Ronan’s eyes widened. “But I didn’t do anything. I’m merely pointing out my concern, is all. Isn’t that my right? Given we’re paying her?”
Matthew lowered his chin. “Don’t make me get out the pistols.”
Ronan sagged against the door frame. “Yes, sir.” He eyed Miss Greene who, in turn, eyed Ronan. Pushing away from the doorway, he veered into the corridor and jogged up the stairs and out of sight.
Miss Greene swung back to Matthew, still flushed. “He’s looking to get me terminated.”
Matthew paused. “Is it true about you and the footman?”
She winced, wringing her hands and lowered her gaze. “Yes, Mr. Milton. It is.”
Matthew stared the woman down. “Which footman?”
“Mr. Lawrence.”
“And how does Ronan know about you and Mr. Lawrence?”
She glanced up, her dark eyes widening. After a moment of silence, she said in an odd, tense tone, “He saw us when he tried to fetch something out of the pantry on his own.”
Matthew’s throat tightened. “How much did he see and when did he see it?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “He saw more than he should have and it was...last evening, sir.”
He drew in a breath that was anything but calming. “When I hired you, Miss Greene, did I not line you and every servant up and explain as to what your responsibilities were toward Mr. Sullivan?”
Pinching her lips, she nodded.
“And what was the one responsibility that I placed upon each of you and emphasized without mercy lest it result in termination?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “That he never see anything a boy oughtn’t, given he never had a childhood.”
“Exactly.” Matthew shifted toward her, narrowing his gaze. “That boy, Miss Greene, has endured far too much throughout his youth for me to stand here and find your behavior acceptable. As such, you and Mr. Lawrence are officially terminated. Whilst I will generously compensate your pay, don’t ever use my name for a reference, lest it result in words that will shame you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Milton.” She choked back a sob and darted down the corridor.
Of all days. Of all fecking days. When Bernadette was sitting in the goddamn parlor and he was trying to show off his respectable way of life. He hissed out a breath.
Bernadette, who had already long risen from the chair, paused beside him and gently offered, “You did the right thing. You were firm but respectful.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Ronan jogged back down the stairs and veered back toward them. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Milton. It wasn’t your fault. And it’s not like I saw something I never saw before.”
Matthew stared at Ronan. “Didn’t I ask you to go upstairs?”
Ronan stared back. “You said to go upstairs, but you didn’t say to stay there. I assumed it was to talk to Miss Greene and seeing you were done, I...”
Matthew inwardly winced. Why was it he couldn’t get this parenting thing right? “No. You’re right. I didn’t specify. And I should have.” He sighed. “Lady Burton and I have to leave soon anyway. You don’t mind entertaining yourself tonight, do you?”
“Not at all.” Ronan crossed his arms over his narrow chest and shifted from boot to boot. “Before you two head out to the theater, though, I’d like to talk to Lady Burton. Alone. In the parlor. Can I?”
Bernadette’s dark eyes darted to Matthew.
Their gazes momentarily locked and his pulse thundered. God only knew what the boy wanted to talk to her about, but he supposed it was good the two had a chance to get to know each other better. For the obvious reasons.
Matthew pointed at Ronan. “Ten minutes. Be a gent.”
Ronan placed a hand over his heart. “No worries in that. Everything I know I learned from the best—you.”
Matthew shifted his jaw, dropping his hand to his side, somehow not feeling all too confident in that particular sentiment.
Bernadette’s lips quivered, as if she were having trouble keeping a blank expression in response to Ronan’s statement.
With the sweep of her verdant evening gown across the floor, she sashayed back into the parlor, her slippers clicking against the wood floor.
Ronan pointed at Matthew. “If I were you, Milton, I’d talk to Mr. Lawrence right quick before he darts off. Miss Greene isn’t the only servant in the house he’s been pounding into. Just thought you might want to know.” With that, he stepped into the room after Bernadette, took hold of each sliding door and slid both doors into each another.
