Chapter 6
The next morning after breakfast, Winn excused herself from the table and told the boys to go prepare for their lessons. Their family conversation this morning had been easier than yesterday and she rejoiced at the lack of tension.
She was about to step from the room and leave Bettington to his coffee when he asked her to remain.
“Please, a moment of your time. What do you plan for today?”
“I examine the linen and china closets for service for your dinner party. I consult with Bridgette about whatever she may need for that and I pay the household bills to the greengrocer and butcher. Those two men have told Bridgette the bills are long past due and so, I see to them.”
“Very good. I will send you the guest list for the Christmas Eve party.”
“Sir, I should not do those invitations.”
His blue eyes looked pained at her refusal, but she would not relent.
She had to explain. “It would be a point of gossip and I could not endure it.”
He nodded but looked confused. “I will do it. I see it as a mingling mostly for family.”
She was relieved he would not argue with her more about that matter. “Is that all, sir?”
He winced at her use of the formality. “Anything else you plan for today?”
“I will look at my tallies in the household records to see if my numbers are correct.” She had told him at breakfast that she thought his last housekeeper had fidgeted with the funds. He said he wanted proof to inform the registry he had used to hire the woman. “I will come to you with my maths.”
“Good. And the maid you interviewed yesterday here?’
“I like her.”
“Then hire her. We need her and if you like her, she passes muster. Do you go out with the boys today?”
“I had planned only a short walk. The wind seems very sharp today. I will not risk their health. Why do you ask?” Please do not say you come with us again. I cannot remain aloof when you are so carefree and charming.
“A good idea. What time do you go?”
“Half past eleven, I think.”
“Good to know. I will not join you today. I have meetings. The Duke of Wharton comes to talk with me here. He arrives at two. I want you to be in attendance to greet him. Pour tea. Offer whatever delicacies Bridgette offers up. Make polite conversation. Then if you wish you can remain or leave us to our talks.”
No, no. He was exposing her to his colleague and doing so as a substitute for his wife, exactly what she could not do and would never become. “Oh, Bettington, please, I—”
“You provide a measure of respectable polish which this household desperately needs.”
She straightened her spine. Affection for him had her wishing to give him the world, but she felt herself falling into his demand. “I am but the housekeeper.”
“You are a lovely, gently bred lady. I need you to show the world I know quality when I see it. Come. Be my hostess. Ten minutes of your time does not shake the world.”
Despite all against it, she knew he honored her to ask it of her. “I will. I’ll see what Bridgette can create for you.”
He stared down at her, his long dark lashes drooping over his large blue eyes, creating an impression of his gratitude. “I am glad we do not argue.”
“As am I.” She began to curtsy, but caught herself. “Until later,” she said and began to turn away. But at once oddly brave and impetuous, she swung back around. “Would you answer a question for me?”
“Anything,” he said with a verve that told her he truly meant she could inquire about any matter in the world.
“Did you hire me as housekeeper for the Grange because you knew I had once cared for you?”
“Once?” His mouth tipped up at one corner as he teased her with the word. “I wanted you there to bring your merry self to a household demoralized and disorganized. But now you are put off by me, and I am flummoxed. I do not know what to do to bring that happy woman to us here.”
He was too charming, tempting her to throw away every rule she had ever formed to stay away from him.
She hurried away. That happy woman, as he called her, was scared to death to find herself in his embrace, defying every law that would save her from her father’s despair and her own ridicule.
* * *
Winn threw her head back to laugh as the three boys each fell backwards into mounds of snow in the Crescent green. They were all wrapped up tightly in wool coats and hats too big for them, their little necks wound about in their father’s heavy scarves.
“Look at me! Look at me!” William yelled, falling once more and whipping his imaginary wings up and down in the powder.
“Angle! Angle!” Tio lay in a pile as he whipped his arms up and down. At once, he scrambled up and pointed to his impression in the snow. “A big angle!”
“It’s an angel, Hore!” Roger, miffed at his youngest brother’s mispronunciations, called him the name that Horatio had called himself when first he talked. They had all received the decree from their father that Horatio was now Tio. And so it was, on pain of a dressing down.
Winn went to Roger and took his hand. “Come now, I think all our works are lovely. Don’t you, Roger?”
