She took a seat on the velveteen settee at the same moment Helen sat across from her, relieved when Jarvis, the butler, appeared at the door with a silver tea set followed by a maid who carried a silver tray laden with cakes and biscuits.
From where she sat, Daisy had a view through the salon window. She glanced out to see that a glossy black coach had pulled up in front of the house. She couldn’t make out the crest painted on the door from her vantage, but the matched greys suggested someone of wealth. “Were you expecting more guests this afternoon?” Daisy asked as she watched the maid set the tray on the low table in front of the settee. There were enough cakes to feed the entire staff of Ariley Place.
“We rarely host guests on Sundays,” Helen replied sadly as she allowed the maid to pour the tea. “But if you’re referring to the number of cakes on that tray, it’s only because Jarvis knows all too well how much James likes them. Why, he’ll eat every one of them if I don’t keep count,” she claimed with a teasing grin aimed in the duke’s direction.
“She has the right of it, but then you already know what a sweet tooth I possess,” her father said as he accepted his cup of tea.
For the first time since arriving at Ariley Place earlier that afternoon, Daisy smiled. “Oh, Father, I do,” she replied, finally relaxing a bit.
She sipped her tea and answered Helen’s gentle questions, countering with her own about the children. My half-brother and sister, she remembered, wondering why she thought it odd that she would have younger siblings. She had always known her father would have to marry and sire an heir. That he had waited so long to do so had just delayed the inevitable.
Daisy was about to help herself to a biscuit when Jarvis once again appeared on the salon’s threshold. When the duke looked his way, the butler hurried over and whispered something. Then she clearly heard the butler’s murmur of, “Miss Albright,” and an apology.
Straightening on the settee, Daisy dared another glance out the window before turning her gaze back to the duchess and then onto her father. She was about to ask him what had him glancing her way when he announced, “Pardon me. I’ll be but a moment.” Then he bowed and took his leave of the parlor.
Noting how her... stepmother—it was hard to think of Helen in that context—gave her husband an uncertain grin, Daisy turned her attention on the duchess and continued asking questions about the children.
Someone had paid a call, but she would have to wait until her father returned to discover just who, and she may as well learn more about William and Rose in the meantime.
At least a little bit.
For if the duke didn’t return in exactly one minute, she was going to be joining him.
Chapter 8
Visitors Bring Good News
A few minutes ago
Elizabeth watched as George stepped down from the coach, ready to follow him when he turned to hold out his hand. But instead he said, “Let me make the inquiry. With any luck, the butler knows something, and if not, I can leave my card with a note for the duke.”
About to put voice to a protest, Elizabeth found she couldn’t when he shut the door. Opening the curtains of the coach window, she grew impatient as her husband made his way to the front door, finally lifting the brass knocker when the door didn’t immediately open. What she did see was someone watching from one of the front windows. Not someone who was standing in the window, openly curious, but someone who was glancing out from where they sat inside the room beyond.
A woman. A brunette woman who definitely wasn’t Helen, Duchess of Ariley.
Elizabeth let herself out of the coach and hurried up to join George just as the butler opened the door. George already had his calling card out and was about to offer it to Jarvis, but Elizabeth slipped her own, larger card, into the butler’s gloved hand before he could reach for her husband’s. “Might Miss Albright be in residence?” she asked. “It’s very important I speak with her as soon as possible.”
George angled his head toward her. “Sweeting,” he started to say when he noted the look of confusion on the butler’s face. “Lady Bostwick meant to ask for Lady D...,” he paused when he realized he didn’t know the young woman’s first name.
He couldn’t help but note how Jarvis’ eyes widened just a bit before his face returned to its normally staid expression of boredom. “I’ll see if Lady Daisy is in residence,” he said as he took both cards. He opened the door wider and indicated they should step into the vestibule.
