Pamela smiled as she unpinned her hat and handed it to the footman. Beth had charmed Moulton, for if he had been a grouse he would have ruffled his breast.
Instead he examined Beth’s shabby appearance with un-disguised horror and advised, “Lord Kerrich is in the study. Miss Lockhart, I would strongly suggest you wash the child before presenting her to the master.”
So he, and undoubtedly all the servants, knew why their elegant domain had been invaded by a child.
“Yes, she needs a bath.”
“Not likely,” Beth muttered.
Pamela paid her no heed. With every intention of whisking her upstairs, she guided the child into the foyer.
But Beth skittered to a stop as the interior of the house opened up to her view. The large and towering entrance gleamed with polished wood floors and massive hand-tied Oriental rugs in deep colors of rose and royal blue. Two footmen flanked the outer door, each so still in his blue and gold livery he might have been part of the furniture. Gilt-framed mirrors decorated the white-painted walls, reflecting the light from the crystal chandelier and the diamond-shaped windowpanes. Fresh-cut flowers blossomed everywhere. A stairway rose up the middle and split at the top to become a gallery where one could scrutinize the comings and goings of the household.
A series of chambers led off the foyer. As Beth crept forward, she peered into the morning room, the breakfast room, the library, and her gasps sang in the silence. Pamela followed, observing the child’s wonder with a fascination of her own. It was like watching the girl open her first present on Christmas morning, and Beth’s wide eyes and trembling awe only reinforced Pamela’s determination to keep the orphan.
Then Beth peeked into the open door of Kerrich’s study, and she scurried to hide behind Pamela.
Pamela glared at the gentleman who stalked toward them, a broad-shouldered silhouette against the fading light behind him.
“Miss Lockhart, is that the child?”
Beth clutched at Pamela’s skirt.
Without effort, Pamela found herself transformed into the strict Miss Lockhart, acting—and reacting—to his egotistical lordship. “My lord, this is indeed your child.”
“Bring it in.” With the confidence of a man who was never refused, Kerrich turned his back and returned to his refuge.
Pamela marched forward, towing Beth behind her. Stepping into the doorway, she said, “The child would be better served if allowed to bathe and change before meeting you.”
“No.”
Kerrich’s flat refusal put Pamela on her mettle. “Very well.” Clasping Beth’s hand, she drew her gently into the study, then urged her forward with a hand in her back.
Kerrich had taken up position with his hip on his desktop, long-limbed, graceful, and as unintentionally attractive as he had been yesterday on purpose. His gaze considered first Pamela, then slowly moved to rest on Beth. His eyes sharpened, and he straightened from his fashionable slouch. In a furious, betrayed tone, he said, “Miss Lockhart, that is a girl.”
“Very astute of you, my lord,” Pamela approved. Heavens, how good she was at this pretense of pedantry and restraint! “Amazingly enough, the only other choice in gender the orphanage contained was that of a boy.”
“Why didn’t you get a boy?”
“None was suitable.”
“What do you mean, none was suitable?”
“Beth is the only child in the foundling home with the necessary qualifications.”
“The necessary qualifications?” He commanded attention by his arrogant pose and imperious tone. “Woman, what the devil are you talking about?”
“My lord, your rough speech is unacceptable in the presence of two ladies. Unlike Beth’s, whose speech is unmarked by street cant.” Pamela paused and let that sink in.
From the foyer came the sound of a knock on the outer door.
Kerrich examined Beth again. “Surely there was some lad there who—”
“No.” Pamela’s gaze clashed with his. “Also, Beth’s manners are impeccable. And she is honest. I will make no comment on the state of your honesty.”
Beth whimpered, a pitiful whisper that halted the two combatants.
Moulton tapped at the open door. “My lord?”
Kerrich paid his butler no heed, but he did take note of the child’s unease, for he tempered his tone. “What am I to do with a girl?” he asked.
“Just what you would do with a boy, I fancy,” Pamela answered. “Show her off. Become a character of kindness and respectability.”
“That’s stupid!”
Pamela truly enjoyed retorting, “I have thought so all along.”
