The Conundrum of a Clerk Page 5

  George gave her a look of surprise before he, too, stood up. “I don’t think I’ve seen you move away from me so quickly,” he said, a bit disappointed. He was quite sure their tête-à-tête was about to become an assignation of the carnal sort.

  Straightening his topcoat, he moved to the front door.

  “I was just surprised, is all,” Elizabeth countered, wondering who would attempt to gain entry to her charity’s office on a Sunday afternoon. Although she had considered coming to the office without her husband, she knew a groom and a tiger would be minding the coach at the curb just outside the door.

  Unbolting the door, George held one of his booted feet against the base of the door and turned the handle. He opened it a few inches, making sure to keep his boot firmly in place to prevent someone from shoving the door open from the other side.

  His tiger stood beyond the door, giving a bow when part of George’s face appeared in the opening. “Pardon, my lord, but there’s a gentleman here who says he needs to speak with you.”

  At first wondering how someone would even know he was in the charity’s office, George remembered the gold Bostwick crest painted on the door of town coach. For the longest time, he had favored leaving the glossy black Tillbury unmarked, but his father-in-law, David, Marquess of Morganfield, insisted his daughter ride in a town coach decorated in accordance with her title.

  George had resisted if only because he feared a highwayman or other thief would recognize an opportunity when it presented itself.

  “Who is it?” George asked, opening the door a bit wider.

  “It’s just me, George,” Teddy said from where he stood behind the tiger.

  “Is everything all right?” George asked in alarm, removing his foot from his side of the door and waving his friend into the office.

  “Yes, yes. I was just passing by on my way to Warwick’s and saw your coach. Remembered another reason why I paid the call earlier,” he said, just then noticing Elizabeth standing next to one of the desks. “Your ladyship,” he said as he gave a bow. “Pardon the interruption.”

  Elizabeth gave a nod. “Of course, Mr. Streater.” She glanced around. “Do take a seat, won’t you?” she said as she waved to the chair George had been using. “I apologize, but I don’t have the means to make tea at the moment.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” Teddy replied as he stood next to the chair, obviously waiting for Elizabeth to be seated. Given the limited number of chairs, she returned to her desk as George sat on the edge of it.

  “What’s this about?” George asked when he noticed how Teddy seemed to be struggling with what to say.

  “Warwick’s, of course. In all the confusion of the last two days, I had forgotten mother was in search of a new instructor.”

  George exchanged a quick glance with Elizabeth. “Dance and arithmetic, perhaps?” he offered.

  Teddy’s eyes widened as his brows furrowed. “How did you know?”

  Elizabeth replied, “We were just discussing Miss Albright’s recent marriage to Viscount Breckinridge.”

  Teddy took a deep breath, heartened he didn’t have to explain what had happened to have Miss Diana Albright resign her position so unexpectedly. He had been afraid he would have to deal with a possible scandal. The only usual reason for such quick weddings was because a young lady found herself with child. Or an angry father was threatening to withhold a dowry. “What am I to do?” Teddy asked. “One of the instructors has taken on the dancing—for now—but I’ve no one to teach the arithmetic. I don’t even know where to go—”

  “Why, you’ve come to the right place, if you’re of a mind to hire someone who might have been wounded in the wars,” Elizabeth said happily, glancing over at the stack of applications that George had left on the very desk at which Teddy was sitting.

  Blinking, as if he had completely forgotten he had come to the offices of a charity whose sole purpose was to place veterans into jobs, Teddy allowed a sigh of relief. “Are you saying you might actually have someone?” he asked.

  “Where would you like me to send the candidates?”

  Sitting back in his chair, Teddy thought a moment. “Warwick’s, I suppose. The headmistress’ office. I plan to be there tomorrow and possibly Tuesday, of course,” he finally replied. “The bank has given me two days to see to my mother’s arrangements, but I expect I’ll be using the time to be sure affairs are in order at the school.”