Having been invited to call on the duchess on more than one occasion, Elizabeth already knew the lobby of the Ariley Place mansion was larger than most. Instead of a small vestibule with only an umbrella urn and hooks for coats and a shelf for hats, this entry included a settee and a side table, paintings hung on the silk-covered walls, and a statue of a Roman general in one corner.
She was sure it was placed there to intimidate callers. Either that, or it made for a suitable hat rack.
Moving to take a seat, she watched as Jarvis exited the entry and made his way to the adjacent room.
“Why didn’t you wait in the coach?” George asked as he joined her on the settee.
“She’s here. I saw her in the window of the ground floor parlor. Right next door,” Elizabeth whispered.
George frowned. “Ground floor parlor?” he repeated. Most parlors in townhouses were located on the first floor.
“More of a salon, really. It’s small, but looks out onto Park Lane, whilst the larger parlor upstairs has a vantage over the side gardens,” Elizabeth explained. “I apologize. I just... I am positive she’s here, and I wanted to save you the trip of having to come back to get me.”
George held her gaze for a moment before he lowered his lips to hers and gave her a quick kiss. “It wouldn’t have been any trouble, my sweet,” he murmured. He was about to kiss his wife again when he realized they weren’t alone.
Elizabeth managed to stand before he did, dropping into a deep curtsy in front of James, Duke of Ariley. “Your Grace,” she said, offering her gloved hand when the man held out his.
“This is a pleasant surprise, Lady Bostwick,” James said before brushing his lips over her gloved knuckles. “Bostwick,” he added as he nodded to George.
“Please excuse the interruption, Your Grace. Especially on the Lord’s day,” George said after he bowed.
“It’s no trouble,” James replied with a shake of his head. “But I have to admit to a fair bit of surprise that my oldest daughter would have a caller when she has only been in residence a couple of hours. However did you know to find her here?”
Elizabeth and George exchanged quick glances. “I didn’t,” Elizabeth admitted. “I merely thought you might know where we could find her. It’s about a position, you see. One of some import that requires someone of her abilities to fill it just as soon as possible.”
“Position?” the duke repeated. He glanced down at the larger card he held. Engraved in black lettering was the name of Elizabeth’s charity, Finding Work for the Wounded, followed by her name and the address of the charity’s office in Oxford Street. “She applied there?” he asked with some concern.
Or had he taken offense at hearing her words?
Elizabeth took a careful breath. “She did. I have a client in need of someone with her... skills.”
James, standing just on the other side of the threshold, dared a look in the direction of the adjacent parlor and wasn’t surprised to find Daisy watching him from where she stood just outside it. He sighed, sadness evident on his face. “Is the position in London at least?” he asked, a bit of hope sounding in his voice.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” George answered.
The duke seemed torn for a moment, before he finally allowed a nod. “Very well. Come. You’ll be more comfortable in the salon,” he said as he led them to where Daisy stood. “I suppose you’ve already met,” he commented.
“We haven’t, actually,” Elizabeth replied. “It’s very good to make your acquaintance,” she said
as she took Daisy’s hand and gave it a shake.
“Lady Bostwick,” Daisy said as she dipped a curtsy. “You must know my stepmother—”
“Oh, Elizabeth, do come in for some tea and cakes,” Helen interrupted as she motioned for them to come into the salon. “And George. Why fatherhood seems to agree with you,” the duchess said as her smile reached her eyes. “You look younger than I have ever seen you. Oh, forgive me. Bostwick. It’s so hard for me to think of you in that way,” she added, as George kissed the back of her hand.
He angled his head to one side. “You are too kind, Your Grace. I was sure Master David was having the opposite effect on me. He has sorted door handles, you see.”
“Master William is just as vexing for Ariley,” Helen replied in some delight. “First boys, I suppose.” She sighed. “But you’re not here on a social call, are you?” she asked when she noted they still wore their coats.
“We’re here to speak with Lady Daisy.”