Kerrich narrowed his eyes at her. “Miss Lockhart, you overstep your bounds!”
Voices came from the foyer, and the drift of fresh air told Pamela the outer door was open. “Forgive me, my lord. I thought most men enjoyed having a woman agree with their pronouncements.”
Beth tugged at her sleeve, and Pamela leaned down so she could whisper loudly. “Please, ma’am. We’re supposed to be convincing him I’m the tyke for him.”
Pamela slid her gaze toward him. He’d heard, of course, and of course he felt no compunction about grinning his delight at Pamela’s discomfiture. “A boy,” he announced, “would go to the horse races with me. And to the fights. And to the club.”
In deference to Beth, Pamela tempered her impatience. “You have a reputation as a rake. Take Beth where you would take your own daughter. To the park. To a Shakespearean play. To the fireworks.”
Moulton took a hesitant step into the chamber. “My lord?”
“In a minute, Moulton!” Kerrich said irascibly. “Miss Lockhart, such an itinerary would bloody bore me to death!”
Her patience, always thin with foolish gentlemen, snapped again. “Think, my lord! You mourn the chance to entertain yourself by teaching a young man the dissipations you revel in? The queen does not attend the horse races or the fights.”
“What do you know of Her Majesty’s habits?”
“As much as you, if you would only—” Pamela brought herself under control before she could betray herself and her past to the overly arrogant gentleman. “I know she is recently wed, and I know her consort is quite somber. And it doesn’t take a great deal of thought to realize that the queen, like any right-thinking woman, would not be impressed by your philanthropy when it involves teaching young men to wager!”
Moulton stepped into the foyer and stared, then stepped back in and fidgeted.
Kerrich didn’t appreciate her frank, and without a doubt correct, evaluation of his plan, and he did what all men do when their fallacies are pointed out to them. He sulked. “This child is useless to me.”
Evidently, Beth decided she had to take a hand in her own fate, for she spoke directly to him. “Excuse me, sir. I’m not useless. I know how to do lots of things, and if you let me stay, I’ll learn how to be the brat you’re looking for.” Her voice was shaking, yet she stared Kerrich right in the eye. “But you have to let me stay first. I promise to do whatever it is you want me to do, if you’ll just give me a chance.”
Kerrich glanced at Beth.
Please. Pamela wanted to plead with him. Look at her. See past the dirt and shyness to the courage and spirit.
But his eyes narrowed, and his color built. “Miss Lockhart, you must imagine that I am a soft-hearted imbecile to try and foist such a ruse on me. Is she your sister, perhaps, or a cousin you dabbed with dirt and hoped would wring my heartstrings? I am not so gullible!”
Beth jerked her hand out of Pamela’s and put her fists on her hips. “Are you calling her a liar? She’s a nice lady, and she rescued me!”
For one horrible moment, Pamela thought Beth would try to box his ears. Catching her shoulders, she held her close and said, “Truly, my lord. I met Beth today for the first time. I do not seek to deceive you in any way.” But her voice faltered on that assurance, since her very appearance was a deception.
Kerrich noticed, of course, and sto
od up as if he would throw them both out personally.
But from the doorway of his study came an old man’s hearty voice. “Hey, lad, do you have a hug for your old grandpapa?”
Chapter 6
“Gardner Mathewes, the marquess of Reynard, has arrived,” Moulton intoned, as if any idiot couldn’t see Kerrich’s beloved grandfather standing in the doorway.
“Grandpapa!” Kerrich stood, totally flummoxed by the unexpected appearance. “Why didn’t you warn me you were coming?”
“Warn you?” Lord Reynard chortled. “You sound like a lad caught out in a prank. Why should I warn you, young Devon?” He peered up at his grandson through the same brown color of eyes Kerrich saw in the shaving mirror every morning. “Have I come at an inconvenient time?”
“Not at all.” The worst. Nevertheless, a flood of affection engulfed Kerrich at the sight of the old man. Regaining his wits, he strode forward and embraced his grandfather, and felt the poke of old bones where muscle used to be. He looked down at his grandfather—the grandfather who used to be his height—and said, “You know I always welcome you.”
