Worth Lord of Reckoning (20 page)

“Be off with you,” she said, stepping back. Now she was smiling
at
him. “Safe journey.”

He touched the brim of his hat, swung onto his horse and cantered off down the drive. He was still savoring that smile and intermittently grinning like an idiot, when he reached his town house hours later.

* * *

Jacaranda had felt like an idiot, standing at the mounting block as if she were someone who had a right to see Mr. Worth Kettering off on his journey. She was nothing, a mere housekeeper, and then he’d called himself her friend, and the early summer morning had become altogether lovely.

Worth Kettering’s body housed several different men. One was the imperious, brilliant solicitor who expected immediate and unquestioning compliance with his every directive. That man was reasonable, if impatient, but he did not suffer fools.

Then there was the flirt, a reckless, heedless, strutting louse who in all likelihood left a trail of broken hearts from one end of Mayfair to the other. Jacaranda didn’t approve of that fellow one bit.

Worth Kettering was a conscientious older brother, too, a man somewhat at a loss to know what duty required of him, but ready to do it for his sister and more than ready to step up to the challenge of raising his niece.

Jacaranda liked that Worth, and she respected him.

Then there was
her
Worth. An absolute puzzle, unlike any man she’d dealt with before. He desired her, intimately, but didn’t force himself on her. He touched her, with his hands, and his body, and his mouth, and the feel of him was wonderful. His scent lingered, his warmth comforted, and his hands… Angels abide, his hands.

And that Worth—her Worth—was careful with her, and not only physically. He was sensitive to her pride and considerate of her in small, subtle ways, like not taking her hand while Roberts glowered from the mounting block.

That
Worth was an irresistible combination of every naughty, lonely, spinster housekeeper’s most closely guarded dreams. She needed time to gain perspective on him and on his infernal offer. Wednesday seemed much too soon, and an eternity to wait to see him again.

The solution to this situation was the same solution she’d employed many times in the past:
Stay busy
.

The next morning, Jacaranda had a lengthy list in her reticule, and Avery’s hand in hers as they left their gig at the livery in Least Wapping. Yolanda was quiet beside them, but Jacaranda had the sense the girl was every bit as bright as her brother. Yolanda would notice everything and say little.

“Do you each have your pin money?” Jacaranda asked as they approached the market square.

Avery dropped Jacaranda’s hand and reached for Yolanda’s. “We do!”

“Then why don’t you have a look around? I’m easy to spot, and I won’t leave without you.”

“We won’t be gone long,” Yolanda said as Avery tugged her off toward a table laden with the baked goods perfuming the morning air with their yeasty scent.

“So those are the Kettering ladies?” Thomas Hunter appeared at Jacaranda’s side, a rangy fellow past the first blush of youth, with serious brown eyes and wavy wheat-blond hair.

“The older one is Miss Yolanda,” Jacaranda said, though as an acknowledged sister to an earl, Yolanda might make her come out with the same consequence as a Lady Yolanda. “The younger is Miss Avery, a niece. How have you been, Thomas?”

“Managing. I’ve wondered if himself would pay a call on us.”

“You’re on the list, I assure you, but on our last attempt, we were thwarted by the weather.”

He offered his arm, the sort of thing his neighbors wouldn’t know to do, but he did, and Jacaranda let herself be escorted to a patch of shade at the side of the churchyard.

“Mayhap, Mrs. Wyeth, you and Mr. Kettering did make an attempt to visit, but found your way blocked by a tree?” He looked not at her, but rather at their friends and neighbors laughing, talking, and making their weekly purchases on the green.

“Thomas, does that hypothetical have a point?”

Jacaranda had always liked Thomas Hunter. He wasn’t a sheep, waiting to be told where to graze, in what company, and for how long. He was on his way to owning a small holding, she was sure of it, and when he had his own land in hand, he’d make it amount to something.

Ambition in another she could respect. Thomas was also a devoted and patient father, and that she had to like.

