something else he could not say out loud. “You’ll forgive me for pointing it out, but I can see many people questioning such talents in one so young.”
“I can prove them, given the chance.”
All of which proved she truly was different from all the other young ladies of his admittedly small acquaintance. Somehow she seemed to think this made her less of a woman. Edmund was of a mind that it made her more qualified to be a man’s wife and helpmate. His body, operating on a slow hum, agreed. Busily, it was churning up a flow of warmth and sending it on a thick, rich crawl through the rest of him.
“How did it come about, your possession of these skills? Would you mind sharing?”
For a moment he didn’t think she would answer. Frankly he was somewhat surprised she’d conversed this long with no show of fear or scorn. But then she drew a deep breath.
“I shouldered my mother’s responsibilities long ago. Sometimes it feels I’ve learned something new and valuable about such cares every day since I was in pinafores. Then, two years ago, my father died. We had an agent to help, but again, much of the work and many of the responsibilities fell to me.”
He watched her color rise but he doubted she knew just how much she’d let slip with that simple statement. He could almost feel the earnestness coming off of her in waves. “I learned my skills the hard way, my lord, by rising at dawn and working past dusk. I learned to be good at balancing the responsibilities. I enjoyed it. I’d be doing it still, were it not for—”
She stopped abruptly, frustrating him and tempting him most unfairly when she pressed her full lips together.
“I’m very sorry to hear of your loss.” And more to hear of the burdens she’d been forced to carry. Her mother’s duties, she’d said, which made her the daughter of a gentleman. Country gentry, perhaps? “But you are young, pretty and unmarried, it will be extremely difficult for most to take you seriously.”
“I can manufacture a husband. Many other housekeepers have done so.”
“And do you have a reference? A recommendation? Without them, you are unlikely to get the chance to prove yourself.”
That deflated her. “No.” She sat silent a moment.
He waited.
Then she cast a hopeful glance in his direction. “Unless you would provide me with one?”
“Would you have me lie?” He pretended affront but his mind was working fast. She was more than an orphan cast out onto the world, he felt sure. He wanted to know. He suffered an urge to see her put back into her rightful sphere instead of wasting away in some lord’s ancient keep.
“Of course not, but you could give me the chance that you say no one else will. You’ve no housekeeper here.”
“Yet we muddle on.”
“Your butler does well enough, but I can see the signs, the lack of a woman’s touch.” She leaned forward. “Take another chance on me, my lord. I swear I shall improve your household and prove myself. I’ll make it a project so that Aurelia can learn along with me. You will see the difference, I swear. And when I’ve done the job well, you will give me a recommendation. What do you think?”
He thought keeping her under his roof would grow into a sweeter torment every day. But he also thought he would need time to find a governess truly suitable for his ward. And perhaps this girl needed time to think on her future and her place in the world. “I think we can try. An experiment, as you say.”
“And will you give me free reign, full leave to do just as I wish?”
Entirely inappropriate answers hovered on the tip of his tongue, all involving the pleasures of offering her carte blanche. His blood surged even as his conscience objected. “You may do as you wish—with the exception of my laboratory. No one goes in there without my permission—and my escort.”
“It’s a bargain, then. I’ll find Aurelia and we can start right away.”
Chapter Four
Lisbeth checked her reflection as she tied the ribbons of a plain straw hat beneath her chin. She’d borrowed it from the upstairs maid, as her own was a bit too ornate for what she had in mind for today.
She entered the schoolroom to fetch Aurelia, only to find her charge running toward her, an actual smile on her face.
“Look! Look what Lord Cotwell gave me!” Aurelia ground to a halt in front of her and waved a large butterfly net. “He says I may catch bugs with it, just as Papa used to do.” Her smile faded. “Papa loved bugs.” Sudden dismay had her turning on her heel toward the baron as he followed her into the room. “I don’t have to stick them and pin them to boards, do I?”
He laughed and Lisbeth swallowed. When would the shock of it end—the quake that jostled her every time he drew near? He loomed over her, solid and composed of so many sharp, masculine angles. The laugh, though, it rumbled up and out of him and kept him from feeling dangerous or overpowering. It was almost too much at once, Aurelia’s smile and the baron’s laugh, because they were both so fine and unexpected.
Almost.
“No, you don’t have to injure them at all. Just close off the end of the net until you’ve had a good look, then let them go.”
The girl sighed in relief. “Good. I never watched while Papa stuck them.” She cocked her head at Lisbeth. “My papa loved bugs as much as my mama loved animals. Which does your mama love?”
Lisbeth struggled to regain her equilibrium. Lord Cotwell’s vigorous presence must have rattled her indeed, as she couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of the question. “Which what, my dear?”
“Which does she love? Bugs or animals?” She blinked expectantly.
