Page 6

Chapter Three

The Manning household was in chaos, Rafferty reflected a few hours later as he was polishing Sir Elston’s shoes. The leather was worn thin, but he knew how to treat worn-out shoes, and he applied the polish in careful layers as he thought about his current situation.

The house was appalling—dust in the corners, shredded

curtains in the sunroom, an almost empty cupboard as Bertha struggled to maintain what she could.

He saw no sign of the lady of the house—apparently she spent most of the day in bed before she rose to go out on an endless succession of parties, and, while he knew Miss Norah Manning had risen, she had yet to make an appearance.

He’d managed to avoid Georgie so far, but sooner or later. ..

“There you are!” she cried from the doorway. “What are you doing with my father’s shoes?” She wandered into the kitchen, looking around her with interest.

“My job,” he said reprovingly.

She turned and smiled at him. “I said the wrong thing again.” She took the chair opposite and practically threw herself into it.

She was dressed more appropriately now, though if his suspicions were right, the dress was too young for her, more appropriate for someone still in the schoolroom, which Georgie definitely was not.

There was a stain across the front of the dress, and the hem had come loose, and her long, untended hair hung down her back.

She looked more like a hoyden than a proper young lady, and he wished he didn’t find her so. ..

He couldn’t afford to think that way.

She didn’t wait for his reply. “What else have you been doing? Have they got you polishing the silver yet?” She made a face. “It’s huge—it’ll take you days and days.”

“No one’s got me doing anything, Miss Georgiana. As the butler, I decide what needs to be done, and a gentleman needs more than one pair of shoes.”

“I only have one pair of shoes,” she confessed. “My dancing slippers, which is ridiculous because I’m not allowed to dance.” She stuck her legs out from beneath her torn hem to display stockinged feet.

They were adorable. He frowned at her. “What do you wear when you go outside?”

“Oh, I have a pair of walking boots that are too small, but I can walk in them. I get blisters, so I tend to stay home, which is awful, but I think Mother prefers it that way. I miss the countryside, where I could go anywhere I wanted.”

“How long have you been in the city?”

“A long time.” She sighed, then smiled at him. “But life is going to get a great deal more interesting with you in the household. Do you want me to help you with Papa’s shoes?”

“No, Miss Georgiana.”

“Couldn’t you call me Georgie?”

“No.”

“What about Miss Georgie? That’s what Bertha calls me. When she’s not calling me a hellion and an imp of Satan and one of life’s sore tribulations.”

“What do you do to Bertha?” He was unable to hide his curiosity.

“She’s teaching me how to cook, and I’m not very good at it. But really, someone’s got to help out around here, and we can’t let the beauteous Norah soil her lily-white hands with menial labor.”

No young lady of his memory would ever be allowed in the kitchen. “Does your mother know?”

“Oh, Mother doesn’t care about anything but her parties and her cards.

We wouldn’t be nearly so destitute if she didn’t gamble, or if she didn’t always lose, but she says it’s her only character flaw, which frankly isn’t true, but I don’t argue with her because she has a temper just like Norah, though she talks almost as much as I do. ”

“Impossible,” he said faintly, setting down the shoe.

Georgie wasn’t one to take offense. “Father adores Mother, but she really is useless.”

“And Miss Norah is useless as well?”

“Oh, no! She’s going to marry well and save us all.” She sounded just the slightest bit doubtful of that happy outcome.

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll have to think of something else.”

“You could marry some rich toff,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “Hardly. Norah is the beauty. No one can hold a candle to her. I expect that if I’m lucky enough to get married, it will be some ancient widower.”

He could have explained to her in simple terms how wrong she was.

Her tall, lush frame was just the sort of thing any man would like, and even her endless prattle was disarming.

Despite not having a dowry, she could have her pick if the men in society had half a brain. Which he suspected they didn’t.

She needed someone to show her just how pretty she was. If they were anywhere else, he’d take her in his arms and demonstrate, but she was too young and he needed this place too much. He told himself he wasn’t even tempted, and he knew he lied.

“But that’s neither here nor there,” she continued briskly before he had a chance to come up with a response. “I’ve come to find you because I want to help. I’m quite good at it, you know. I can make beds, and dust, and?—”

“Now you go leaving Rafferty alone, Miss Georgie!” Bertha announced as she trudged into the kitchen lugging a bucket of water and a mop.

“He’s got his work to do—he doesn’t have time for the likes of you.