  Elizabeth furrowed a brow, rather surprised a man who had just inherited ten-thousand pounds still intended to continue his position at the Bank of England, especially when he had such a lucrative enterprise to oversee. “Very good. I’ll send a courier with characters as I find them—”

  “Oh, just send the candidates,” Teddy interrupted.

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to blink, but before she could respond, George said, “Is haste really necessary? I shouldn’t want you hiring the first person that crosses your threshold,” he warned.

  Teddy gave a shake of his head. “I would do it myself, but the thought of speaking in front of a room full of schoolgirls has me quite vexed.”

  A ‘tsk’ sounded from Elizabeth’s corner. “A few days without arithmetic isn’t going to hurt anything,” she chimed in. “Why, you’ll quickly become a favorite headmaster should you give those girls a week or two without numbers.”

  Squirming in his seat, Teddy said, “Could I prevail upon you to never call me that, my lady? My intention is to have someone in place of my mother as soon as possible so I can get back to my true calling.” He almost added the word, ‘numbers’, but thought better of it given Elizabeth’s obvious dislike of arithmetic.

  “Of course. I apologize, Mr. Streater. But do know I shan’t be offering you a bribe to hire anyone for the school,” she warned, dimpling when she saw his look of alarm.

  Teddy shook his head as he said, “Of course not.” He gave a long sigh. “I believe I will go to the school now. Spend some time in my mother’s old office to determine what must be done immediately.”

  When their visitor took his leave, George turned his attention to Elizabeth, thinking they could simply pick up where they had left off in their tête-à-tête before Teddy’s arrival. But he watched as she hurriedly pulled on her pelisse and hat and retrieved the application for D. Albright from the desk where he had been sitting. “Where... where are we going?” he asked as she moved to the door.

  “Ariley Place. Surely the duke knows where his daughter is,” she replied. “Where we might find her.”

  “What makes you think she’s Ariley’s daughter?”

  Elizabeth allowed an audible sigh. “Remember when I said she looked familiar?”

  “Yes,” he finally admitted.

  “She looked like Diana Albright. She’s Diana’s older sister. She has to be. So we’re going to Ariley Place.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  Elizabeth paused, realizing just then that paying a call this late in the day was reserved for close family and friends. “Well, aren’t you a close friend of Ariley’s?” she asked. “I know his duchess, of course, but she’s much older than me.”

  George couldn’t decide if he should gently chide his wife or merely go along with her scheme. “I know the duke, yes, but I can’t say we’ve ever so much as shared a drink at the club. But we can at least leave a calling card, I suppose,” he offered when he saw her look of disappointment.

  “That will have to do then,” she agreed, as the two took their leave of the office. Elizabeth turned to lock the door before allowing George to help her into the town coach for the quick trip to Park Lane.

  Truth be told, she had no intention of simply leaving a card, but she thought it best not to inform her husband.

  There was a job to fill, and she was sure D. Albright was the perfect candidate.

  Chapter 7

  Meeting a Stepmother for the Very First Time

  Meanwhile, at Ariley Place

  Daisy’s father hadn’t been fibbing when he said
there was already a bedchamber for her on the first floor of Ariley Place. Two walls were covered in peach silk, and her carved mahogany furniture, made by Chippendale and moved from the house in Kent, sat on thick Turkish carpeting that swallowed up her footfalls as she gingerly stepped into the room. The peach-covered bed, topped by a dark peach satin canopy that swept up to the high ceiling at its middle, was the largest she had ever seen. Green tassels hung from the edges between the bedposts. Her green and white japanned dressing table had been positioned between the room’s two windows.

  When Daisy peeked into the next bedchamber down the hall, she recognized from some of the items on the dresser that it had been set up for her sister, Diana. Despite it being a Sunday, a maid was in the room, unpacking a trunk. When Daisy asked what she was about, the maid said she had been given instructions to prepare an apartment in the event Diana and her new husband, Adam Comber, Viscount Breckinridge, might stay at Ariley Place whilst in London.