“Bloody right.” Lord Reynard embraced him back, and he must have been peering over Kerrich’s shoulder because he said, “Pardon me. I didn’t see these lovely young ladies.”
“What lovely young ladies?” Kerrich turned to see Miss Lockhart standing with that ridiculous girl-child she wanted him to take in.
“Well, lad, don’t dither. Who are these lovely young ladies?” Lord Reynard asked, and he couldn’t have sounded more delighted to see the shy little foundling and her sour-puss governess.
Because of Kerrich’s obligations this…onerous female…had come into his life. He glared at Pamela, fully aware he had approved of her only the day before. What had been in his mind?
Duty. Family honor. Queen Victoria saying, Lord Kerrich, if you don’t cease your frivolous pursuit of women and show yourself to be a serious, responsible gentleman, I can no longer allow you to retain those parts of my personal fortune in your bank. You should marry, as I have done, produce children, and become respectable—or else.
And he, being a stupid fool, had sneered and asked, “Or else what? What worse could you do then to take your fortune away from my safekeeping?”
Well, she’d told him. The queen’s or else had haunted his nightmares for years, and to discover someone knew his secret! And to have it be Victoria herself!
Taking matters into her own hands, Miss Lockhart introduced herself. “I am Miss Pamela Lockhart.” She bent her head low as she curtsied to Lord Reynard, making a point of displaying a great deal more respect to the elderly nobleman than she had to Kerrich. “Lord Reynaud, it is an honor.”
“Miss Lockhart.” Lord Reynard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Have we met?”
“Perhaps, my lord, but a good many years ago and very briefly.”
Lord Reynard stared at her as if dredging up memories long disused. “I used to know the Lockharts from Somerset. Are you related to them?”
Startled, Kerrich looked at Miss Lockhart. She was one of the Somerset Lockharts?
But Miss Lockhart didn’t meet his gaze, or his grandfather’s, either. Instead she looked down at the carved Chinese carpet and without emotion, said, “Yes, my lord. Alice Lockhart Ripley was my mother.”
“Ah.” Lord Reynard stiffened, then bowed slightly. “Hadn’t heard about your father’s death until recently. Let me extend my condolences.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Kerrich was shocked. Miss Lockhart, as unnatural a female as he had ever met, reacted not with grief but with what looked like resentment, even embarrassment. His father had died when Kerrich was ten, and Kerrich well remembered the choking grief of loss. How could Miss Lockhart be so cold? And why was his grandfather looking so dismayed?
Injecting a falsely hearty note into his voice, Lord Reynard asked, “What are you doing here with my grandson? He’s a rascal, you know. You’ll have to watch yourself.”
Kerrich barely refrained from snorting, then scrambled to fulfill his diplomatic duties. “This is the governess.”
“The governess.” Lord Reynard’s wrinkled lips puckered.
If anything, Miss Lockhart grew more pallid and peevish. “Yes, my lord. I make my way in the world by teaching children.”
“Good. Good,” Lord Reynard said obscurely. Placing one hand on his cane and one hand on Kerrich’s arm, he said, “I’ve been rattling around in that demmed coach for hours, and I’d like to take a turn about the room.”
“As you wish, sir,” Kerrich said.
With a short, dignified bow, Lord Reynard said, “Ladies, excuse us a moment. Don’t leave.”
They made a circuit of the room, passing Kerrich’s desk, the grouping of armchairs before the fire. As always, Kerrich was shocked at the disintegration of the tall, proud mentor of his youth. The stoop of Lord Reynard’s shoulders had grown so pronounced he had to lift his head to look Kerrich right in the face. In the past three years he had stopped carrying the decorative cane hooked over his arm and begun using it to support his every step. His rheumatism had grown worse with each winter, and a rainy day like today made him hobble and grunt.
At the farthest end of the room, out of Miss Lockhart’s earshot and in the alcove with the bookshelves and the tall, curtained window, Lord Reynard paused and leaned one hand against the ledge as if exhausted.
“Are you well, sir?” Kerrich asked, putting his arm around him.
