The Conundrum of a Clerk Read online

  “Of course. Why just today, I have discovered that as his oldest daughter, I have him wrapped quite tightly around my pinky,” she said as she held up her smallest finger.

  “Surely you knew it before today,” Elizabeth replied with a grin.

  Daisy allowed a wan smile, deciding it was better not to admit she hadn’t known it until that morning.

  What a fool I have been, she thought with a sigh before saying, “I will pay a call on Mr. Streater in the morning.” Then she offered them more tea.

  Thanking her for the hospitality but reminded of the time by the chiming clock on the mantle, Elizabeth shook her head. “I’ve a babe at home in need of her dinner. I do hope you and Mr. Streater get on with one another.”

  “As do I,” George said, standing when his wife did. “If you could give our regards to the duke and duchess?”

  Daisy grinned. “I shall,” she promised as she led them to the vestibule, her limp more evident now that she had been sitting too long. “However can I thank you for considering me?” she asked as George kissed the back of her hand.

  “Accept the position when Mr. Streater offers it,” George replied. Despite his warning to Teddy, he had a feeling his friend would offer the position to the first applicant who appeared at Warwick’s.

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “And should you think of someone in search of a husband...” she added before she stepped out the front door.

  “Now, sweeting,” George scolded as he followed her out.

  Daisy stood and regarded the closed door for a very long time before she turned and made her way up to the nursery.

  She needed to plead for clemency for Lord Bostwick. And it was past time she meet her new siblings.

  Chapter 9

  A Surprise is Revealed

  The next morning

  “You’re going where?” James, Duke of Ariley, asked as a footman set a plate of eggs and a rasher of bacon in front of him. He had already finished a cup of coffee and was about to start another when Daisy brought up her plans for the day.

  “Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School,” Daisy replied, wondering if her stepmother ever ate breakfast with her father. A copy of The Times, newly ironed and half-open before the duke, had held his attention until Daisy entered the breakfast parlor.

  “You are aware your sister no longer holds her position there,” he half-asked, his gaze taking in her smart hairstyle and carriage gown. Seeing her like this had him understanding just how she could pass as a spy for the Home Office—no one would guess she wasn’t anything other than a prim and proper daughter of the ton, albeit an older one.

  “I am. But I should have liked to have been a visitor to her classroom when she taught arithmetic.” Daisy paused, knowing he would eventually ask as to her reason for visiting the school. Instead of waiting for the inevitable question, she relented and simply admitted why she had requested a conveyance for the morning. “Lady Bostwick believes I could be headmistress of the finishing school.”

  James set down his coffee cup in its saucer, the fine china clattering a bit as his brows furrowed. He had wondered why the Bostwicks had paid the call the day before. He had intended to ask Daisy when she appeared in the nursery, but the delight in her eyes at meeting her younger brother had him thinking instead of how happy he was the two had finally met.

  And then, when Helen had given up her hold on Rose so that Daisy could hold the babe, he had fought back tears. The expression of joy on his eldest daughter’s face as Rose opened her eyes and smiled would stay in his memory for the rest of his days. Surely some sense of maternal longing would settle in her breast. Some desire to marry and have one of her own.

  He need only find a man worthy of her. He rather doubted she would manage it on her own.

  About to follow that line of thought, he remembered what Daisy had just said and frowned. “Has Mrs. Streater finally been fired?”

  Daisy blinked. Apparently word of the old woman’s death hadn’t yet reached Ariley Place. “Retired, is more the thing. She died, and her son has inherited the school. According to Lady Bostwick, Mr. Streater is desperate to find a replacement.”

  His copy of The Times forgotten, James stared at his daughter. “This is a surprise. She’s been running that school for... forever as far as I can remember,” he remarked. “Have you... experience working in finishing schools that I’m not aware of?” he asked. Despite having tried to discover exactly what Daisy might have done in her various guises as an operative, she had never come out and admitted anything to him. What little he knew had come from Lord Chamberlain, and he only knew of her assignments for the Foreign Office.

  “None,” Daisy replied before she lifted a forkful of eggs to her lips. “But it’s an administrative position with a few employees to manage, so I believe I can do it.”

  “Do what?” Helen asked from where she had paused on the threshold of the breakfast parlor.

  Daisy exchanged a quick glance and a shake of her head with her father, who seemed to understand her meaning immediately.

  “Ride a horse. My daughter hasn’t been on a mount since her mother died,” James stated, already standing. He moved around the table to join his wife, taking one of her hands in his and kissing the back of it. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I took my leave of you this morning,” he whispered, before he kissed her cheek.

  “You know I cannot sleep if you’re not next to me,” Helen replied, her whisper matching his. In a louder voice, she added, “Daisy is welcome to try Adonis. He’s in need of exercise and is ever so gentle.”

  “Adonis?” Daisy repeated, a grin coming to her face. “Father,” she scolded.

  “I didn’t name him,” James said as he led Helen to her place at the table. “Seems he already had the moniker when Mr. Comber trained him.”

  “Mr. Comber?” Daisy repeated, straightening in her chair.

