Elizabeth Mansfield (18 page)

“Gilbert understands how I feel about charity. And as for everyone else... She looked over at him, her lips twitching with a suppressed smile. “I don’t care if they
do
think you a monster.”

“Of course.” Kit sneered. “How could I be so foolish as to expect you to care about anything so unimportant as my reputation?”

She ignored his ire. “Well? Have we a bargain?”

He hesitated, running his hand through his hair in a gesture of helplessness. Then he sighed deeply. “Very well,
Miss Whitlow,
we have a bargain. Though I feel in my bones I shall live to regret it. Aunt Martha, I’d be much obliged if you’d see to it that this impossible creature is ready for departure at noon tomorrow. Meanwhile, I bid both of you a good night.”

“Good night, my lord,” Caro threw after him, her tone sugary sweet.

He turned back to glare at her. “If I had a grain of sense, I’d throw you over my shoulder again, carry you back to the Ducketts, and drop you on their doorstep,” he growled before slamming out of the room. “Then, at least, I’d
deserve
to be called a monster.”

TWENTY-THREE

She was coming to the Grange at last, Kit thought with some satisfaction as he drove his open carriage along the rutted Shropshire road. He looked over at the seat beside him, where Caro sat with her hands primly folded in her lap. Given the girl’s stubborn nature, he supposed that her presence was in itself a kind of triumph, but Kit could not feel as pleased about it as he would have liked. What she’d given with one hand, she’d taken away with the other. In her determination to take nothing in charity, she’d created a situation that made any friendly contact between them almost impossible. Even here in the carriage, before officially assuming her duties as housekeeper, she was keeping her distance, forcing them both into the roles of master and servant.

She’d even dressed herself like a housekeeper. Her lively curls were hidden away under a lace-edged widow’s cap, on top of which she’d set a plain straw bonnet. Her dress was a dark blue muslin with only a white collar for trim. She looked very different from the glowing girl who’d sat beside him at the opera not so long ago. Not that she wasn’t still beautiful. If she thought her severe clothing would change
that,
she was out in her reckoning.

She was out in her reckoning on many things, he thought. Too stubbornly proud, she interpreted every attempt he made to reach her as charity. Her determination to keep their relationship free of what she saw as charity was keeping them frustratingly distant from one another. How could he even get close enough to her to tell her that he loved her? And if he could manage it, how would the irritating chit react? If he offered her his name, his wealth, his heart, would she call it charity?

This trip to the Grange was a sign of what was to come. He’d looked forward to it, for they would be sitting side by side on the box for several hours. It was, he’d hoped, a chance for intimate conversation. But she was so determined to hold to her role that she’d hardly exchanged a word with him. She quelled every attempt at conversation by giving monosyllabic responses to every comment. An hour before, he’d stopped the coach at an inn and asked her to join him for a light luncheon. “Oh, no, thank you, my lord,” she’d said. “It would not be seemly.”

He’d eyed her in disgust. “Cut line, Caro! You are not yet my housekeeper. And even if you were, there’s no one but my tiger to see you being unseemly.”

“We should not slip into bad habits, my lord,” she’d responded with firm formality.

He’d been so irked that he’d whipped up the horses and wheeled out of the inn’s courtyard without another word. If she wanted to play this game, he would show her he could play it as well as she.

When the carriage rolled onto the curved drive in front of the Grange, Mickley was the first on hand to greet them. He was followed by Melton, Letty’s butler, who, on his arrival at the Grange a few weeks earlier, had assumed the post that Sowell had vacated. Mickley stepped aside to give the butler the honor of greeting the lady, while he held a whispered conversation with Kit. “Convinced ‘er to come, I see,” the batman said, winking. “Well done.”

“Not so well done,” Kit grumbled. “I may have convinced her to come, but I’ve had my way in nothing else. That stiff-necked female doesn’t bend even when you think she’s bending.”

Meanwhile, Melton handed Caro down. “Good afternoon, Miss Whitlow,” he greeted with a smile of unbutlerish warmth. “Welcome back to the Grange. Everyone, belowstairs and above, will be so glad to see you.”