“Which is perfect timing, given I was about to join my duchess on a visit to the nursery,” the duke said. “Will you excuse us both?” he asked as he gave a nod.
Helen was quick to step up next to him and give a nod of her own. “Do come again this week, won’t you, Elizabeth?” she said, before she gave a nod. Arm-in-arm, she and the duke made their way to the main stairs leading to the first floor.
George watched them go, wondering if Ariley would give him the cut indirect the next time they saw one another. Elizabeth’s insistence on meeting with Daisy Albright had her behaving as she would when at her charity’s office. But now they were in Ariley Place. A duke’s Mayfair mansion. At least the duchess had invited Elizabeth to pay a call later in the week, so perhaps all would be well for her.
“How do you take your tea, Lady Bostwick?” Daisy asked once Elizabeth had settled into the chair opposite the settee. Tempted to simply stand by the fireplace, George finally took the chair next to it.
“Milk and sugar, please. Oh, I do hope my visit isn’t an inconvenience.”
Daisy shook her head as she handed a cup and saucer to the viscountess, just then noting that Elizabeth was several years younger than she was. “Not at all. You may have arrived at the perfect time, in fact. I wasn’t sure if her grace should learn what it was I had been doing the past few years.”
“But his grace knows?” George half-asked, one eyebrow cocked up in query.
Allowing a wan grin, Daisy allowed a nod. “I think I’ve told him enough to compliment what he already knew,” she hedged. She took a cup of tea for herself, rather relieved to have something to hold onto as they conversed.
“Have you ever played matchmaker?” Elizabeth asked before she took a sip of tea.
Daisy blinked. “Not that I recall,” she answered, a grin brightening her face. “At least, not deliberately.”
“In your... prior work, did you ever have to oversee an operation, or a business concern of any kind?” the viscountess asked. “An office or a—?”
“If you’re asking if I have the administrative skills necessary to manage an office, I can assure you I do,” Daisy replied quickly. “And I can do so with the utmost discretion.” She hoped she didn’t sound desperate. The Bostwicks were obviously considering her for something important. Why else would they seek her out on a Sunday afternoon? And however had they sorted she was Ariley’s daughter? She knew she hadn’t included the information on her application.
Elizabeth and George exchanged glances. “You may be aware that until your sister’s recent marriage, she was an instructor at Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School,” George said by way of a preamble. He couldn’t help but notice how the air seemed to leave Daisy Albright all at once. “The headmistress of that school died recently, and her son finds himself in need of replacement.”
“As well as a dance instructor and someone who can teach arithmetic,” Elizabeth added, wondering at Daisy’s odd reaction.
Daisy’s gaze went from Elizabeth to George and back again to Elizabeth. “So... you’re looking for a headmistress who has skills as a matchmaker and who can teach dance and arithmetic?” she guessed.
Elizabeth blinked before her eyes widened. “Oh, those would be impossible skills to find all in one woman, I should think,” she replied. “Mr. Streater’s hope is simply to find a headmistress to replace his late mother. I was merely asking about matchmaking skills as I am considering another charitable concern. Finding wives for the wounded. I’m simply not qualified for such an endeavor, you see.”
Grinning, in part because she found the viscountess’ enthusiasm infectious and partly because she couldn’t believe the woman would consider her to be the headmistress of a finishing school, Daisy sighed. “May I ask why you even thought of me?”
George leaned forward. “My wife’s charity doesn’t have many applicants of your sex. Although she has placed a few, she remembered you and thought you might be suitable to the task.”
Daisy angled her head. “But, you don’t even know me—”
“No, but your application suggested you have skills in a number of areas,” George replied. “As a duke’s daughter, you no doubt possess a level of education surpassing those who are employed at Warwick’s. Discretion, of course, is important, as is management of the people who would report to you. Teachers and servants.”
“Students and their parents,” Elizabeth put in, an elegant eyebrow arching.
