Page 13 of Lord Heartless

What was she going to do? By all that was holy, what was she going to do? How long could she live on the crumbs Broderick had tossed her? London rents were high, but there were more positions here than in the country. Carissa had some savings put aside, but they would not go far, either. They were supposed to be for Pippa's dowry, not her daily bread.

Carissa did not know if she could bear to stay on in Sir Gilliam's house and watch Sir Gilliam's nephew destroy the peace and quiet the old gentleman had cherished. She knew she could not remain here if Mason did. The man had been difficult under Sir Gilliam; he'd be impossible under a weakling like Broderick. Carissa would not be under his thumb. Mason had been left a pension, though, a pension she thought she'd been promised, along with the house. Perhaps he'd leave.

Cook was already packing, instead of making dinner. “They can go out to supper, for all I care, onct they're done celebrating, and the master not even in the ground two days.” She folded her aprons and stuffed them into a small trunk, slamming the lid. “I won't stay here with that young bugger, I won't. It ain't what a body is used to, that's for sure. Taking food out of my larder in the middle of the night so a body doesn't know what's left to cook come morning. Not telling a soul how many are coming to dinner. Strutting into my kitchen like a gamecock, ‘n’ leaving it a shambles. No, I'd rather go to my sister's house and cook for her brood than feed the likes of him."

Pippa's cat was twining itself around her legs, so Mrs. Kane picked it up and collapsed onto a kitchen chair with Cleo on her lap, stroking the soft fur and getting some small comfort from the purring. “But you don't like your sister's husband. You said he curses at her."

Slamming a knife into a drawer, Cook said, “Not with me there, he won't. You can count on that."

Carissa nodded. Cook was a formidable woman. Her brother-in-law's days of intimidating his wife and children were over, unless Carissa missed her guess.

"'Sides,” Cook was saying as she reached for a bottle of Sir Gilliam's finest wine, “that man-milliner Broderick will go through Sir Gilliam's blunt in a month, you mark my words. Let loose on London with all that brass in his pockets, the ninnyhammer will be plucked by every Captain Sharp in town. Look at the way he already lets those bosom bows of his barracks themselves here. No, it won't be long afore he goes through what should have been yours, dearie, and has none left for my salary, much less my pension."

"Can he do that?” Carissa wanted to know, accepting a glass for herself. She deserved that, at least. “I thought the monies Sir Gilliam bequeathed had to be set aside, held in trust or some such."

Cook clucked her tongue at the housekeeper's na?veté. “And who's to make sure he does, then? That no-account solicitor? Why, if he isn't getting a share of Sir Gilliam's groats, then I'll eat my Sunday bonnet. And you know how much I like my new hat."

It had fruit on it, and a little stuffed bird. Carissa hated the thing, but she'd miss seeing it every Sunday. “Now you can have two new bonnets,” she said in a quavering voice.

Cook blew her nose into a spotted kerchief. “I'll miss you too, dearie. What are you going to do?"

Carissa shook her head. “I haven't decided. Mr. Broderick says I can stay on as housekeeper."

"Faugh. Why work for that popinjay when you can work for his lordship acrost the street? You know he's always asking, and you practically run the place for him now. Did you know that dog of his bit that scurvy solicitor this morning? The flat tried to pat your little one on the head, he did, when she were out walking with Maisie and the babe. Trying to turn Maisie up sweet, I'd wager."

"I could almost grow to like the mutt.” The cat turned big green eyes up at Carissa in reproach, whether for the compliment to the dog or for the tear that fell on her fur. Carissa scratched under her chin. “But not enough to take the position. It would be too ... difficult."

"You mean it would be too easy to fall for the nonesuch, like every other female alive. Why, was I twenty years younger and a few stones lighter, I'd be batting my eyelashes at him too."

"I never did!"

"No, I didn't mean you, dearie. You're too much the lady for a quick tumble, and don't I know it.” She downed her glass, poured another, and shook her head again. “Still and all, it ain't right what they done to you. It ain't right at all. Could you go home to your da? A gentle-born lady like you hadn't ought to be working no ways, and Sir Gilliam was the first to recognize that fact."

The cat rolled to her back, to get her stomach rubbed. “No, my father washed his hands of me when I wed. I tried to seek his help when Phillip left us, but he was as adamant as ever. I would work for the worm who stole Sir Gilliam's money, rather than go begging of my father."

"And that husband of your'n didn't leave you his army pension or nothing?"

"Phillip Kane left me, period, as soon as he realized my father wouldn't release my dowry since I'd married without his permission. He rejoined the army before Pippa was born.” Or so he'd said at the time. “Oh, he did manage to go through the small inheritance I had from my mother first. I was able to sell my gowns and jewelry to live on, hoping he'd come back. He never did.” He never so much as sent a letter, never inquired about the child or her welfare. “I know now that he never loved me, that he was just after my father's money, but I was too gullible to see it at the time. It galls me that Papa was right. But I was young and would not listen to anything but my schoolgirl romantic notions."

"And then that Kane bastard up and died. Good riddance to him, I say. The Frogs did you a favor, dearie.” Phillip had died, at least in Carissa's heart. Cook poured out another glass. “It ain't right."

Carissa knew it wasn't right, she just didn't know what she could do about the damnable situation. First she went to fetch Pippa, avoiding the viscount, his manservant, and his mongrel. She hugged the child so hard that Pippa protested. Then she bathed and fed the girl, brushed Pippa's light brown hair until it crackled, and listened to her prayers.

