Page 7 of Lord Heartless

"Unsafe. Unsanitary. Unkempt and uncouth."

Was she talking about him or the dog? Lesley checked his neckcloth for spots. He hadn't had time to tie anything intricate this morning. Hell, he'd felt like tying a noose this morning. Now Mrs. Kane had everything under control, bless her starched-up soul. Every time he was coming to like the prickly female, though, she got on her high horse. He was in no mood for a grump-gallop. If he did not get some sleep soon, he was like to collapse in one of Glad's holes. Mrs. Kane, he was certain, would kick dirt over him and plant posies on top. “You go too far, madam."

She wasn't listening. “He brings in fleas and filth, and cannot be trusted around an infant."

"Dash it, ma'am. Glad isn't about to gnaw on the baby's toes or anything."

"How do you know? You've never had an infant here before, have you? Besides, Maisie is afraid of dogs."

Only Maisie? he wondered. Aloud he asked, “What do you expect me to do, toss him out with the trash?"

"He'd never go hungry there."

"Come now, Mrs. Kane, be reasonable. Think of the weather, the traffic, the hungry beggars. Surely you have more compassion than to believe I should evict poor Glad?” The dog wouldn't go; he'd tried.

"I believe that if you can find a home for Sue in the country, you can find one for that beast also."

"Ah, I can see the advertisement now: Wanted, kind, loving family for girl child and male hound, both of uncertain pedigree."

She sniffed at his attempt at humor. “Meantime I think the cur should be in the stables."

"Oh, no, you don't. You have never heard Glad howl when he cannot dig his way out of a prison. Werewolves baying at the moon cannot hold a candle to him. And he keeps it up for hours. I did try, you know, to keep him from bothering my neighbors’ yards. It was either their roses or their rest, however, so I chose to let him roam."

"You could have avoided the problem altogether, my lord. You should never have brought the impossible creature home with you in the first place."

"There are many things I should not have done, but it is too late for regrets, ma'am.” Lesley was thinking that he shouldn't have had that fourth bottle last night—or was it the fifth?

Carissa was thinking of the motherless baby. “We will return to the issue of the dog presently. For now I have compiled a list of what you will be needing if you are to keep Sue here for more than a day or two."

The house already smelled of beeswax and lemon juice. The carpets were not really gray, it seemed, and his study windows actually looked out on a pleasant vista, now that they were clean enough to be seen through. What more could the woman want? Since his plans involved parading the child before the Polite World, for however long it took to give the doyennes and duennas a disgust of himself, Lesley took the proffered paper. He'd been right about Mrs. Kane not belonging to the servants’ class, he noted. She wrote an elegant hand, the kind that came from expensive governesses or exclusive finishing schools.

"A cook?” he read. “I take my meals at the clubs or social engagements."

"Yes, but Maisie cannot. Nor can the rest of the staff you will be hiring to keep the house presentable."

He raised one eyebrow. “I will?"

Carissa went on. That topic was not open for debate. “And Maisie cannot be expected to cook. She has been in service all her life and was never taught how, for one thing. And she will be too busy with the baby, for another."

"I bow to your superior knowledge of running a household, Mrs. Kane, but surely women have been doing the cooking, cleaning, marketing, and mending for centuries—with babies on their hips."

No woman he knew, she'd be willing to wager. Aloud she said, “Yes, and those women help their husbands plow the fields, too. And then they die young. Maisie needs nourishing meals if she is to nourish the baby. From what I have seen of Mr. Byrd's cooking, tea and hardtack are about his limits."

"That's not hardtack, ma'am,” Byrd put in as he brought a fresh pot of tea into the viscount's study. “They are scones."

"And I am sure they will be excellent teething biscuits for Sue in a few months, Mr. Byrd."

Lesley tried to bite into one of the lumps. He'd always assumed Byrd had lost his front teeth in a prizefight. Now he wasn't so sure. “Very well, a cook. One who can also act as housekeeper, I see."

"Yes, you'll need someone to oversee the female servants, especially since you said you wished to retain day help only."