  “Alistair. The second son of Aimsley. Oh, and your sister’s newest brother, I suppose,” James added. “The man is a crack with horses. When you’re ready to choose a mount of your own, I’ll be sure to enlist his services.”

  Although she had loved riding horses when she was younger, Daisy found she didn’t miss the pastime. The idea of parading in the park amidst other members of the ton at five o’clock in the afternoon held little appeal. “Thank you, Father,” she said with a nod.

  “Will you join me on morning calls today?” Helen asked as she regarded the plate of breakfast foods the footman had set before her. “I thought to leave about one o’clock.” Although she would have been fine with the eggs, sausages and unbuttered toast, the kippers had her struggling to maintain her composure.

  Daisy noticed, and quickly reached over to remove the plate from in front of her stepmother. She turned to the footman. “Remove the kippers from the sideboard. Immediately,” she ordered. “Take this, as well,” she said as she shoved the plate at him.

  Blinking, the footman quickly bowed and whisked the offending dish from the room. Even before he had taken his leave, Daisy had rushed to the window and opened it.

  “What...?” James started to say as he watched Daisy and then turned his attention onto his wife.

  Daisy remained by the window and regarded the duchess, who merely angled her head and gave it a small shake. Daisy’s eyes widened in response, a clear sign she thought it was past time the duchess inform his grace she was expecting another baby. Helen had to be at least two months pregnant.

  After four children, how could her father not have noticed his wife’s condition?

  Although she would have liked to finish her breakfast, Daisy said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment in Glasshouse Street. Forgive me, but I rather doubt I shall be back in time to join you.” With that, she hurried out of the breakfast parlor, took her pelisse from Jarvis, and left through the front door. Half-expecting to have to hail a hackney, she rolled her eyes when she saw her request for a conveyance had been filled by way of a barouche.

  “H
ow long have you been waiting for me?” she asked of the driver.

  The man gave a shrug. “I only just pulled up to the curb this very minute, my lady,” he replied in alarm. “I feared I had kept you waiting.”

  Daisy was reminded once again she was the daughter of a duke. “You have not. Warwick’s, in Glasshouse Street,” she stated as she allowed a tiger to help her into the equipage.

  “Yes, my lady.” And with that, the driver had the horses in motion.

  Chapter 10

  Confession is Such a Relief

  Meanwhile, back in the breakfast parlor

  “May I inquire as to what that was all about?” James asked, his attention having returned to his duchess. Although her complexion had appeared a pasty white only a moment ago, color had begun to return to her cheeks.

  She sighed and allowed a shrug. “I wasn’t sure, so I haven’t said anything. I may just have a stomach flu—”

  “Or you could be expecting my spare heir,” James interrupted, a grin slowly widening to lift his cheeks. Crinkles formed on either side of his eyes. “I was going to ask you last week—”

  “Last week?” she countered, her eyes wide. “But... how? I didn’t suspect until...” She sighed. Since she was still nursing her daughter on occasion, her monthly courses hadn’t yet resumed.

  Now it seemed they wouldn’t.

  James broke out into laughter. “I have fathered four children. I’m well aware of morning sickness, my love.” He shook his head. “You poor thing,” he said with a good deal of sympathy as he leaned over and bussed her on the top of her hair. He turned his head to the side. “Bring some toast, please,” he called out.

  A footman was through the door in only a moment, a plate of unbuttered toast held out.

  “I do hope it is a boy,” Helen murmured.

  “I wouldn’t mind another girl,” James countered, despite how vexed he felt by his eldest.

  “But you need a spare,” she argued.

  James allowed a wan grin. “There will be other opportunities.” He sobered. “I hope?” he added as his brows furrowed. “You weren’t thinking to... to take a lov...lover after another boy is born. Were you?”

  Helen gave him a quelling glance. “James,” she scolded. “I wouldn’t do such a thing.” She stared at him a moment, her long lashes widening in alarm. “Were you... thinking of taking a m...mistress?” she asked, barely able to get the word out.

  His eyebrows reaching nearly into his hairline, James gave a shake of his head. “Never!” he replied. “I pledged fidelity, remember?”

  “As did I,” she replied defensively. Her sigh of relief rather loud, Helen allowed a wan grin. “Well, then,” she managed as she helped herself to a piece of toast. “If you’re not doing anything important during the next hour, perhaps you... you could help me take my mind off how your daughter seemed to know about my condition,” she suggested, one of her brows furrowing.

  Angling his head, James remembered just then that it had been Daisy who had noticed Helen’s distress, effectively taking matters into her own hands and ordering the servants about as if she were the lady of the house. As if she knew first-hand the symptoms of morning sickness. “What are you suggesting?”

  Dipping her head a bit, Helen finally replied. “Has she given you a grandchild?”

  James straightened so suddenly, Helen blinked. “Of course not,” he answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. It was possible Daisy had had a baby. She was old enough. She had been away from London for a long time. But he was sure her former employer would have informed him if she had ever shown signs of carrying a child.

  She wouldn’t have been able to remain in her position if she were pregnant.

  Would she?

  Left unsettled by his wife’s query, James returned his attention to The Times and pretended to read while he plotted how he was going to discover if there was a grandchild out there. Somewhere.