Lisbeth could only laugh a little helplessly at the image the question invoked. “Neither, I’m afraid. My mama loves new gowns and hats, gossip, parties and the polite attentions of a gentleman.”
Aurelia looked interested. “Do you like those things too? As I like animals and bugs?”
Lisbeth was a loss for an answer to that one, but Lord Cotwell, in the polite way of a gentleman, stepped in to save her. “I’d wager that Miss Moreton’s mama must also have run her home in the finest manner. Surely her mama taught her, just as she is now teaching you.”
“You’d lose money on that bet, I’m afraid, sir.” Lisbeth pinched her lips together in a small smile. “My mama despises the daily drudge of seeing to house, home and farm. That’s why I got the job.”
He g
ave her a little nod. “Well, however you came by your skills, they are very fine. I know you’ve only just begun, but already I can see the difference. And even more impressive, I think you’ve won the hearts of my servants while you were at it—and they are a choosy lot.”
“Oh, just you wait, my lord. I’ve barely scraped the surface. In fact,” she patted Aurelia on the shoulder, “why do you not run and fetch your cloak? I’m ready for our errand.” She smiled at the baron. “We are off to protect your interests at the market.”
“It sounds a valuable lesson indeed.”
“You shall see effects of it in your coffers, soon enough.”
He frowned. “You are not going to make a spectacle, are you?”
She bit back a laugh. “Perhaps just a small one.”
“But I wished to use my net,” Aurelia objected.
“Bring it along. We’ll go on to Hyde Park once we are done.”
Lord Cotwell objected. “Green Park will be closer.”
Lisbeth could not hide her instant distaste. “We’ll enjoy the walk to Hyde Park.”
“But between the reservoir and the livestock, Green Park should have plenty of specimens for you to chase down.”
Lisbeth raised her chin. “Nevertheless.” She nodded a goodbye and gathering up a small basket and Aurelia’s hand, set off.
The day was bright and the air clear. Her blood surged a little in anticipation of the upcoming battle. When they reached the edge of the local market, she stopped to brush back Aurelia’s hair.
“There! You look your part perfectly. What about me?” Lisbeth smoothed her skirts. “Do I look like a properly frugal matron?”
“Yes.” Glancing about the bustling market, Aurelia twirled her net and glowed with excitement, but a slight frown crossed her brow before she reached out to touch Lisbeth’s sleeve. “I have a question.”
“What is it, dear?” Lisbeth arranged the cloth in her basket.
“Well, it’s just . . . Miss Preston told us that it was vulgar to worry about money.”
Lisbeth paused. “Did she?” She thought a moment. “Well, I feel sure she could have no objection about our mission today. Truly, it’s Lord Cotwell I’m worried about.”
A flush started at Aurelia’s sudden, arrested expression. “That is, Miss Preston is perfectly correct. When you are grown, it will not be your daily obligation to worry over marketing expenses. But you will be the lady of the house. You will oversee the cook and housekeeper, their underlings and their account books. When we looked over Lord Cotwell’s kitchen accounts, it appeared clear that he is paying a shocking amount for supplies bought at this locale. We will investigate—and you will learn, for how can you properly supervise your servants if you do not understand their duties?”
“Oh, yes. I see.” Aurelia looked relieved, which was how Lisbeth felt, having successfully diverted her. She didn’t want Aurelia—or anyone—to sniff out the extent of her concern for the baron.
“Let’s go, shall we?”
With the notable exception of his laboratory, Lisbeth had been into nearly every nook and cranny of Lord Cotwell’s townhouse. She’d made the acquaintance of all of his servants, from the scullery to his toplofty valet. And while she was atop ladders, far back in the bowels of the attic and elbow deep in the linen closets beside them, she’d listened to much of what they had to say.
What they said, from highest to lowest, was that the baron was a fair and generous employer, a good man—and a lonely one.
The cook’s assistant had whispered over the silver polish that his lordship had used to be a regular gad-about-Town, keeping bachelor’s quarters, drinking, gaming and wenching like any young man let loose from university, and occasionally attending a rout or ball, like any young nobleman expected to eventually do his duty.
The parlor maid and one of the footman disagreed about what had happened to put an end to it all. The maid postulated that the baron was above such wastrel behavior and went home to his estate to straighten his ways. The footman insisted that there had been some sort of contretemps amongst his close group of friends—which included Aurelia’s father—and that his lordship had gone home in a temper.
Both agreed, however, that was the point at which Lord Cotwell’s concentration on his mechanical work began to take up most of his time. He set up a laboratory at his country estate and worked there for a few months, but eventually picked it up and moved to London where supplies were easier to purchase and a few men of similar interests could be found.
