Charity allowed a wan smile. “It must be such a treat to have a husband who is so... so supportive of your charitable efforts.”
“Oh, it is,” Elizabeth agreed with a nod. “He was a patron of my charity even before I met him,” she claimed. “Because I helped his best friend gain a position at a bank.” She took a sip of tea and allowed a huge smile. “Tell me then. When can you start?”
Her eyes darting to the clock on the fireplace mantle, Charity finally replied, “Five hours ago.” At Elizabeth’s look of shock, she added, “Since there were so many men in line, I thought it best to simply get started.”
“Oh, bless you,” Elizabeth said. “Which means I must bring up a rather delicate matter.”
Charity stiffened. “Oh?”
“It’s about your salary,” Elizabeth replied. “The charity pays its employees monthly—”
“But, I wasn’t expecting to be paid,” Charity countered, although she felt a hint of relief to learn there would be some compensation. She had learned from Mr. Barnaby that every match resulted in an agreed-upon donation to the charity, based on a man’s ability to pay.
Elizabeth gave her a quelling glance. “Given how much time you’ll have to spend at the office, I really must insist you be compensated. Think of it as... as extra pin money.”
Pin money.
Charity hadn’t had much in the way of pin money over the years. Wadsworth had been such an extravagant spender when it came to his past-times, there was rarely money left to pay servants or the bills associated with his estates.
The thought of having money to spend on fripperies was rather pleasant. Buying a new gown or a new pair of slippers had her brightening. “I suppose I could use a new ballgown,” she murmured. “I’ve been invited to Lord Attenborough’s ball,” she added with an arched brow. “My first evening event since returning to London.”
“Oh, the Attenborough ball is always so entertaining,” Elizabeth agreed. “One of my friends accepted a marriage proposal there a few years ago. In his gardens, I think it was.”
Charity allowed a wan smile. “I rather doubt I shall be visiting his lordship’s gardens.”
“Oh, but you must,” Elizabeth insisted. “At least to see his flowers. And the statuary, of course.” Her face took on a dreamy expression. “Enjoy the kisses.”
Her face taking on a pinkish cast, Charity blinked as she watched the viscountess imagine whatever it was that had been done to Elizabeth the last time she was in Lord Attenborough’s gardens. Something pleasant, obviously. Something pleasurable. Something entirely scandalous.
Charity cleared her throat. “To enjoy kisses would require someone to bestow them on me,” she murmured with a shrug. “I rather doubt I have that to look forward to.”
Elizabeth leaned forward and said, “I experienced my first kiss at a ball.” Her face displayed a grimace. “It was awful,” she whispered, remembering how the wet and slobbery kiss planted on her by Lord Trenton reminded her of being kissed by her best friend’s dog. “But the second one was... well, it was George who kissed me then.” She inhaled and sighed at remembering that particular kiss. How it had started after a sip of champagne, and how her knees had felt weak and her head spun from the sensations the viscount created with his lips. Her shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug. “And now we’re married with two babes and another on the way.”
“Another?” Charity repeated. “Congratulations are in order then.” The pang of jealousy once again passed through Charity as she listened to the viscountess describe her life. The woman was so happy! Allowing a sigh, she added, “I should take my leave. I wish to prepare for the morrow. I have some ideas of how I might find some eligible women for all these men who are in search of wives,” she explained.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at hearing this. “Not even a day into it, and you’re already plotting,” she accused lightly. Then she furrowed a brow. “I do hope Mrs. Burton left some notes.”
Charity nodded. “I found a rather detailed accounting of her work,” she replied, recalling how the notes about each gentleman made it clear Mrs. Burton was after a match for herself. In her short tenure, she had at least managed to match nine couples—ten including her and the man she was to marry.
“She is the fourth matchmaker to find a match for herself since I started this endeavor,” Elizabeth groused. “At least I can be assured you won’t be marrying any of the applicants.”
About to ask why the viscountess would say such a thing, Charity realized that all the applicants at ‘Finding Wives for the Wounded’ would be of a lower class than she. None of the men she had spoken with that day had been officers in the British Army or in the navy, for that matter, and certainly none had been aristocrats.
Should an aristocrat require the services of a matchmaker, they could afford to hire one directly. “You are right, of course. Especially since I have no intention of remarrying,” Charity finally replied.
Elizabeth had watched the countess as she pondered her comment, wondering at the woman’s wistful expression. The claim that she wasn’t expecting to take another husband wasn’t a surprise given her first marriage was such an unhappy one. Everyone in the ton knew the late Lord Wadsworth had been a cur. “Do let me know if I can be of assistance,” she offered. “And the men in the office are there to help. Use them,” she added.
Charity wasn’t sure how she could employ Mr. Barnaby or Mr. Overby, but she knew she had much to learn about her position. “I’ll see what kind of trouble I can get myself into,” she replied with an elegantly arched brow. She stood up and regarded Elizabeth for a moment. “This may seem an unusual request, but might I pay a call on your nursery? My boys are both grown and out of the house now, but you mentioned having a daughter.”