  Chapter 11

  An Interview Goes from Awry to All Right

  A half-hour later, at Warwick’s

  Theodore Streater regarded the ledger spread out before him, his brows furrowing as he attempted to make out the column of numbers followed by another column of two or three letters that filled the page. As an accomptant, he spent hours and hours every day working with ledgers, entering numbers and adding and subtracting, his only issue the occasional errant drop of ink obliterating his carefully formed numbers.

  Fairly sure these numbers were written in his mother’s hand, he wondered at their meaning. He glanced over at another ledger. That one had been easy to decipher—the salaries for the instructors and servants were entered at the end of each month right next to each name, although an occasional deduction showed his mother charged the live-in instructors for their rooms.

  A second ledger was made up entirely of incomes and expenses for the school—tuition fees vs. gas, coal, candles, oil, food, ink—all neatly entered for every month going back to who-knew-when.

  This third ledger, though, had him flummoxed. The numbers were larger, and listed in one long column with only initials or single letters noted next to each entry. His concentration was such that he didn’t hear the knock at the office door, nor look up when it opened.

  “Pardon me, sir, but are you Mr. Streater?”

  Teddy gave a start, his head jerking up to discover a rather lovely woman regarding him from the doorway. She had her head through a slight opening, as if she didn’t dare open it enough to reveal the rest of her.

  At the moment, Teddy rather wished she had not just interrupted him, but had come all the way into the office, removed the ledger from the desk, and seated herself on his lap.

  She was that beautiful. And it had been that long since he was in the company of a young woman and no one else.

  “Hullo,” he managed to say, setting aside the ledger in favor of staring at his visitor.

  “Good morning,” Daisy replied. She stepped all the way into the office and dipped a curtsy, which had Teddy remembering he wasn’t standing.

  He got to his feet, his wooden arm banging against the mahogany desk before he managed to get it down by his side. He gave a bow. “Theodore Streater, at your service, Miss...?”

  He rather wished he was in her service. Doing anything she wanted him to do. Whenever she wanted him to do it.

  He almost said something to that effect when she said, “Miss Daisy Albright. Lady Bostwick sent me. Said... she said you were in need of me.”

  Teddy blinked before he silently blessed Elizabeth Bennett-Jones.

  Again.

  The woman had been responsible for him regaining his position as a clerk at the Bank of England. She saw to paying the bribe that had the manager re-hiring him despite the fact that he was missing his right arm.

  And, apparently, she had already arranged for a matchmaker to send him a beautiful wife. “This is a pleasant surprise,” he managed. “And so soon.”

  “Oh?” Daisy replied, moving to stand before the massive desk she knew was meant to intimidate anyone who stepped into the office. Either Mrs. Streater had inherited it from a male relative, or she had purchased it with the intention of frightening anyone who came into the office. The thought that she might be the one to sit behind it should she be hired in the position of headmistress had Daisy fighting a frown. And then she thought perhaps it would be possible to replace the monstrosity with a small escritoire. Something more suitable for a woman.

  She didn’t want any of the instructors to fear her.

  Daisy held out her left hand, intending to shake his. Although his right sleeve appeared as if an arm filled it—a gloved hand extended beyond the hem of the sleeve—she remembered the mention of him having lost his right arm during the war. “Lady Bostwick was quite insistent I needed to see you as soon as possible. In the event you had others under consideration for the position.”

  Teddy blinked. “Well, she needn’t have worried,” he replied as he reached out with his left hand. Instead of sha
king hers, he lifted her hand to his lips. He had to bend over the desk in order to bestow the kiss on her kid-gloved knuckles, but he managed rather well before he motioned for her to sit down. “She didn’t even know I was in want of someone until yesterday morning.” He almost added, But then, I didn’t either, but decided against it.

  Odd, wasn’t it, that the very suggestion of a wife would have him considering marriage again?

  “Then I am doubly honored she sought me out,” Daisy replied as she settled onto the hard wooden chair in front of the desk. She had a thought she would replace it with a tufted chair should she be hired. No need to have visitors to her office feeling uncomfortable.

  Teddy was at a loss as to what to say. How did one propose to court someone? He had befriended his first wife back when they were still in the schoolroom. Gertrude had been the only sister of one of his friends. He found her amiable and willing. Theirs was not a love match, per se, but he had grown more fond of her as they aged.

  That war had interrupted their union—twice—was all his fault. He had been the one to answer the call, the soldier side of him determined to help defeat Napoleon—again—no matter the cost. That Gertrude had succumbed to pneumonia was merely fate. That she had died whilst he was on the Continent, losing his arm and almost his life, was the worst blow.

  “I should tell you that I am a widower,” Teddy said as he took his seat, making sure his wooden arm was left resting on the desk.

  “I don’t see as how that’s relevant,” Daisy replied, one brow furrowing in question.

  Teddy blinked. “Well, then you should at least know that I was devoted to my late wife. I never took a mistress, nor did I seek comfort in the arms of a...” It was at this point he realized he was being entirely inappropriate. These were the traits he could mention when he was actually courting her. Perhaps when they were in a barouche or a phaeton, on their way to the British Museum or to Hyde Park for a ride in Rotten Row.