What he'd said was that Byrd would leave his employ if he filled the house with gossipy, giggly housemaids. He kept reading. “Bootboy, tiger, undernursemaid, scullery maid—Gads, ma'am, this household consists of one person and a child, and I am gone most of the time. You are staffing a palace."

Carissa bit her lip. “I know my estimates are a trifle extravagant, my lord, but the matron at the foundling home happened to mention that she had a quantity of youngsters ready for employment."

Byrd took the pot of cold tea away. “Half-pints and females,” he muttered. “Females and half-pints. It's enough to make a body go back to sea."

"At least he hasn't served notice again.” Lesley sipped at his tea, wondering how he could sneak the scones out to Glad while Mrs. Kane was busy adding lines to her list with a pencil from her pocket. She handed it back to him. “An exercise boy? Why the deuce do I need an exercise boy? I only stable my chestnuts and a gelding here. My other horses are kept at Grosvenor Square or Hart's Rest, my country seat. Both of which, you'll be delighted to know, employ a veritable army of servants."

"The dog, my lord. It occurs to me that if the creature were kept on a lead, taken on long walks—outside this neighborhood—he would not be such a threat to Lovey, ah, Sue. Or the shrubbery. At night the boy could sleep in the stables, guarding the horses.” And keeping the wretched mongrel company.

"I will consider all of this if you will consider coming tomorrow to help with the interviews. You have already been a lifesaver, accomplishing far more than I ever hoped or expected, but I confess I would not know how to begin hiring a cook-housekeeper, to say nothing of an exercise boy."

"I was going to come to see how Maisie and the baby are getting along, but I would be happy to select candidates, for your approval, of course, if Sir Gilliam does not require my presence tomorrow. And I can talk to Matron also, if you wish."

There was a teasing sparkle in the widow's brown eyes that Lesley found enchanting enough that he nodded his agreement. The female was a conniver, like all her sisters, but she was not underhanded about it. He admired that in Mrs. Kane, if not her efficiency. The blasted woman was handing him yet another list.

"They need you at the War Office, madam, to keep the troops better supplied. What is this list about?"

"The other list was what the household needs. This list is what the baby needs, if she is to be here any length of time."

The list was two pages long, in neat double columns. “Good grief, ma'am, Wellington travels with less."

"Wellington is not an infant, my lord. Sue cannot be expected to sleep in a food hamper, you know."

Lesley didn't see why not. The little darling looked adorable in her basket.

"As soon as she learns to turn over, she'll tumble out onto the floor. If you place her on a bed, she might creep to the edge."

Lesley borrowed Carissa's pencil to circle crib. “But all this other paraphernalia? Surely babies do not need so many ... things."

Surely they did, Carissa proceeded to convince him. A pram so the child could get outside for healthful fresh air, a rocking chair to help her get to sleep. More blankets and bonnets and booties. Talcum and special soap, a rattle and a teething ring. A cradle so Maisie could lay her down when she came to the kitchen for meals.

"Did you have all of this for your daughter?"

"Yes,” she answered curtly, volunteering no further information.

Hartleigh looked around. “Deuce take it, where the devil is she? The chit is so quiet, I forget she's around half the time."

"Pippa is upstairs with Maisie and the baby, having a nap. And yes, she is a quiet child. Living at Sir Gilliam's, she had to learn to be unobtrusive and well behaved."

Granted the viscount did not know much about youngsters, but he knew the brats on the street were always running and shouting. He could not believe that Philippa Kane's reserve was quite natural. Lesley wondered if the sobersided little chit ever laughed or cried or played with other children, and why not. His curiosity about Mrs. Kane and her daughter was growing.

As was Mrs. Kane's list as she thought of new items an infant needed. “Bibs, of course. How could I have forgotten?” She'd embroidered scores of them for her baby, and smocked so many infant dresses that Pippa hardly wore the same one twice before outgrowing it. Then there were tiny undergarments, for warmth. And wool for sweaters. Carissa could teach Maisie to knit if she did not already know how.

"Where the devil am I going to get all this stuff?” the viscount demanded. He'd be chasing from dry goods stores to furniture warehouses to carriage makers—if the manufacturers of his curricles were the same ones who made baby carriages. And Lesley could just imagine himself going into Mme. Pouquette's millinery shop, where he was used to shopping with his latest barques of frailty, and asking for baby bonnets. “Byrd!"