Lisbeth watched him disappear into the sacrosanct room every day and wondered just what he was doing in there. She listened to the rattling and thumping and burned to know just what he was hiding from.
“There’s the fishmonger,” Aurelia said. “We’re going to start there, aren’t we?”
Lisbeth nodded. “Stick close,” she said, low. “Carry your net lower and try to look hungry.”
They picked their way over to the cart. They started to wander past, then Lisbeth pulled up, as if caught by the sight by the sight of the cod. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Those look nice. Are they fresh?”
“Caught fresh this morning,” the costermonger answered. She glanced at Aurelia. “Some o’ them’s likely still breathin’.”
“That sounds perfect for a nice fish pie. How much for two fair-sized ones?”
“Two shillings.”
Lisbeth frowned. “How much for just one, then?”
The haggling commenced, but concluded quickly. Lisbeth accepted the wrapped package with a smile of relief. “How glad I am to get them priced reasonably. I’ve a friend who works in a baron’s kitchens and she warned me an order like this would come ever so more dear.”
“Which baron do you speak of?” the woman asked.
“Lord Cotwell.”
“Ah, that great bear of a man.” She shivered. “And that’d be Maggie, who does his lordship’s marketing. Good, regular customers, they are.” She winked. “Items do come more dear, at times, for them that can pay. That’s the way o’ things, eh, dearie?”
Lisbeth stiffened. “Is it?”
“It is.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “There’s no sayin’ that those with the blunt shouldn’t make it easier on the rest o’ us.” She sniffed. “His lordship can afford it.”
“His lordship more than does his part,” Lisbeth admonished. “He has the care and feeding of a great many people. Already he employs more staff than is strictly necessary and that’s just at his London house. He treats them extremely well, too. He does his duty in the Lords, contributing to the governing of this great country. Did you know he serves under the committees that keep our soldiers in supplies? He funds research on ideas and inventions that could aid all men. His investments help create wealth, some of which is likely spent here, in this market.” Restraining herself from mentioning the baron’s care of a girl not strictly his responsibility, she drew herself up. “Can you say the same? What do you do for anyone other than yourself?”
The woman gaped at her. “I’m busy enough, jest keeping me and mine.”
“By committing highway robbery against a man more generous and better than yourself?” Lisbeth snorted. “I’ve seen the prices you’ve been charging his lordship. I thought he must have been purchasing diamonds and sapphires here, rather than fish and vegetables.”
“Here now!” the costermonger objected. “Who do you think you are?”
Lisbeth projected her voice so that it carried to the surrounding vendors. “I’m Lord Cotwell’s new housekeeper and I won’t have my employer cheated on a daily basis. This is the only warning I will give. Maggie will meet with fair prices when she shops here, or the baron’s wealth will, from now on, be making things easier on the vendors at Covent Garden or Hungerford—even if I have to order up the carriage to take her.” She cast a glance about. “His lordship can afford it, after all.”
Taking up her basket and Aurelia’s hand, she marched on. Not until they were well clear of the place did sh
e smile down at the child. “Now that, my dear, is how you protect your household interests.”
Aurelia nodded, her face full of wonder. “I did not realize his lordship was such a good man.”
That was the problem. Lisbeth suspected that not many people did. It was a wrong that needed righting—something she’d never been able to resist. She nodded and quickened her step. It would be best all around if she finished this project and got her recommendation before she succumbed to growing temptation.
* * *
Edmund slid open the wide door to his laboratory—and stared in horror. Miss Moreton stood there, armed with a bucket, mop and duster and flanked by a trio of servants.
“It’s time, my lord,” she announced.
“Time for what?” Even to his own ear he sounded defensive.
“I’ve seen to the rest of your house. Now it’s time to allow me into your sanctuary.”
He couldn’t argue with the first statement. The chit had gone through his house like a whirlwind. With her curvy figure hidden behind the folds of a voluminous apron and her thick chestnut locks forever escaping the confines of a cap, she’d cleaned, polished and mended her way from the top of the house to the bottom. Aurelia at her side, she’d rearranged furniture from one room to another, brought old pieces from the attics and banished others to take their place. She’d turned the place upside down—and vastly improved it. She’d shaken up his servants, doubled their workload—and they loved her for it. Yes, she’d done a bang-up job with the rest of the house, but—
“I’ll be damned if I let you turn my laboratory arse over tea-kettle.”
“I’ll do no such thing.” His mouth hung agape as she flounced past him, then he wondered what on earth she might be thinking when she slowed and came to a halt in the middle of the room.
He tried to view the place through her eyes. She likely saw a jumble of gears, rods and pipe or perhaps just dust, clutter and disorder. But it was beautiful to him—full of function, potential and the miracle of small things connected to create bigger, useful objects.