  “These are her ladyship’s things from Warwick’s,” the maid explained. “Furniture, too. His lordship made sure she had the very best whilst she taught at that school. Thought I should see to it today since it’s possible Lady Breckinridge will pay a call soon.”

  Daisy wondered if Jarvis had been instructed to send a footman with word to Diana that Daisy was in residence at Ariley Place. But she shook her head when she remembered the new viscountess had only recently married. Adam surely would have taken her on a wedding trip somewhere away from London.

  My sister is a viscountess, Daisy thought with a hint of pride. Their mother had always thought they might end up in advantageous marriages, which was probably why the former courtesan hadn’t trained them for the same life she had led prior to meeting their father.

  Well, that and their father was a duke who wouldn’t have allowed it.

  Returning to her bedchamber, Daisy opened the wardrobe to find all her gowns from Kent lined up on hooks, several pairs of slippers neatly arranged below. The chest of drawers contained all manner of petticoats and chemises, garters and stockings, fobs and fripperies, each one carefully folded and arranged.

  Had all of this been in her bedchamber in Kent?

  Having shed the hideous gown she had worn to church, she found a primrose sprigged muslin gown with a thin edge of lace around the neckline and a huge, lace-trimmed flounce at the hem. Adorned with an orange grosgrain ribbon below her breasts, the dress had her wondering if she might be trying too hard to live up to her name.

  She remembered the day the modiste had delivered it, the protest she had put voice to over how much it made her look like a proper English miss—too much like a young woman still in the schoolroom. But her father complimented her whenever she wore it, claiming it made her look like one of her aunts when she had been the same age.

  Aunt Elise, no doubt. Her youngest aunt. Elise was a viscountess, too. Widowed for two years, she had just married Godfrey Thorncastle, Viscount Thorncastle, the very same day Diana had married her viscount.

  Thinking her father would assume she was deliberately hiding if she didn’t make her way to the ground floor salon—and soon—she decided not to change. A quick repair of her top knot was required, though. She had flattened it so the wig would fit over it. About to remove the pins, a quiet knock at the door had her freezing in place.

  You’re not on a mission, you silly goose, she chided herself as she relaxed and said, “Come.”

  A maid then ducked her head in before she dipped a curtsy. “His grace has asked that I be your lady’s maid whilst you’re in residence, my lady. May I be of help? Name’s Cady.”

  “You don’t have Sundays off?” Daisy countered, rather surprised at Cady’s short stature. She almost remarked on it, and then thought perhaps Cady’s assignment had been deliberate on her father’s part.

  The maid was shorter even than she was!

  Cady angled her head to one side. “Usually. But I’m happy to help, milady.” She stepped forward and held out the chair in front of the dressing table.

  Sighing, Daisy said, “Very well, Cady. I am Daisy... Burroughs.” She almost said. “Albright.” Years of practice did that, but she knew her father would be hurt if she continued to use her mother’s name whilst in his household. “The duke’s oldest daughter.”

  She added the last knowing if she didn’t offer it, there would be speculation amongst the servants as to her relationship to the duke. “And I am in need of a repair to my hair.”

  Taking the proffered chair, Daisy watched in the looking glass as Cady plucked the pins from her messy bun. The maid then helped herself to a brush on the dressing table and got to work. Within minutes, she had Daisy’s mane brushed out, wound up, and pinned into place while managing to leave a few curls at her temples. “Would you like me to do anything else, my lady?” Cady asked as she surveyed Daisy’s hair.

  “Thank you for offering, but no. I should be getting down to the salon,” Daisy replied. She paused a moment. “Where exactly might that be?”

  “Ground floor, front of the house, opposite the dining room, my lady,” Cady said as she dipped a curtsy. “I can see to helping you undress later tonight.” The maid then took her leave of the bedchamber while Daisy regarded her own reflection in the looking glass.

  Having removed the remaining cosmetics from her face, and with the soft curls hanging from her temples, she was stunned to see how much younger she looked than she had that morning when she had left her hotel room for Hanover Square. Younger and... fresher, perhaps.