No sooner had her foot touched the ground than Gil came dashing out of the house. He flung himself upon her in an enthusiastic embrace. “Caro!” he cried joyfully. “You’re here at last!”

To Caro’s eager eyes the boy seemed to be almost a foot taller, brimming with health and good spirits, and brown as a berry. It was clear that her decision to send him off with Kit had been a good one. A better one, she was sure, than the decision to come here herself. All the previous night she’d vacillated between sticking to her decision and changing her mind. If only she could be sure she was really needed here ... that it was not an act of kindness on the viscount’s part to employ her. She could bear to be beholden to him for her brother’s sake, but not for her own. If she should discover that he didn’t really need her to run the house, she’d promptly take her leave.

At that moment she looked up to see Letty hurrying out the door. The two women embraced delightedly. Caro was relieved to see the elderly woman look so hale and well rested. She’d been afraid that Letty might not thrive away from the London she was so accustomed to, but that was obviously not the case. Letty’s color was good, she barely leaned on her cane as she’ walked, and, Caro noticed, she was not quite as stooped as she’d seemed in London. “The country air has done you good, Aunt Letty,” she exclaimed.

“Oh, yes, indeed it has!” Letty beamed, squeezing her hand. “It’s been quite wonderful. I love it here. And wait until you see my rooms. They’re even more spacious than you described!”

But seeing Letty’s apartment had to be put off, for Gil was determined to show Caro all the changes that had been made on the grounds since she’d left. The boy grasped her hand and dragged her round the property, babbling excitedly as they talked about the two huge fish he’d caught when Kit had taken him fishing, about the times Kit had let him drive the curricle, and about the wonderful Spanish horse Kit had given him. “I call him Bellerophon,” Gil said with eyes shining, “because when I gallop him, I feel like we’re flying!”

This was obviously a happy boy, except when he had to answer questions about his studies. Mr. Lutton, Gil informed her, was his tutor, but he was evidently reluctant to go into any further details. Caro did not press him. There would be time to discover for herself what the problem was.

Gil showed her the site of the new stables, where work had already begun. The burned-out debris of the old stables was almost gone, and the foundations of the new already laid. So Kit
was
able to find people to work for him, Caro thought. Was that evidence that he didn’t really need her after all?

There were other signs that work had been progressing on the grounds. The most outstanding progress had been made at the back of the house, where the drainage ditch that had remained gapingly open for years was now covered over. The ground was still raw, but Caro could see that, when it was properly landscaped, there would be a remarkable improvement in the appearance of the rear of the house and the back fields. She wondered if His Lordship would permit her to extend the kitchen gardens to this area. The thought pleased her, and she smiled to herself. Perhaps there were a few things she
could
do here.

As she and Gilbert turned to walk back to the house, Caro tried to prepare the boy for her changed position in the household. “Before I was almost mistress in this house,” she explained, “but now I am only the housekeeper.” Carefully, she described the conditions under which she’d agreed to come.

Gil seemed to take it all quite well until she told him that she’d not be taking meals with the family. “Oh, I
say!
”
he cried, his face falling. “That’s much too rare and thick! If you can’t sit at table, then I won’t either. We can
both
eat in the servants’ hall.”

“No, Gil, don’t raise a dust. You’re His Lordship’s guest. I’m but a hireling. Lord Crittenden
did
invite me to join you all at table, but I didn’t think it would be right. It would adversely affect my relations with the staff, you see.”

Gil nodded glumly.

“Don’t look so sad, Gil,” she said, putting a comforting arm about the boy’s shoulder. “We’re lucky, really. This is a post I shall very much enjoy, especially when I compare it to being governess at the Duckett menage. I’ll be quite content to be eating downstairs. And, best of all, I’m
here.
You’ll see me every day. I’ll even come to your room at night to tuck you in.”

“I’m too big to be tucked in,” he said, brightening nevertheless, “but it’ll be like old times when you come in to bid me good night. Kit’s been doing it, you know, but now I’ll have both of you.”