“Fine as can be expected. Most men of eighty-four are drooling in their silver cups, not chasing their female caretakers around their beds.” He tapped his forehead. “And I’m still sharp as an icepick up here.”
“For which I am very thankful.” Usually. In his present circumstances, his grandfather’s acumen could be the cause of great discomfort.
“Just brought you here to warn you…Burgess Ripley was charming, handsome, witty, and he abandoned his daughter and wife. Blackguard left them destitute.”
“Good God.” Kerrich looked at Miss Lockhart. She was kneeling before Beth, straightening the child’s clothing and speaking quietly. The child was smiling at her as if she were a vision of beauty, and not some acerbic middle-aged spinster, and Kerrich couldn’t even find it in his heart to insinuate that Burgess Ripley had fled to avoid his daughter’s acrimony. With the child and with Lord Reynard she seemed almost…sweet. “Why did he leave them?”
“Always had a wandering eye. Went to live with some doxy on the continent. The mother died, leaving poor Miss Ripley—or as she calls herself now, Miss Lockhart—alone, and I believe the girl wasn’t yet sixteen.”
“That must have been twenty-five years ago. She should be over it by now.”
“Not that long.”
Not that long in his grandfather’s timeframe, Kerrich supposed, but the injury done to Miss Lockhart by her father had obviously soured her on the whole male gender. “Then I will not inquire more about her family background.”
“The Ripleys used to be much in society. I’m surprised you don’t remember the family.”
“I think that was probably before I attended parties.” But was it? Something nudged at his memory…something about that night at Kensington Palace…swiftly, he turned his mind away. He made it a habit never to contemplate that night at Kensington Palace.
“For a bright young man, you’re occasionally quite obtuse,” Lord Reynard observed.
“I?” Kerrich prided himself on his intelligence. “No other man at the bank can judge the market as I can and invest so profitably. No man comprehends the vagaries of trade, and I’m damned good at predicting the ebb and flow of currency. You know. You taught me.”
“I taught you the importance of recognizing faces and remembering names, too, my lad, but you’ve never thought that a significant skill, and for that you’re a fool.”
Stung, Kerrich said, “I remember people of consequence.”
Lord Reynard stopped again and faced Kerrich. “Peop
le of consequence change every day. I started with nothing, lad, just the title you now bear and a strong determination to conquer whatever horizon I crossed. I started at that bank at thirteen and owned it before I was thirty, but I remember every slight I received from the people of consequence of my day. And where are they now?”
“Dead?”
“Cheeky.” Lord Reynard grinned. “Yes, most of them, but they fawned on me before they died. I made a point to forget their names, and favors were not given to those who slighted me in my youth. Somewhere in your organization there is a youth working for you who looks up to you and is stung by your inattention. Your failings are going to catch up with you, and soon, I predict.”
“I’ll put my mind to remembering names, Grandpapa.” They started toward Miss Lockhart and the child again. “Just as soon as my life returns to normal.”
Lord Reynard dismissed his promise with a flip of the hand. “Oh, that’ll never happen now.”
They returned to the spot where Miss Lockhart and Beth stood waiting. Lord Reynard stared at them searchingly, then asked the question Kerrich had been waiting for. “What do you need a governess for, lad?”
“I’m adopting a foundling.” Kerrich braced himself for questions.
“This foundling?” Lord Reynard cocked his head and examined the girl.
That wasn’t the question that Kerrich expected. He thought that Lord Reynard would demand to know why.
Instead he again asked, “This foundling?”
His grandfather’s tolerance knocked him off-balance, and Kerrich glanced at Miss Lockhart. She watched him with bright, interested eyes, as if she couldn’t wait to hear his decision whether to take Beth or demand another, and all the while knowing he was trapped. Trapped by his grandfather’s fortuitous arrival and by the sour knowledge he’d been losing the earlier fight anyway.
He capitulated with little grace. “Yes, this foundling. This is—” Damn, what was the brat’s name?
Lord Reynard stared significantly at Kerrich.
Kerrich wished he remembered this one name at least.
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