  Had she really been dreading meeting her stepmother so much that she had allowed the prospect to age her? Or was the relief at having cleared the air with her father the true reason she looked as young as she did?

  Daisy made her way downstairs and found the salon at the front of the house. Having passed the parlor on the first floor, she could understand why her father said he would introduce her to his duchess in the salon—the parlor was huge and included enough seating so twenty or more could be hosted at one time.

  The salon, on the other hand, was small. Intimate. Perfect for three people to enjoy a cup of tea. It also featured a window looking onto Park Lane.

  After studying every piece of furniture and all the knick knacks in the room, Daisy thought she had a clear picture of the woman who could be called her stepmother. She was sure from the decor that Helen, Duchess of Ariley, was proper to a fault, mired in the mid-eighteenth century when it came to tastes, and probably stiff as a board when it came to everything else.

  She hates me, she thought, not for the first time. What wife ever wanted the evidence of their husband’s former liaisons to appear on their doorstep? Live under their roof? Especially when said husband had declared fidelity as part of his wedding vows, as her father had claimed to have done?

  As much as I love her... he had said earlier, when they were still in St. George’s.

  That her father claimed to feel love for the woman and for the two children Helen had birthed since their wedding was simply a testament to how agreeable Helen Harrington could be whilst in his presence. Daisy rather doubted the duchess was agreeable otherwise, judging from her salon.

  So it was a bit of a surprise when her father appeared on the threshold, Helen at his side. A surprise because the duchess was positively beaming in delight. At first, Daisy thought perhaps she was forcing the smile, but having spent years learning the tells of those she dealt with in her position as an operative for the Home Office, and later, for the Foreign Office, Daisy soon determined the woman’s smile was genuine. She could see it in the woman’s eyes.

  “Oh, finally,” Helen said as she hurried into the room, her hands outstretched in front of her.

  Daisy had barely straightened from her deep curtsy, stunned as the duchess took her hands and gave them a gentle shake. “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Grace,” she said with a nod.

  “Now, there will be none of that,” Helen said as she gave Daisy’s hands another shake. “I’ve been discussin
g this with your father for over eight years. I told him you should refer to me as ‘mother,’ but he claims you would never do so. Can you at least see to calling me ‘Helen,’ do you suppose?”

  Daisy blinked, doing her best to hide her surprise at how welcoming her stepmother seemed to be. She had never imagined her father’s wife would be like this. Given how he regarded her mother, though,—how formality and fussiness wasn’t to be abided in their home and among close friends—she realized she shouldn’t have been so surprised. “I can and will, of course,” Daisy agreed. “I must apologize for not having paid a call before now. My... employment situation wouldn’t allow it.”

  Helen’s eyes widened. “Is what your father said true then? That you were some sort of spy for the king?”

  Daring a glance at her father, Daisy watched as he rolled his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head. “Not exactly,” she hedged. “I was more of an... an operative. For the Home Office,” she finally admitted. She supposed it didn’t matter if the woman shared this bit of on-dit with the women who visited her large parlor during their morning calls. She no longer worked in Whitehall and was no longer privy to the secrets they were harboring.

  James, Duke of Ariley, stepped up next to his wife and took one of her hands in his. “Sweeting, I’m not really sure Daisy can tell us very much of her former life,” he said gently, noting Daisy’s slight grin at hearing his words.

  Her stepmother’s delight dimmed a bit, but her smile didn’t falter. “Well, my next guess would have been Lord Chamberlain. He’s my brother by marriage—Caroline is his wife. I hear he has spies working for him in the Foreign Office,” she said as an elegant eyebrow arched up. “Oh, where are my manners? Do have a seat,” she said as she motioned to the settee.

  Daisy dipped her head. “Thank you, Helen,” she managed, barely hesitating with the name as she gave her father a quick glance. The man was regarding her with the slightest of grins, his eyes bright, and she wondered if he was on the verge of tears.