"Say a special one for Sir Gilliam in heaven, sweetheart,” she advised, hoping the dear man wasn't spinning in his grave after this day's work. Then she put Pippa into bed early, telling her they had to get up sooner than usual to say good-bye to Cook in the morning. After one story from the viscount's nursery books, Carissa waited for her precious baby to fall asleep, the cat tucked under her chin.

Then, and only when she was absolutely positive that Pippa would not stir, Mrs. Kane returned to her tiny sitting room, threw herself onto the sofa there, and cried her eyes out. She cried for the man who was almost like a father to her, for hadn't she run her father's household too? And she cried for Pippa, who would never know a front-parlor life, unless she had the dusting of one. And she cried for herself.

An inheritance that would make her independent, that's what Sir Gilliam had said. She wouldn't have to keep house for anyone else, he'd told her. With a house and a bit of money in the bank, and letting her father's name be known, and the devil take him, she could be almost anyone's equal. The highest sticklers would never forgive her for going into service, of course, even if it had been the only way she could eat.

No matter, she did not care to reenter Society, anyway, for she could never marry again, as the old knight had thought she would, and that was the only reason for taking her rightful place in the ton. But she would have people's respect. She would have the viscount's respect. He would not look at her as if she were a plum ripe for the picking, not if she were Lady Carissa, the Earl of Macclesfield's daughter, with a tidy competence.

Instead she had nothing. Worse, she'd had her hopes dashed. What was she going to do?

Carissa must have fallen asleep eventually, there on the sofa, for she woke up cold and stiff, with her black gown twisted around her. The fire had gone out, and only the tiny glow of the oil lamp she left burning for Pippa in the bedroom they shared let her read the mantel clock. Two o'clock. Broderick must have come home, she thought, with his boisterous friends, disturbing her exhausted slumber. She just hoped they wouldn't decide to make a foray on the nearby kitchen.

While she was washing her face, still in the same wrinkled gown she'd worn all day and half the night now, she heard a scratching on her door. Carissa was not going to wake a footman to carry wash water for the cawker. Hers was frigid; let Broderick make do with cold water, too. And if the gudgeon wanted tea at two of the clock, he could jolly well go to China to find it.

The scratching continued. Standing perfectly still, Carissa pretended she hadn't heard it, even though Cleo wouldn't have made as much of a racket. Then came a hoarse whisper: “Mrs. Kane, I need to talk to you. I heard noises, don't you know, so you must be awake. I'll wait."

"I am sorry, Mr. Parkhurst, but you will have a very long wait. My duties begin at six of the a.m., not until. I shall be pleased to speak to you first thing in the morning."

"But I need you now. I really do,” he whined.

Oh, Lord, had the clunch come a cropper already? What if he was bleeding or ill? What if his conscience was bothering him so much he wished to offer her the deed to this house? Pigs would fly first, but she opened the door a crack. She didn't see any blood or bruises, though the coxcomb did seem the worse for wear. His neckcloth, which had been tied so high he had to look past his chin to see, was now limp and hanging to one side. His Cossack trousers, the latest thing, he had assured her that morning, had also come unstarched and unpressed, making him look like a failed balloon ascension. The hot air must have gone to his face, for it was flushed and damp with perspiration. Either he had the influenza or he'd imbibed too much. Carissa bet on the bottle.

When she tried to shut the door, he put his foot inside. “Dash it, just want to talk, don't you know."

She knew there'd be no getting rid of the rattlepate till she heard him out. “Very well, Mr. Parkhurst. What is it?"

"Didn't want to say it in front of Gordon, but you're welcome to stay on in the same city—no, the same capacity, is what I mean—as with m'uncle."

Carissa nodded, tapping her foot impatiently. “Yes, sir, you did say that this afternoon. And I am considering your kind offer. I shall inform you of my decision on the morrow."

"But there's more. Didn't want to say it in front of the fellows, either. Or the bra—your daughter. Or Cook.” He shuddered. “Reminds me of the knacker, back home."

"Yes? What more did you wish to tell me in confidence?” Carissa thought it had to be something about the will. Perhaps he was feeling so guilty, he couldn't sleep until he'd made amends.

"Mean to say, I won't share you with Heartless."

"Lord Hartleigh? Of course not. He'll be getting a permanent housekeeper of his own any day now."

"Tol-lol, ma'am, we're alone now. You know I'm not referring to keeping the accounts and counting the sheets. It's sheet-play, though, and I don't mean to share. Uncle mightn't have minded his dolly-mop spending time with the viscount—hell, the old man couldn't have kept a prime article like yourself satisfied.” Broderick puffed out his pigeon-breasted chest. “Daresay you won't have anything to complain about on that score, m'dear."

Carissa was dumbfounded. “You dare come here, in Sir Gilliam's own house, and slander him this way? You dare come to my own private rooms, where my daughter lies sleeping, to spew your filth?"

"And that's another thing. The chit's always staring, never says much. Puts me off m'feed, it does. There must be a school for the little nipper, eh? Teach her some manners and conversation. Be better for the chit in the long run, don't you know. And you'd have more time for your, ah, duties, ha ha.” He reached out to pinch her cheek.

At least now Carissa knew what she was going to do. Right after she shoved the dastard's writhing body out of her sitting room and locked the door behind him. It would be a long time before Broderick would be performing any of those particular duties. Ha ha.

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