Matthew lingered awkwardly for a moment. Muttering a curse, he stalked straight for the servants’ quarters.
* * *
BERNADETTE EYED THE tall, lanky youth lingering before her.
Ronan held up a finger, then used both hands to sweep his wavy brown hair across his forehead as if readying a thoroughbred stallion for a showing. “Have to look good before the mouth opens. Otherwise, what’s the point, right?” He adjusted the sleeves of his dark wool coat. “Given you’re a real lady and all, and I’ve never met a real lady, I’ve got no idea how I’m supposed to act. But I do hope it’s acceptable for me to say what I need to say. I don’t want the Queen of England coming after me.”
She tried to retain as serious a face as she could in honor of their conversation. “I can assure you, Mr. Sullivan, the Queen has no interest in my life or yours. Speak freely.”
“I will.” He thumbed toward the closed doors. “Milton is what I call a good man. Actually, he’s better than a good man. He’s like the father and the brother and the uncle I never had. And I’m concerned about his interest in you. He simply doesn’t need a woman in his life right now. Especially a fluff of a woman like you.”
Her eyes widened. Fluff of a woman? He might as well have called her a bitch. “I will wholeheartedly agree that Matthew is indeed better than a good man, but I do think, Mr. Sullivan, that you are being exceedingly bold with your sentiment, given you know absolutely nothing about me.”
He lowered his chin. “I know all I need to know.”
Oh, dear God. “Do you? Well. I breathlessly await your opinion of me. Especially as you and I met all but...what is it...an hour ago?”
He rolled his brown eyes and folded his arms over his pin-striped waistcoat. “Let me lay out the bricks before you bring out the cement. I don’t want you two getting married. Marriage doesn’t solve anything and only creates problems. And Milton doesn’t need problems. I’ll have you know he hasn’t been around women like I have and doesn’t know what he’s doing. You’re going to drown him. And I won’t stand for it.”
Bernadette stared at him, not in the least bit amused knowing that he was actually being quite serious. “Have you ever been married, Mr. Sullivan?”
Ronan dropped his arms to his sides and leaned toward her. “I think you know the answer to that one.”
“Exactly. Which means you have no more of an understanding of what marriage entails than you have an understanding of what I entail. Whilst matrimony isn’t a subject I preen and fawn over, given I was, in fact, already married, and in my opinion, matrimony is but a glorified form of female slavery, Matthew is a subject I will preen and fawn over until I cease to breathe and live. So out of respect for me and Matthew, I am asking that you allow whatever should happen to happen. If I ever do create a problem in which you become concerned for his well-being, I am hereby giving you the authority to reprimand me in any verbal manner you see fit. Profanity included.”
Ronan’s brows rose. “Profanity included?”
“Profanity included.” She extended a hand. “Now. Shall we call ourselves friends until then? Because I genuinely think Matthew would like that. And I know I would, too.”
Ronan huffed out a breath and eyed her hand. Shifting from boot to boot, he finally took her hand, shaking it hard, once. “Friends. Until then.”
She smiled, returning that firm grip an
d shake before releasing it. “I am ever so pleased to know it.” Leaning toward him, she added, “And I do beg your pardon, Mr. Sullivan, but I am not fluff.”
He blinked. “Sorry.”
“No worries.”
“Can I go now?” he blurted.
She bit back a smile. “Yes. You may.”
He awkwardly turned and hurried toward the closed doors of the parlor. Pushing them apart and into the walls, he disappeared.
Bernadette sighed. That felt like an introduction to parenthood. And the best part? She survived. Wandering out of the parlor and into the corridor, she paused in the large foyer and peered up the mahogany staircase, as well as down the narrow corridor leading to the back of the house.
Every door in sight had been shut as if everyone had abandoned ship. “Matthew?” she called out.
The ticking of the hall clock was the only answer she received. She sighed and glanced around.