Frowning at this last bit, Daisy allowed a sigh. “This... Mr. Streater. Is he... familiar with Warwick’s? Will he be present at the school?”
“Not if he can help it,” George answered with a shake of his head. “He is in charge of the clerks at the Bank of England.” He dared a glance at his wife before he added, “He’s my very best friend, and I know he is quite out of his element and desperate to find someone to fill his mother’s shoes. Someone whom the existing staff can be assured is not the dragon that Mrs. Streater has been for the past two decades.”
“George!” Elizabeth scolded, before she leaned forward and added, “He has the right of it, of course. I couldn’t abide Mrs. Streater when I was a student there, but her son is a charming man. He was my very first client at Finding Work for the Wounded, in fact.”
She didn’t add that she had been the one to seek him out. She remembered Mr. Streater from a musical soirée, and despite having asked for an introduction, she had been denied the chance to meet the second son of a baron by Lady Pettigrew, a cranky old viscountess.
Her brows furrowing, Daisy leaned forward. “Was he your matchmaker, too?” she guessed, her gaze darting between the viscount and viscountess.
George and Elizabeth once again exchanged glances. “Not exactly,” Elizabeth hedged at the same time George said, “He was instrumental.” When his wife gave him a look of surprise, he added, “He said I would like you.”
Elizabeth blinked and blushed when she remembered what George had said to her the night they had shared their first meal together. The first time they had been intimate.
You helped my friend get his job back at the bank.
Had she never started her charity, she might never have met George Bennett-Jones.
Daisy suppressed a grin while she watched the couple interact, reminded of how her father once behaved with her late mother. “May I ask as to Mr. Streater’s... infirmity?” If the man had been Lady Bostwick’s first client, it stood to reason he had been wounded in a war.
“He lost most of his right arm at Quatros Bras,” George replied in a hushed tone, well aware of his wife’s look of disbelief. The woman who sat before them was perceptive. And clever.
Daisy gave a slow nod. “And yet he is the head of clerks at a bank,” she whispered.
“Because my sweeting saw to it he was rehired there,” George stated, unaware he used his private name for Elizabeth.
Daisy straightened and considered the viscount’s words. When had she ever heard an aristocrat refer to his wife using a term of endearment usually saved for the
privacy of their home? Or their bedchamber?
Father, she remembered then.
The duke never seemed embarrassed at how he addressed her mother in public. Or in front of his daughters.
My sweeting.
The reminder almost had tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. “So... I would not be sharing the responsibilities of running Warwick’s with another?” she asked then, her eyes darting between the two who sat across from her.
“You will be on your own, I fear,” Elizabeth said in a quiet voice. She exhaled. “Oh, dear. We’re not exactly presenting this opportunity in the best possible light, are we?” she murmured.
“And yet, I find I am intrigued,” Daisy said before allowing a nod. “How might I apply for the position?”
Elizabeth brightened. “I can send a note to Mr. Streater when I return to Bostwick Place,” she said with some excitement. “I know he will be at Warwick’s on the morrow. Perhaps you could meet him there? In his late mother’s office?”
Daisy allowed a shrug. “I find I have nothing scheduled for the early morning, although I have to believe my... stepmother might have some calls in mind.”
“Calls you would rather not make?” George guessed.
Her eyes widening, Daisy asked, “Is it that obvious?”
Elizabeth giggled. “Feel free to blame my husband. He already believes the duke will shun him at every event for the rest of the Season for having paid this call,” she said as she dimpled.
“Sweeting,” George said with a sigh.
Daisy understood his meaning immediately. They had interrupted her father’s attempt at introducing her into the life at Ariley Place. “Do not be concerned. I shall see to it you are held in his grace’s highest esteem,” she said as she regarded him. “I do have some influence in that regard.”
George blinked. “You would do that?” he asked in a whisper, as if he thought the Duke of Ariley might be standing just outside the door to the salon, listening to their every word.
The Conundrum of a Clerk Page 6