Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Georgie hurried Oliver and Anastasia back to the manor. The boy’s feet were dragging, as if he wanted more than anything to stay with Pip. She understood. Having only just found a friend, Oliver must be loath to lose him. But that wasn’t going to happen. Georgie and Hugh would make sure of it.
There simply had to be another explanation for the emptying of the poor box. Pip would be proved innocent in time, and all would be well. At the moment, Georgie just wanted to get home.
Of course, Anastasia would persist in sniffing at every shrub or clump of grass they passed.
Georgie might have thought the pug was purposely trying to slow their progress to avoid the colonel.
But her pet had never met Georgie’s father.
Neither had Max, Ben, or Oliver. Claudia had encountered him a time or two after Georgie had become engaged and then married Freddie.
He hadn’t been allowed to visit during the time of Sophia’s duke.
Georgie hadn’t seen him since Freddie’s funeral!
But he wouldn’t have changed. Her father was immutable.
His time in the military had made him value organization.
His routine was sacrosanct, his opinions orthodox.
He consulted his pocket watch at least five times an hour, as if to make sure everything from his meals to his daughter ran on schedule.
Which made his sudden arrival all the more surprising. Surely, if he’d intended to visit, he would have written ahead to inform her of the day and likely the very hour! Had she somehow missed the post?
The coach had already deposited its passengers and was heading for the stables by the time she and her charges reached the front door of the manor. Georgie swept inside, only to be met by Mr. Kinsle.
“Oh, good,” he said with a gusty sigh. Then, as if remembering his position, he stood taller. “That is, your father has arrived, Your Grace. I took the liberty of putting him in the guest suite on the first floor, just down from you.”
“Perfect,” Georgie told him. “And please apologize to Mrs. Carmichael on the change in plans. I had no idea he was coming.” She turned to the boy beside her, who seemed to be trying to ease his way toward the corridor. “Oliver, may I ask you to take Anastasia to Morrigan? I should see my father.”
“Of course,” Oliver said. Georgie bent to remove the pug’s lead, and Oliver patted his thigh and led Anastasia away.
Georgie left her bonnet and pelisse with the butler, then lifted her skirts to climb the stairs, mind whirling. Had something happened? Was he in trouble of some sort? She could not imagine her father turning to her for comfort or support. He had a difficult time giving it much less receiving it.
She hurried down the corridor and paused in the doorway of the suite, a space designed to mimic nature.
The far wall was papered in a forest scene, and the bed hangings on the poster bed and drapes were a rich blue velvet.
Her father stood at the window, back to her, gazing out at the rear gardens.
His valet, Simmons, was unpacking a valise while a trunk stood waiting. Was this to be a long visit, then?
“Father,” Georgie said, moving into the room.
He turned and beamed. “There’s my gel! Got some color in your face, I see. About time.”
Like some of the others in her life, her father thought Georgie had mourned her husband overly long. She came forward and dutifully kissed his cheek, though she had to stand on her tiptoes to do so. His silvery mustache tickled her.
“What a nice surprise!” she said, dropping back. “What brings you to Dorset?”
“Why, to see my gel, of course,” he said, striding over to the pair of upholstered chairs near the serpentine marble hearth. He waved her into one as if this were his home and she was the visitor.
Georgie shook her head, but she sat across from him. “Spur of the moment decision, then?” she teased.
He shifted on the chair. “Nonsense. Been thinking of you for months. You knew that upstart has escaped?”
Her father took umbrage whenever the government or military didn’t fulfill their duty in his opinion. She wasn’t sure which upstart concerned him this time. “Oh?”
He slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair. “And we thought Napoleon beat! What does the madman do but escape Elba and march on Paris. I don’t know what the army is coming to these days. Wellington should be ashamed.”
“I’m sure Field Marshal Wellington is doing the best he can,” Georgie said. “And yes, His Grace read us the accounts in the Times. But Napoleon is hardly besieging Dorset, Father. I’m fine.”
He leaned back. “You clearly need me.”
Baffled, she leaned back as well. “Why, Father? What do you think is wrong?”
“Too many encroaching fellows,” he grumbled. “Country’s going to the dogs, if you ask me.”
Did he mean Max? “His Grace the Duke of Tyneham may be unconventional, but he’s doing a fine job,” Georgie said loyally. “Much better than the last duke.”
Her father snorted. “Couldn’t do much worse than the last duke. But the current fellow isn’t the one who concerns me. It’s that man living in the vicarage.”
Why would he be concerned about Hugh? He and Georgie had only agreed to a courtship this morning! “Mr. Caddington?” she asked.
“The very one. Tried to reach above his station once before. Now I hear he’s doing it again. Well, I won’t have it. If you remarry, you’ll marry someone worthy of you. And I know just the man.”
* * *
“It worked!” Morrigan grinned at Bailey as she walked Anastasia about the rear gardens. “Now Her Grace the Second will get the advice she needs.”
Bailey, who had been sent out to add more chairs to the wrought-iron table that sat in the middle of the terrace, glanced back at the house. “He’s a bit stiff, don’t you think? Not the warm, fatherly sort. I was expecting someone as kind as Her Grace.”
“Fathers come in all shapes and sizes,” Morrigan informed him. “With any luck, he’ll remind her of the importance of family, and she can start thinking about her own.”
“Good,” Bailey said. “Because I’d rather focus on my courting than hers.”
Morrigan eyed him as she tugged on the leash to steer the pug toward the house. “And how are you doing there?”
Bailey paced her. “She’s leading me a merry dance, but she’s worth every moment.”
Delight bubbled up inside her, like a hot air balloon rising on the breeze. Immediately, fears poked a hole in it.