He pouted, recognizing her polite reprimand. “Yes, Miss.”
“Angle, angle, angle!” Tio ran in circles around his newest creation, flapping his arms as if they were wings.
William had his hands on his hips as he glared at Roger. “We know, Tio. We know!”
Tio ran ahead, his little legs pumping, his arms churning.
“Wait, Tio!” Winn ran after him. She found him, falling backward into a fresh pile, his laugh like a tinkle of a bell…until he gave a cough. And then another.
She didn’t like the sound of that cough and offered him a hand. “Do sit up, Tio.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Mathers.” The deep bass voice had her glancing up toward the dashing silver-haired Duke of Wharton.
She had met him yesterday afternoon when he had come for his meeting with Bettington.
He had been most gracious, indeed so gracious toward her that she wondered if Bettington had prepared the duke for a lady in the house.
Or rather, a woman who was not a lady but who was receiving him nonetheless.
The duke continued his flawless behavior toward her and offered her his hand. His smile was generous to her and playful to Tio to whom he said, “Lovely angles, Tio.”
The little boy beamed at the man whom he obviously knew.“Mmm-hmm. Big ones.”
“I do agree, young man. Most notable.” The duke gazed at Tio’s latest and nodded. “I wish I could do as well.”
Tio grasped his hand, tugging him toward a huge mound of untouched snow. “Do, do!”
“Oh, I cannot…”
But now Roger and William were joining the chant of Tio.
Winn contained a chuckle and spread both hands wide. “What will you do, sir?”
At which, he pursed his lips, frowned at each of the four in turn, then turned around and fell into a patch of snow.
His wings were, of course, huge, as were his applause.
“Wait!” Bettington came toward them all, grinning like a child. “I too must be an angle!“
“Yay, Papa!” yelled Roger.
After which, Bettington found a clear patch and fell backward. As he lay in the snow, the breath knocked from him, his gaze met Winn’s, then his sons’, followed by his friend’s, and back to Winn. “I saw all of you and had to come.”
Winn offered her hand to help him up. “Have you hurt your back?”
“Definitely not!”
“You do not move quickly, Bett.” Wharton leaned over him, skeptical.
“I am fine. Fine, fine!” He rolled to one side, avoiding Winn’s and Wharton’s hand.
“It’s a terrible thing to grow old,” Wharton mourned as they all walked toward Bettington House.
“You should talk, Wharton. You are four years older than I.”
Winn bit her tongue as the two men chided each other and all of them marched into the foyer. Immediately, Fox appeared to help them all with coats and hats and scarves.
Tio, to Winn’s dismay, had begun to cough once more. It was a deep resonant cough that rattled his chest and her composure.
“My lord,” Fox said to Bettington, “Your appointment is here. I put her in your office for the moment.” Fox’s chocolate brown eyes darted to Winn.
“Tell her I will be there in a few minutes.” He ran both hands through his thick curls as he checked Fox’s wary eyes.
Winn wondered who this lady might be, but she busied herself urging the boys to go upstairs to change their wet trousers.
“Wharton, could you please wait for me?” Bettington asked his friend. “I have a matter I must see to. Five minutes, no more. I apologize.”
“Go to it,” Wharton said, waving him off and turning for the main salon.
“Miss Mathers!” Bettington called to her as she took the stairs up behind the boys. “Can we speak for a moment?”
“Tio has a cough. I don’t like it.” Winn recalled that last summer the little boy had caught a fever after he fell into one of the fountains at the Grange.
“A poultice for his chest, then,” Bettington frowned as he watched the boys scamper up the staircase. “Warm tea. Broth. I will come to see him put to bed as soon after I speak with Wharton and the lady in my office.”
She nodded, prepared to turn away
He caught her forearm. “Wait, please. The visitor in my office is for you.”
“Me?” She knew not who it could be.
“She is a dressmaker from Half Moon Street. Very accomplished.”
“I do not understand. I know no dressmaker here in London.”
“I have called for her for you. Her name is Madame Channard and I have asked her to sew for you four new gowns.”
At first, her mouth fell open. “I am stunned. Furthermore, I cannot—”
“You can accept them.”