And don’t expect me to give you cooking lessons today—we’ve just about nothing to eat, and I don’t know what we’re going to do.

The butcher and the greengrocer won’t advance us any more credit, and while I can make a meal out of eggs and bread, it’s not the sort of thing I like to set before the gentry. ”

“I wasn’t bothering him, Bertha!” she protested. “He’s my protégé, and I’m looking after him.”

“Your what?”

“My protégé.”

“He’s no such thing, and you should be ashamed to think it!” Bertha snapped.

“Why?” Georgie asked, perplexed.

“Never you mind! You just go along back upstairs and see to some of the mending—that’s a nice, ladylike occupation.”

“I’m terrible with a needle and thread,” Georgie confessed.

“I know you are. Practice makes perfect.”

Rafferty rose then, setting the polished shoes on the floor. “I’ll see what I can do about the larder.”

Georgie looked up at him. “You’re going out? Can I come with you?”

“No!” Bertha and Rafferty said in unison, but Georgie was far from cowed.

“Well, I’m coming, and if you leave without me, I’ll just sneak out and follow you, so you might as well let me come.

Besides, if the butcher sees my woebegone face he might take pity on us and extend us a little more credit.

” She came up with a creditably forlorn expression, and Rafferty laughed before he could stop himself.

“I doubt it,” Bertha said. “It’s a waste of time for both of you—Jenkins has a heart of stone and we’re more than two months in arrears.”

“I’m a butler,” Rafferty said. “I’m supposed to work miracles.”

“You’ll need one for Jenkins.”

“And I’m coming with you!” Georgie announced, brooking no argument. “Just let me get my boots.” She was off before he could come up with another protest, and his eyes met Bertha’s.

“Is she always like this?”

“Miss Georgie? Oh, she’s the best of them—good as gold, she is, and worth twice her feckless family. The master’s not so bad, but he’s over his head and can’t find his way out of the mess he’s in. Sooner or later we’ll all be out on the streets, and that’s likely to be sooner.”

That wouldn’t suit him at all, Rafferty thought.

He’d had a chance to make a preliminary inventory of the place—this ramshackle old house was huge, with a warren of cellars beneath the ground floor, attics overhead, and the rambling family quarters.

Belding could have stored his money anywhere, and it was going to take time to find it.

If the Mannings were thrown out on the street, he’d no longer have access to the place.

Of course, he might be lucky and find the stuff on first try, but life didn’t tend to work that way.

And he had Billy Stiles breathing down his neck, just as determined to find Belding’s cache as he was.

It should be simple enough—his erstwhile employer, the notorious Judge Belding, had left a fortune behind, presumably in this very house.

He also didn’t fancy seeing Georgie destitute, though the rest of them could suffer for all he cared. Though he liked Sir Elston, and Bertha was a good sort.

“She needs to get married,” he said, half to himself.

“Miss Norah’s been scaring them all away, for all she’s a diamond.”

“I meant Miss Georgie.”

Bertha didn’t blink at the nickname. “She’s not interested. The daft girl wants nothing more than to go back to the country and live a quiet life. What she wants is a farmer, say, or a horse trainer, and you can imagine what Sir Elston would say to that.”

“She’ll get married,” he said firmly.

Bertha’s brow furrowed. “It will be up to Sir Elston to arrange something, and he’s got enough on his plate right now, trying to bring Norah up to snuff.”

“I think you’re underestimating Miss Georgie’s charms,” he said.

“I think that you’re paying too much attention to Miss Georgie and not enough on your duties,” Bertha said dourly. “She’s not for the likes of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, horrified at the idea.

“Just keep that in mind. And don’t call her Georgie. She’s Miss Georgiana to you.”

Bertha was right—he was asking too many questions about someone who was none of his business. He needed to concentrate on Henry Belding’s lost fortune.

“I’m going before she can get back,” he said, heading for the door. “Stall her if she tries to follow.”

“She’s a stubborn young woman. Might as well try to stop a hurricane,” Bertha said dubiously.

It was a beautiful day in Mayfair, the crisp autumn weather a treat for the mind and soul. If he still had a soul, which he sincerely doubted. No one even glanced at him as he strode, hatless, down the sidewalk.

He was walking too fast, ghosts and demons at his heels, when he suddenly remembered who he was pretending to be, and he slowed his pace to a butler’s walk, a cross between self-important and servile, and was congratulating himself when he heard a clatter of footsteps behind him.