Morrigan swallowed. “If you’re serious, you better know about me.”
He stopped beside the terrace, then pulled her and the dog around the corner, out of sight of the library windows. He ran his hands up her arms, leaving gooseflesh behind. “Terrible flirt, are you?”
“No,” Morrigan said. “At least, not before I met you.”
He smiled. “Then I know all I need to know.” He bent and brushed her lips with a kiss.
That hot air balloon inside her soared. She leaned into the touch, letting herself ride the joy. If only she could live in this moment.
But work and her past once more intruded. She pulled away. “I’m serious, Tom. We need to talk, but not where we might be interrupted.”
He shook his head, hands falling. “Is there anywhere in the manor where we might not be interrupted?”
“Silver room,” she said, “after we’ve all finished our duties for the day.”
“I’ll be there,” he promised. Touching his fingers to his forehead, he turned and trotted back to the door.
Anastasia wandered up to Morrigan, sat on the flagstones, and panted, dark eyes bright.
“Not a very good chaperone, are you?” Morrigan teased her. “Fellow kisses me, and you don’t so much as bark!”
Anastasia obligingly yipped.
Between Colonel Bancroft’s arrival and dinner, Her Grace the Second had little time for her pet that afternoon, which meant Morrigan remained on duty until Maisy came to get the duchess ready for bed. Then Morrigan had to check with Mrs. Carmichael.
“Anything else you need me to do, ma’am?” she asked the housekeeper, who was sitting at the table in her parlor, account books spread before her.
Mrs. Carmichael looked up, and, for the first time, Morrigan noticed darker smudges under her eyes. Morrigan took a step forward. “Is something troubling you?”
The housekeeper’s no-nonsense look softened. “I’m just a little weary this evening, Morrigan. Nothing that need concern you.”
In the other house where Morrigan had served, the housekeeper, butler, and cook had often spent their evenings together, commiserating and encouraging each other.
Mr. Kinsle had a wife, and Mrs. Bettleton had recently gone to day staff, leaving after dinner had been served and coming in early to ensure breakfast was ready on time.
That meant Mrs. Carmichael had no one to share her burdens.
But the distance between housekeeper and maid-of-all-work was nearly as wide as the distance between duchess and vicar.
“You’re the person who sees to all my needs,” Morrigan said. “It’s only right to be concerned about yours. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
That earned her a smile. “Thank you. And no, consider yourself off duty for the evening. Good night, Morrigan.”
Morrigan bobbed a curtsey and left, but as soon as she turned the corner into the kitchen proper, she hurried her steps toward the next room over, where Tyneham Manor stored its silver.
Gleaming platters, bowls, and epergnes filled the polished wood shelves on the upper walls and crowded the counter that ran beneath. Below that, silver cutlery and serving utensils were stored in lined drawers, waiting to be used. The acrid scent of cleaning polish lingered in the air.
Bailey straightened away from the counter where he’d braced himself. “Everything fine?”
“It is now,” she said, striding to his side. She reached up, took his face in her hands, pulled him down, and kissed him. His arms came around her, cradling her close, as if she were more precious than all the wealth around them.
As she pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers a moment. “If that’s how you greet me after a hard day’s work, I’ll have to ask Mrs. Carmichael to make you work late more often.”
“Don’t you even think about it,” Morrigan warned. “I kissed you because I doubt you’re going to want to be anywhere near me when I’m done talking.”
Bailey frowned, straightening. “What’s happened?”
She drew in a breath to steady herself. “I told you how I joined my older sister in service.”
He nodded.
“What I didn’t tell you is that we ended up working in a house where the master felt free to take liberties with the servants.”
Bailey’s face darkened. “I’ve heard of such places. You’re not to blame.”
“I certainly didn’t encourage him,” she agreed. “When he leered, I found a way out of the room. When he attempted to fondle me, I dumped a vase of flowers on him.”
His mouth quirked. “Good for you.”
“Worst thing I could have done, as it turns out,” Morrigan said with a shake of her head. “Instead of cooling him down, it only raised his ire. Next thing I knew, the mistress’s favorite broach had gone missing and just happened to be found in my room.”
“The rat,” Bailey growled.
“Sneaky little rat. The mistress was ready to call the constable, but the master urged leniency. Looked me right in the eye and said I’d likely learned my lesson and should be given another chance. I’d learned my lesson. I was almost glad when the mistress sacked me with no reference.”
Despite herself, the tears were falling. Bailey cuddled her closer, one hand coming to wipe them away.
“I didn’t know what to do, Bailey. My family needed that money!
No one was going to hire me without a reference.
But Anne wouldn’t give up. She got an interview with His Grace, the Duke of Tyneham, only she sent me in her place.
One Miss Turner is as good as another, it seems. I was so scared.
I didn’t want to lie to him, Bailey, but he never even asked about my references, just what I wanted in life.
Me! And then he made me the offer to come to Dorset. ”
She pulled back and swiped at her cheeks. “So, now you know the truth. I’m here under false pretenses, and my reputation is ruined in London. Does that change your courtship plans?”
He didn’t so much as hesitate. “No. You’re still the girl for me.”
She closed her eyes a moment, sending up a prayer of thanks to heaven. Then she opened her eyes and gave him a smile.
“You’re a rare one, Tom Bailey,” she marveled. “But I’ll be your girl. So long as we don’t endanger our positions. Our families need us.”
“You heard Mrs. Carmichael. When we marry, we’ll go to day staff so we can have a place in the village.”
Marriage! He was talking marriage! She wasn’t about to argue. Her smile turned into a grin. Perhaps coming to Tyneham Manor was the best thing she could have done.