“That is beyond—”
“No, it is not. You cannot wear the same dress for days on end.”
Ohhh. She huffed. “Why not?”
“Well for one thing, you like to change regularly. And bathe, too. Always have.“
Oh, why did he do this? She would like to look pretty for him. Smell good for herself, too. Even have him admire her in more than this plain robin’s egg cotton. But she was no coquette, no diamond, no equal to his station. Nor was she a beggar, needing favors. “I cannot accept them.”
He strode so near, she felt his determination roll off him in waves of heat.
He lifted her chin with two fingers—and she rooted to the carpet, wanting his strength, yearning to merit his gift and hating his demand she take it.
“Madame will do this. You will accept them. So buy them from the woman yourself or reimburse me from your salary at the end of our arrangement. But wear them.”
* * *
The next day she dared not take the children out.
Not only was it dreary and bitterly windy, but Tio was worse.
She consigned him to bed. Taking the household ledger, she sat with Tio and reviewed her latest figures on the previous houskeeper’s estimates.
It was a good conclusion. Finished. Winn devoted herself to entertaining Tio again.
He grumbled, but promised to be a good boy after she promised hot tea and many biscuits. Still, it became a challenge to keep him quietly occupied. Reading to him finally put him to sleep.
Tucking the covers under his chin, Winn hurried from his room down to Bettington’s library.
She knocked and Bettington called for her to enter.
But she saw that he had guests. The same gentleman as yesterday, the Duke of Wharton, stood and gave her a generous smile.
Beside him stood a slightly younger man, grey at the temples, and discerning cool grey eyes.
In his gaze stood an interest she could only term salacious.
If Bettington spied it, she could not say.
But it repelled her, even as she knew she would not give any indication that she knew or that she found it disgusting and appallingly bad manners.
Bettington introduced her. “Miss Mathers, you have met his grace, the duke. And this is Lord DeVries. Both gentlemen are here to discuss the bill that the duke and I propose in Parliament.”
She gave a small curtsy and a smile. “Good to meet you, my lord, and Your Grace, good to see you once more.”
Bettington’s face was lined with anxiety. “You come with news of Tio?”
“I do, sir. He is finally napping.”
“His cough?”
She shook her head. “No better. I worry.”
“I will have Fox call in the doctor.”
“A good idea. But in the meantime, I will begin to apply a warm poultice to his chest. Bring up the fire in the room, too.”
“Thank you. Pardon my intrusion.” She promptly left them for her little charge.
* * *
Bettington watched Winn go, taking note of Wharton’s approval and of DeVries’ sharp craven interest in her. Naturally, he would not hint at his recognition of the man’s interest. DeVries’ friendship was vital to Bettington to help with this bill.
“Please,” he said extending a hand to their chairs. “Let us continue.”
Both men settled in.
But DeVries, a widower with a reputation for enjoying himself with many women, shot his cuffs and caught Bettington’s eyes. “Lovely lady. Who is she, Bettington?”
“My housekeeper.”
“Is that so? I wish I could find one as pleasant. Devoted to your children, too. Where ever did you find her?”
He would keep this simple, precise—and formal. “The country. My village.”
“Ah, so she is then your…?”
“Housekeeper, DeVries. My housekeeper.”
* * *
Bettington appeared in Tio’s bedroom an hour later.
“Any better?” he asked her and bent over his son.
“No change, I am afraid.” She noticed his eyes strayed to the household ledger on the nearby table. “I’ve been tallying the accounts as Tio sleeps. I have finished the books. It is true that the last housekeeper took money. Nearly eighty-four pounds.”
“Dear God.” He sighed. “I will tell the registry of her crime. I will not pursue the matter to regain the money. The woman is most likely gone without a trace. By the way, did the person applying for the maid’s position appear for work?”
“She did. I like her.”
“Marvelous. We have some order.” He smiled at her in that slow warm way that told her he was happy. “Wharton likes you.”
“And I like him. He seems a good man.”
“DeVries likes you, too.”
She arched a long golden brow. “So I noticed.”
“You will tell me if he makes any untoward comments to you.”
“So then, is he a rogue?”
“He is. But I would say it is because he has not yet met the right woman.”