“I consider myself your friend,” he said quietly. “Not a close friend, but a friend nonetheless. You came when my youngest was ill and Gran had about given up.”

“I will always come,” Jacaranda started in, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“That cottage near the property line. I use it from time to time for a little privacy. I like to read and to sketch.” His ears turned red, and Jacaranda barely kept her surprise from showing. “I’m there fairly often, when we’re between planting and harvest, but somebody else has used it, Mrs. Wyeth. Somebody else has made tea, chopped wood, built a fire, and made themselves at home.”

Like a fist to the solar plexus, she deduced what he’d delicately implied.

Somebody had used the bed and forgotten to tidy it up.

How
could she have been so careless? She was a
housekeeper
, had been nothing but a housekeeper for five long years.

“I believe Mr. Reilly has sought respite there on occasion,” she said, her face heating. “Perhaps he was forgetful.”

Thomas nodded to the vicar, who’d waved from the edge of the green. “His missus caught wind of his mischief. He hasn’t set foot in the direction of my property for at least a year.”

“A
year
?” This was news—bad news. “I wish you’d said something earlier. I would have sent him around.”

“Why would I want to take time out of my busy day to tell Reilly what is common knowledge in the parish? The barley is doing fine, the wheat’s a little slow, the pig had eight piglets, and my mare didn’t catch until May, but that’s acceptable, because the foal will have spring grass next year.”

“Mrs. Wyeth!” Avery came bouncing along, towing Yolanda. “We found a man who sells books!” She went off into rapid, happy French, then dipped back into English, and finished with a few phrases of gesticulating Italian.

“Ladies.” Jacaranda aimed a look at the younger girl. “May I make known to you Mr. Thomas Hunter, our neighbor and my friend. Mr. Hunter, Miss Yolanda Kettering, Miss Avery.”

Yolanda offered an elegant curtsy, which prompted Avery into something between a bow and a curtsy.

“My pleasure, ladies, and perhaps I might escort you to the bookseller’s stall. I was headed that way myself.” He offered Yolanda his arm, Avery his hand, and Jacaranda a polite bow.

The girls tripped off with him, Avery still squealing about the book of fairy tales—in English!—she’d decided to buy. Yolanda went along quietly, and yet Jacaranda saw speculation in the young woman’s eyes.

Which left Jacaranda considering the question: Had Worth
known
they’d left the bed unmade, or had his wits been so scrambled that, like Jacaranda, he’d forgotten to protect their privacy with the simplest precautions?

Chapter Nine

“You’re the oldest daughter, right?” Worth put the question to Mary as she sat at his kitchen table, her feet up on a chair. “You were probably your mother’s right hand.”

“From little up.” Mary sipped her tea, her rapturous expression suggesting she was savoring the first real tea she’d had in days. “I took as much burden from Ma as I could, until my sisters started coming along, and they’re good workers. What was needed was more coin, so here I am.”

“How are you feeling?” He dreaded her reply. She looked tired and pale and thinner in the face. That couldn’t be good, but Jones hadn’t yet discovered the name of the father. He would, though. Jones had yet to let Worth down.

“I’m doing well enough,” Mary said, taking another sip of tea. “This settles my nerves, it does. I can feel myself coming to rights, to have a good cup of tea.”

“Tea helps the digestion, which I would hazard has been troubling you?”

“A mite.”

He topped up her cup and waited while she poured cream and sugar into it in quantity.

“I’ve a proposition for you,” he said, pouring himself a cup and taking a seat at right angles to her. “Hear me out before you laugh in my face. I want to accomplish two things, and I think you can do both. The first matter relates to this household.”

His plan was the best way to keep her safe, to get her the hell off her feet so the child she carried had a chance at health and a decent start in life. Then too, he’d become irrationally critical of the job his house steward was doing.

The back stoop sported mud from the mews and worse, for pity’s sake.