* * * *

"I ain't picking out no dainties,” the man replied when shown the list “You want a cravat, that I can buy. Handkerchiefs are at the haberdashers, no argle-bargle there, Cap'n. But nappies and nightgowns for the nit? No way."

Carissa took pity on the helpless males. “Most likely you have nearly everything you need right in the attics of your family home. Most households do."

Hartleigh saw sweet salvation. “Do you have all of your daughter's infant things over at Sir Gilliam's then?"

"No, I had to leave it all behind when I came to London.” Carissa had had to sell everything, the tiny lace-edged caps and the cradle she'd commissioned, everything Pippa had outgrown or could spare, to pay her coach fare. “I didn't need any of it since I was unlikely to have any more children, and there were too many years to wait for grandchildren. I would have been happy to see it used for Sue."

Lesley wondered at the sad look in Mrs. Kane's eyes. Did she miss her husband so much, still, or was she regretting the change in her circumstances? He could not keep from speculating whether she really was what she seemed, a respectable widow fallen on hard times, or a rich man's mistress. She spoke so fondly of the old gent, it was possible. And hidden behind the dreary demeanor was a spirited woman who might appeal to certain men. Not himself, of course, but Sir Gilliam might not desire a dasher.

Mrs. Kane was kind and gentle; anyone could see that from watching her with her daughter. Hell, he owed her his life for finding Maisie, for showing the maid how to change the infant's diapers. He'd have traded his gelding, his diamond stickpin, and Byrd for that alone. But there was some secret Mrs. Kane was holding, some hesitation about her past, as if she were weighing each word. He'd never trusted a woman yet, and saw no reason to take at face value all this one said, or didn't say. But he owed her. He was fairly certain she would not take money for her efforts, but Mrs. Kane had a small, doe-eyed weak spot. She'd never deny her daughter some toys and books, and Lesley knew right where there were cartloads.

"Now that I think on it, the attics at Hammond House must be full of baby things, for my mother never threw anything out. I know all my old toys are still in the nursery. Agatha, my father's second wife, would never exert herself to climb to the upper stories, so I am sure everything is exactly where my mother left it."

"Excellent. Then all you have to do is go over there with a wagon."

Byrd slapped his knee. “Aye, and listen to a lecture on your wicked ways. Lud, I can't wait to hear you tell Lady Hartleigh you're outfitting an infant"

"I was hoping she'd hear of it through the gossip vine and wash her hands of me entirely.” For Carissa's benefit he explained, “The woman is a carping shrew who uses her health as an excuse for her bad behavior. As much as she deplores my style of living, Agatha still has hopes of haranguing me into holy matrimony with one of her rabbit-faced relations. I would not put it past her to try to catch me in parson's mousetrap, either, so I cannot say I relish bearding the lioness in her den. Unfortunately she is my father's widow, so I cannot give her the cut direct or her marching orders."

He did not speak for a minute, contemplating the dire fate of being buckled to one of the Spillhammer sisters. Then he looked up. “But wait. Tomorrow is Wednesday, is it not? They will be attending Almack's, without a doubt. Agatha's agues never seem to occur on evenings of social importance, and there is none more crucial to her sisters’ success than the weekly assembly. She'll never snabble them husbands if she can't pass them off as Quality there."

"Surely the, ah, Spillhammer sisters are Quality or they would never be granted vouchers to attend in the first place,” Carissa chided, revealing a telling familiarity with the ways of the Polite World.

Lesley waved a manicured hand. “Jumped-up gentry. That's why Agatha wanted my father's title so badly, so she'd have the cachet of Hammond House behind her when she tossed the dismal duo on the ton. No, they'll be hunting at Almack's tomorrow night, I guarantee it. Hammond House will be vacant, therefore, so we can steal in, get what we need with no one the wiser, and be gone in less time than it will take Sally Jersey to dragoon some poor sods into dancing with the chits. Madam Housekeeper, how would you like to be a housebreaker?"

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