Noticing the calling-card tray, she wandered over to it. Pinching her lips together, she leaned in and pushed aside each card to see if her card, the one he had promised to keep in the tray, was still, in fact, there.
“It’s still in there,” a deep voice drawled from behind.
Startled, she turned.
Matthew leaned against the main banister of the staircase barely a few feet away, his muscled arms crossed over his evening coat and embroidered ivory waistcoat. He observed her in what appeared to be clear amusement. “You doubt my devotion, luv?”
She consciously rubbed her palms into the sides of her skirts. “No. I just... I spoke to Ronan.”
He unfolded his arms. “And? How did it go?”
“Rather well. He and I are friends now. Or at least I hope we are.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Two of my favorite people ought to be friends.”
She smiled.
He hesitated and then with two long-legged strides, veered in so close she could make out every last thread and silver button on his waistcoat.
He lingered, lowering his gaze to hers. “I have something for you.”
The pounding in her head matched the pounding of her heart, though she tried not to let on. “Oh?”
He slid his ungloved hand into his coat pocket and slipped out a diamond necklace, which shimmered as he draped it over his hand to display it.
Her eyes widened, thoroughly stunned. She touched a forefinger to the smooth, teardrop stones lining its length and breathed out, “Oh, Matthew. ’Tis beautiful.”
“I bought it some time ago. I wanted to send it to you, but thought it’d be best to give it to you in person.” He hesitated. “Can I put it on?”
She grinned. “Of course.”
Taking each end, he lifted it and leaned in, draping the weight of the stones around her neck, his fingers grazing her skin. The heat of his body lingered as he affixed it into place.
Her grin faded, that heat penetrating the last of her rational mind. She peered up at that shaven face hovering above hers. She purposefully tilted her own face upward and toward his, hoping he would just...kiss her.
He lowered his eyes to hers, sliding his fingers from around her throat, allowing the necklace to settle into place. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Her senses blurred. “Why not?”
His gaze never left hers. “Because now I want to kiss you. Like I wanted to that day on the ice.”
A knot rose in her throat and the air between them grew hot and almost unbearable. That day on the ice had clearly meant as much to him as it had to her. “So why didn’t you kiss me?”
A snort sounded from somewhere above.
They both jerked away from each other, snapping toward the stairwell. Bernadette’s cheeks blazed as she glanced up at Ronan, who lingered at the top of the staircase, smugly watching them.
Matthew pointed rigidly up at Ronan. “Ey. Snorting is not how you go about announcing yourself.”
Ronan grinned and clicked his tongue, before swiveling away on the landing and disappearing around the corner.
Matthew swung back to her. “We should depart.” He said it as if absolutely nothing had happened between them. At all.
Bernadette sighed, knowing that the moment between them had passed. Again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MISSING: Annabelle Netta Carson
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
Park Theatre
IF ANYONE WERE TO ASK Matthew what the hell was happening on that lantern-lit stage below, he would not only have snorted but spit. Ireland Redeemed had turned into a dancing, prancing pandemonium of poorly dressed men with too much eye makeup that made them all look like Pharaohs and Egyptians, not Irishmen. And all of it had been set against poorly painted scenery of bogs that looked nothing like Ireland.
It was a waste of seven dollars.
As everyone applauded and the heavy curtains lowered onto the wide stage, he glanced over at Bernadette. She had an equally pained expression on her face and stared at those curtains as if she genuinely feared they might be pulled up again.
He bit back a laugh and quickly leaned toward her. “I suggest we leave. Before I fist every last one of these actors and show them what Ireland is really about.”
A laugh escaped her. She squelched it with a gloved hand. “I would love to see you fist every last one of them and then write a full commentary in your paper about the performance’s lack of script. What was that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t. But I’d rather you not encourage this madman.” He rose, extending a hand to her. “Come.”
She grasped his hand and also rose.