The window in his bedroom stuck and screeched when he pried it open.

The kitchen floor near the sink was sticky, and when he thought back, it had always been sticky.

“Wants a hands and knees scrubbing,” Mary said, rubbing her toe over the offending location. “Grease gets on it, then it half works into the wood, and it takes lye soap and hot water to lift it.”

He toured the house with her, pointing out dozens of small lapses Jacaranda Wyeth would have set right in a heartbeat.

“I was in service for a few months when I first came to Town,” Mary said when they were again gathered around the teapot. “Most of the girls make a try for service before they start dancing, though it’s hard work. At least you have a roof over your head and some victuals.”

“What happened?”

“Footmen, the man of the house, his sons, the tradesmen, a pack of humping louts, the lot of them, and a girl doesn’t have to so much as flirt to be given the sack for the way a man looks at her. Don’t suppose you’ve a biscuit on hand?”

“Finish your tea.” He patted her hand and scavenged up a plate of shortbread that was less than a day old and brought up his second idea. She listened, munched her shortbread, and agreed to consider his offers.

What was it with women that they were all overcome by the need to deliberate perfectly sound propositions of late? Worth’s musings were disturbed when Lewis came in looking like he’d distasteful news to impart.

“What is it?”

“We’ve a beggar in the mews, or I think he’s a beggar, and he’s asking for you.”

“He’s not asking for food or money?”

Lewis scratched his chin. “Claims he’s not. Said he knows you’re here, because your great, black beast is in the mews, and he’ll keep coming back until you talk with him.”

“You still think he’s a beggar?” Worth turned down his cuffs as he rose. Some of his clients were from the highest tiers of society—he’d been to Carlton House that very morning—and some were not.

Still, he didn’t recognize the weathered old salt at his back door.

The man stuck out a hand. “Name’s Noonan. I used to sail with Captain Spicer, of the Drummond, years and years ago.”

“I know Spicer,” Worth said. “He’s a good man, but the Drummond should have made port last week, and we fear for him.” This was part of what he’d had to tell his regent earlier in the day. The meeting had lacked sorely for good cheer.

Noonan slapped a dusty cap against his thigh. “Fret not. Spicer was swilling rum at the same little out-of-the-way port where I laid up on Madagascar while his ship put in for repairs. They took bad storm damage, but lost not a hand.”

“This is very, very good news,” Worth said, thinking quickly. “The best news.”

Noonan tugged the cap back on a balding pate, his grin conspiratorial. “The best news is that your cargo is in fine shape as well. Drummond said to tell you they should be along in a couple more weeks.”

“Who else have you told?”

“Cap’n swore me to secrecy. Said to tell you myself and only you, and he’d consider his account with you even.”

“Even it is,” Worth said. “For your discretion, I’m prepared to offer you a one percent share in the venture, if you’re interested?”

“As one old sailor who’s weathered too many gales, of course I’m interested.”

“Give me your direction. I’ll send around the paperwork, but if you breathe a word of this to anyone, your share will soon be as worthless in truth as it’s rumored to be now.”

“I can take a secret with me to my grave, but I would like to call on Mrs. Spicer. She’s no doubt heard the rumors as well.”

“Leave that to me, and no matter what you hear, keep your mouth shut, and don’t sell your share to anyone.”

“Righty-o, mate.” He turned to leave with a jaunty wave.

“Another moment of your time, Noonan. Captain Spicer’s man deserves some decent sustenance and a spot of tea, unless you’ve pressing matters to see to?”

“I could do with a plate and pint, but I wouldn’t put you to any trouble.”

“This won’t be trouble.” Though it would be delicate, for Worth would not lie outright. “We’re off to the local tavern, where we’ll lament Spicer’s apparent fate for any with ears to hear.”

Noonan doffed his cap again and held it over his heart. “Too bad about old Spicer. He were a good sort, just took one too many chances.”

“Pity,” Worth said. “A real shame.”

* * *