Allowing an impish grin, Elizabeth stood up and said, “I’ll take you there. They may be in the middle of their dinner, but they adore visitors.”
On their way up to the second floor, Charity said, “You might let the viscount know his post in the newspaper was a success. And that it can be removed from future issues of The Times. I shouldn’t wish to have anyone else show up to take the position, or Mr. Barnaby might hire them, too.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I’ll remember you said that when you inform me you’re leaving the position because you’ve landed a new husband,” she teased.
A look of shock appeared on Charity’s face. “My mind is made up on the matter, so that will never happen.”
Leading the way into the nursery, Elizabeth beamed when her children both greeted her with cries of “Mama!” From the number of blocks on the floor versus those that stood in a stunted tower, it appeared Christina might have employed her destructive tendencies once more.
David struggled to his feet, hurried to stand before the two ladies. He gave a bow, nearly toppling over as he did so.
“Lady Wadsworth, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to my daughter, Miss Christina, and to Master David, the heir to the Bostwick viscountcy?”
“It’s very good to meet you, Master David,” Charity said, reaching out with a hand. She intended to pat David on the shoulder, but the tyke intercepted her gloved hand with one of his own small hands and pretended to kiss the back of it.
Surprised by the gesture, Charity dared a quick glance in Elizabeth’s direction. “Why, I think my boys were nearly five before they learned such a courtesy,” she murmured before turning her attention back to the boy, giving him a nod.
Elizabeth dimpled. “My husband has been seeing to his education,” she whispered, but even as she said the words, she noted how Charity’s attention had turned to Christina.
The five-month old, sitting on the carpeted floor with the skirt of her short gown splayed around her, held a doll and squealed in delight at the attention. The evidence of two lower teeth clearly showed.
“May I hold her, do you think?” Charity asked in a whisper.
Elizabeth allowed an expression of surprise. “I suppose. Al
though let me be sure her nappy is dry.” She hurried over to her daughter, who had already held out her arms in anticipation of being lifted from the floor.
“Oof,” Elizabeth said as she hefted the girl into her arms. “Lady Wadsworth is going to hold you,” she said just before she kissed Christina on the cheek.
A string of unintelligible words followed until Christina was securely in the crook of the countess’s arm.
“She is adorable,” Charity commented as she regarded the babe up close, one of her fingers stroking Christina’s cheek.
Christina still held her small doll, but her attention had gone to the fur collar of Charity’s pelisse. She pressed her face into it and then turned her head so her cheek rested against it.
“Oh!” Charity mouthed as she watched the babe’s long lashes close. “Well aren’t you just the most precious little girl?”
Elizabeth watched as her daughter fell asleep in the countess’s arms. “Would you like to put her down? I know how heavy she gets after a time.” She indicated the bassinet in one corner of the room.
“I suppose I must,” Charity murmured quietly, finally moving to put the girl down. She stood over the bassinet a moment before allowing a sigh. “She looks like an angel,” she whispered.
Not about to argue, Elizabeth joined the countess at the bassinet and sighed. “I fear she will be spoiled rotten.”
Charity shook her head. “If you keep running your charity, she will grow up understanding the importance of helping others,” she said in a quiet voice.
Furrowing a brow, Elizabeth considered the comment for a moment. “You’re right, of course.” She hadn’t given a thought to ever closing the charity, but changing times and circumstances might have her altering its mission.
“I must take my leave,” Charity said when Mrs. Foster escorted David to the small table and chair for his refreshments.
“I’ll see you to the door,” Elizabeth offered, and the two took their leave of the nursery.
As they made their way down the stairs and to the front door of Bostwick House, stepping around a doll and a rubber ball, they chatted amiably about the upcoming ball.
“I am going only to observe,” Charity murmured as she reached the front door. “I certainly hold no expectation of dancing.”
“You will dance if you are asked, though?” Elizabeth half-asked.
Charity raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I will then,” she hedged. She exchanged curtsies with Elizabeth. “Have a good evening, and thank you for the tea.”
Elizabeth watched Charity take her leave of Bostwick House and climb into her town coach, not sure if she wanted to believe the countess or not.
On the one hand, she wanted the matchmaker position occupied as long as possible.
On the other, she couldn’t help but think Charity could benefit from a match of her own, for Elizabeth had the distinct impression the countess yearned for another child.
A daughter.
Chapter 7
Meddling
Later that evening
George sipped his cup of coffee and regarded the clock on the mantle in the library. At any moment, he expected Elkins would announce dinner was served, but he had hoped Elizabeth might join him before that happened.
Having spent the night before last with colleagues at White’s, he had news to share. He had intended to do so over breakfast yesterday morning and again this morning, but Elizabeth was still sound asleep when he made his way downstairs, and he didn’t have the heart to awaken her.
When Elizabeth appeared, she did so as if she’d been blown into the room. “I apologize, George,” she said, her skirts barely catching up to her as she moved to join him on the settee.
He quickly set his coffee on the side table, well aware Elizabeth wouldn’t wait for him to stand up. She, in fact, nearly fell onto him as she leaned over to kiss him.