“Kit comes in every night?” Caro asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes. And sometimes he tells me stories. He knows the most exciting tales, the kind boys like. You know the kind I mean ... stories about pirates, or battles, or raging beasts with bloody fangs.”

“Bloody fangs, eh? Just the sort of tale to lull a boy into peaceful sleep,” she muttered dryly.

“Take a damper, Caro,” the boy snorted. “The stories don’t frighten me.”

“
Take a damper?
That’s not the sort of phrase to use to a sister, is it?”

“Yes, it is, if the sister’s being silly. Kit’s stories are the best I’ve ever heard!”

“Well, I suppose it
is
very kind of him,” she said, wondering again if she were really needed here at all.

By the next day, however, she realized that Lord Crittenden had not exaggerated his problems. She
was
really needed. While His Lordship had managed to increase the grounds staff, the household staff was much diminished. There were signs of neglect everywhere, from the scullery to the upstairs bedrooms. The cook, who’d been on the verge of giving notice because of lack of kitchen help, greeted her with open arms. “I’m that glad t’ see ye, ma’am!” she declared, tears in her eyes. “Now I know things’ll be right.”

And Gladys, the only upstairs maid left of the four Caro had employed, described how she’d had to skimp on the polishing and dusting and other necessary chores. “I just ‘ave to skip the guest bedrooms an’ the upstairs sitters, an’ I never even
look
into the rooms in the east wing,” she admitted. “There just ain’t time.”

That very afternoon, Caro asked Mickley to drive her into town, where she paid calls on some of the young women whom she knew or who had worked for the old viscount. By the time she returned to the Grange three hours later, she’d hired three more maids, a scullery, and two footmen. Mickley was impressed. “Ye do ‘ave a way with ye, ma’am,” he said admiringly. “That saucy baggage, Betty Rhys, wouldn’t even talk to me when I tried to ‘ire ‘er.”

“She was overly devoted to me, I’m afraid. That’s why she left. When you tried to rehire her, she’d already started to work for the miller.” Caro flicked a teasing glance at the batman. “Besides, Mr. Mickley, Betty told me that when you called on her you were more interested in flirting than hiring.”

“Me
flirtin’?
”
Mickley drew himself up in offense. “I never did! I ain’t the sort fer such bobbery. An’ even if I was, I wouldn’t choose Miss Betty Rhys.”

“And why not, pray? Don’t you want to settle down someday with a pretty lass?”

“Per’aps, but not with ‘er sort. She’s too sharp-tongued and too ... too ...” He searched about for a proper word that wouldn’t offend his companion. ‘Too plump.”

“Pish-tush, Mr. Mickley, you
are
a finicky fellow.”

He grinned with self-satisfaction. “That I am, ma’am, that I am. Even the cap’n says so.”

“Does he? You are referring, I take it, to the viscount. Do you always address him so?”

“Yes, ma’am. I called ‘im Cap’n fer so many years, I can’t custom meself to callin’ ‘im Yer Lordship.”

“Doesn’t he mind your informality?”

“Mind?
‘Im?
” Mickley snorted. “The cap’n ain’t in any manner, shape, nor form so ‘igh in the instep as t’ mind what I call ‘im.”

Caro studied the fellow thoughtfully. “It seems you stand on very good terms with him.”
 

“I’d say so, yes.”

“Good. Then you are the very best person to speak to him for me about plans for the house and changes I’d like to make.”

“Yes, ma’am, but why can’t you speak to ‘im yerself?”

“Because I ... well, you see, I’m not on such good terms with him as you are. You can serve as our go-between. And you can start, when we get home, by asking him if I may set up a kitchen garden on the fresh soil covering the ditch.”

“I’d be ‘appy t’ do it, Miss Whitlow, but ‘e’s surely goin’ to ask me why you don’t ask ‘im yerself.”

“It isn’t proper for the housekeeper to deal directly with His Lordship. You act as his steward, don’t you?”