Guiding her out of the box and into the corridor beyond that would eventually lead them downstairs and out of Park Theatre, he released the warmth of her gloved hand, trying to focus on everything but touching her. It was damn hard playing the role of a saint.
He eyed the diamond necklace draping the curve of her throat and wondered if she really liked it or was pretending to like it. He continued walking them toward the main stairwell, trying to come up with something to say. “I have three hours available tomorrow in the afternoon. What would you like to do?”
She glanced up at him, her dark eyes brightening. “Jamaica.”
His brows rose. “Jamaica?” He searched her face. “What made you think of Jamaica?”
A breathy sigh escaped her. She stared out before them as if seeing the water and islands. “I have been in love with all things privateering since I was eight. And Port Royal and Kingston are well known for their privateering history. I’m hoping to go. One of these days. I had planned to go prior to that whole mess with Cassidy, but then you returned to my life and I...canceled the trip.”
It was obvious he was going to have to make Jamaica happen. Perhaps not tomorrow afternoon, but at some point. If he could get the woman to cooperate, that is. She hadn’t said anything pertaining to their courtship or him or—
A regal-looking and large-breasted blonde dressed in a flamboyant silk moiré evening gown bustled toward them, interrupting their path to the main stairs.
Dread seized him, recognizing Mrs. Klauder. The same Mrs. Klauder who had relentlessly extended various invitations to...um...her bed, despite her being married to a very prominent, city council member.
“Mr. Milton. Do you have a moment?”
Bringing himself and Bernadette to a halt, he tightened his hold on Bernadette’s hand. “No. Not really.”
Bernadette gasped and glanced up at him. “Matthew.”
Mrs. Klauder paused and eyed Bernadette with sharp, blue eyes that were anything but friendly. “I don’t believe we have ever met.” Her voice was much cooler than he was comfortable with.
Matthew gestured to Bernadette. “This is Lady Burton.” He paused and felt the need to add, “My fiancée.”
Bernadette glanced up at him again. He grabbed for her hand and squeezed it hard. They had been officially outed.
Mrs. Klauder sighed and rounded toward M
atthew’s side as if no longer wishing to associate with Bernadette. She touched his arm with a gloved hand and leaned in, intently and heatedly holding his gaze, “Might we speak, Mr. Milton?”
Matthew refrained from sounding too agitated. “I’m actually on my way out.”
“This will only take a moment.” She angled closer, adjusting her cashmere shawl in a way to better display her sizable breasts. “I have been meaning to ask about setting up another charity event for the orphanage next month. It would require time to coordinate. I was hoping for your assistance. Might you be able to call on me sometime this week?”
The woman was interested in entertaining far more than charity. Stepping back, he rounded over on Bernadette’s other side to set a good distance between them. “Call on the office. Mr. Kerner will ensure you receive free advertisement, seeing you wish to assist the orphanage.”
“I will do that.” Mrs. Klauder paused and eyed Bernadette. “Good evening to you both.”
Christ. It was like being back in the Five Points and dealing with whores who only wanted his trousers around his ankles for the purpose of taking off with whatever they could. He’d never been stupid then and most certainly was not now.
Mrs. Klauder sashayed past, her silk moiré evening gown provocatively dragging against the carpet, and disappeared around the iron banister and down the stairwell.
He huffed out a breath, thankful the woman was gone.
Bernadette poked him not once but twice. “What was that?”
He shook his head and kept on shaking it. “You don’t want to know. She’s married to one of the council members. All I have to say is that the city is trying to hang me. The mayor has been warning me for months. They’re looking to mar the name I’ve created through the paper. They’re morons, is what. Every single last one of them. She isn’t even attractive enough for me to pause.”
She blinked, a flush etching her cheeks. “I did not realize there were women who could make you pause, Mr. Milton.”
He reveled at the idea that she was jealous. He leaned into her. “Are you jealous? Or are you jealous?”
She puckered her lips. “I may have to talk to the council about this.”
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