He gathered her onto his lap and returned the kiss, rather stunned at how amorous she was for so early in the evening. When she came up for air, he said, “I have looked forward to that all day.”
Elizabeth dimpled. “You knew?” she countered.
George was about to respond in the affirmative, but then realized she might be referring to something else. “Maybe,” he answered carefully.
“Your post. In The Times. It worked,” she said happily. Then she sobered. “Which means you have to cancel it.”
Taken aback by this bit of news, George arched a brow. “You’ve already hired another matchmaker?” he asked in surprise. “That didn’t take long.”
“I didn’t do the hiring,” she replied as she shook her head. “Mr. Barnaby did.”
A look of alarm appeared on the viscount’s face. “Oh, no,” he whispered, imagining yet another husband-hunting widow in the position. Mr. Barnaby might have been married to one of the teachers at Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School, but he wasn’t the best judge of those who arranged marriages.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Elizabeth assured him. “Lady Wadsworth is perfect for the position. She paid a call this afternoon after spending several hours at the office.”
This bit of news had George even more shocked. “Wadsworth’s poor widow?” he asked in disbelief.
Elizabeth furrowed a brow at hearing his reaction. “Poor, as in you feel sorry for her? Or poor because...?”
George’s eyes darted to one side. “Both?” he finally responded.
Inhaling sharply, Elizabeth regarded him for a moment. “The gossip was true then?” she asked, moving off her husband’s lap so she could sit next to him on the settee. She knew if she stayed on his legs too long, they would fall asleep, and having experienced the pins-and-needles sensation herself earlier that day, she didn’t want him suffering the same fate.
“If the gossip implied she inherited little because Wadsworth spent most of it, then yes,” he replied.
Elizabeth screwed up her face. “I was referring to his lack of... fidelity,” she said, whispering the last word.
“That, too,” George agreed, grateful he had married a woman who would never take a lover. He wouldn’t abide sharing Elizabeth with anyone—couldn’t—nor would she abide him with another woman.
“I told her she would be paid,” Elizabeth said.
“She no doubt denied needing the money,” he guessed.
“How did you know?”
“But she graciously agreed when you pressed the issue,” he continued, ignoring the query.
“Indeed,” she replied with a nod. “I told her to consider it pin money.”
George allowed a nod of his own. “A perfect response.” When her brows furrowed in confusion, he added, “You allowed her to keep a modicum of pride, my sweet. Brava.”
Elizabeth regarded him a moment before she allowed a wan smile. “Thank you,” she said, although there was a hint of hesitation in how she said it.
George kissed her temple. “So... shall we wager on how long she stays in the position?” he asked, his lips quirked in a teasing manner.
Her shoulders slumping at the question, Elizabeth said, “It’s not as if she will find a suitable husband from among the men who have been applying,” she argued. “We don’t get many officers, and we certainly don’t have any wounded aristocrats—or any aristocrats, for that matter—coming into the office.”
About to counter her claim—George had spent many an hour in the small office, although he had never done more than read applications in an attempt to locate someone—he decided instead to say, “One month until she’s accepted an offer.”
Blinking, Elizabeth stared at her husband for a moment. “But, Charity assured me she has no intention of remarrying,” she argued. Then she remembered how Charity behaved with Christina. “Although I think she would love having a daughter of her own. She’s quite smitten with Christina.”
“Everyone is smitten with my daughter,” George replied proudly, the comment about the countess no surprise. Playing wife to a libertine such as Wadsworth would put
any woman off of remarriage. “I’ll be defending Christina with my foil for years to come,” he added as he pantomimed swinging a fencing foil. “En guard!”
About to giggle at his antics, Elizabeth suddenly sobered. “You may not have to if she’s the hoyden I’m afraid she’s turning into.”
George blinked. “What has she done now?” She wasn’t yet a year old!
Elizabeth held up her index finger and poked it in his chest. “Took down the entire wooden Tower of David in one little push. Twice, I think.”
Grinning, George lifted her finger to his lips and moved to suckle it.
“Dinner is served, my lord, my lady,” Elkins announced from the threshold.
“Thank the gods. I’m starving,” George said as he gave up his hold on Elizabeth’s finger.
Finally allowing the giggle she had suppressed a moment ago, Elizabeth allowed George to help her up from the settee. “Did you fence with Mr. Streater this afternoon?” she asked as they made their way to the dining room.
“I did indeed.”
“And?” she prompted.
“And... what?”
She let out a sound of impatience. “How is married life for him?”
A widower, Teddy Streater had married Daisy Albright at the end of July. He had hired the former spy to be the headmistress of his late mother’s concern, Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School, a couple of months before that, unaware she was the illegitimate daughter of a duke. Since then, the newlyweds had been busy overseeing renovations on the boarding school that catered to daughters of wealthy tradesmen, merchants, and a few barons. Classes had resumed in late September, and all the beds in the eight boarding houses had been claimed by new or returning students.
The Charity of a Viscount Page 5