Elizabeth Mansfield (3 page)

But her talent
did
stand her in good stead in another way: it strengthened her character. Her manner of thinking was so logical that, even while she was still in the schoolroom, people who knew her brought their problems to her, problems both financial and personal. The quickness of her understanding, and the lucidity with which she could analyze them, made talking things over with her useful to everyone. Servants, friends, and even her parents instinctively turned to her for advice. Not surprisingly, this had an effect on her development. The respect that people around her felt for her gave her a confidence in herself that was rare in females of her age.

But the best use of her talent came when her family was beset with their financial emergency. That was when her mathematical mind rewarded her in a most practical way. In her interview with Lady Martha for the post of secretary-bookkeeper, she was easily able to demonstrate to her ladyship that she would be as capable in the position as the best-qualified male. Without once putting pen to paper, she proved her talent with three observations: first, she made an accurate estimate of the cost of running the castle by merely walking through the kitchens; next, she found an error in the bailiff's ledger by merely passing her eye over the page; and, finally, she disagreed with her ladyship about the payment of a bill. Lady Martha asked if she should pay her milliner the amount of one hundred and twenty-six pounds all at once or follow the milliner's suggestion of making six more "modest" monthly payments of twenty-four pounds. "Oh, pay her off at once," Jane had urged.

Her ladyship had raised her brows at that. "I realize that if I pay the bill monthly, I'll be paying a bit more in the end," she said, "but surely it's better to stretch the payments out than to pay in a lump."

"You'd be paying a great deal more than a bit, ma'am," Jane had pointed out. "It comes to
eighteen pounds
more. That's more than fourteen percent in interest. When most banks will lend money at two percent, a fourteen percent interest charge is worse than usurious. It's outrageous."

Lady Martha had hired her on the spot.

Her ladyship was remembering that interview as she sat before the library windows reading her letters. Jane had irked her this morning, but it was more her own fault than the girl's. If truth be told, hiring Jane Douglas was the wisest decision she'd ever made. Ever since Jane had come, the household had been running smoothly. The books were in order, the staff's wages were paid on time, household arguments were settled amicably and fairly, and all the business questions that her man from the City, Mr. Fairleigh, placed before her were now being handled by Jane with admirable results. (Mr. Fairleigh had even confided to her ladyship that he'd try to steal Jane away from her to work in his office, except that hiring a woman as a "man of business" would make him a laughingstock on the street.) She
would
give the girl a rise in salary, her ladyship decided. Even if she earned more than the expensive French cook, Jane was worth it.

With a decisive nod, she turned her attention to her letters. On top of the pile were two invitations for dinner from nearby gentry. She would accept only one. "Here, Jane," she said, passing the notes over to the girl at the desk, "write an acceptance to Squire Greenfield and an excuse to Lady Oldham. Dinner at the squire's table can be jolly, but Lady Oldham's a garrulous bore who never permits her guests to get in a word."

Jane, struggling to decipher the scrawl on a bill from a London wine-merchant, murmured an absent "Yes, ma'am," and set the invitations aside.

Meanwhile, Lady Martha stared worriedly at her next letter. She'd recognized the hand. "This is from Luke," she muttered as she broke the seal. "You don't suppose..." Her eyes ran quickly over the page. "Yes, dash it, he's done it
again!
"

Jane looked up. "Fallen into debt again, has he?"

"He's asking for another
thousand!
Her ladyship put a shaking hand to her forehead. "Didn't I send him a thousand just a short while ago?"

"A thousand just after the New Year," Jane answered promptly, "and six hundred two weeks ago."

"Good God!" Her ladyship winced in horror. "He's dissipated a fortune in less than two months!"

"So it would seem," Jane said, returning to her writing.

"Is that all you can say?" Lady Martha demanded irritably. "
'So it would seem'?"

"It is not my place to say anything," Jane said, demurely calm.

"Hummph! You certainly didn't worry about your 'place' when you sauced me this morning."

"That was different. I had to protect myself."

"Well, I give you leave to speak your mind in this case. I need your views in this matter."

Jane eyed her suspiciously. "Are you certain, ma'am? You may not find comfort in my views."

Lady Martha sighed. "I am not looking for comfort. I'm looking for a solution. I think I need some of your honesty and logic."

"Then, ma'am, here it is. It seems to me that your son Luke is a wastrel and an incorrigible gambler."

"Does it indeed?" her ladyship snapped icily.

"You said you wanted honesty, did you not? You yourself told me of some of his wild exploits. The time he raced a gelding through Covent Garden and overturned two flower stalls and a vegetable cart in the process. And the shocking occasion when he instigated a fencing match with—who was it you said, the young Lord Ponsonby?—and they engaged in swordplay throughout Lady Ponsonby's mansion, causing all sorts of damage. And the ridiculous wager on a turtle race—"

"Yes, enough!" The older woman made a protective movement of her hand, as if trying to ward off the truth. "I grant you the point. He's a wastrel and a gambler."

"Yet," Jane went on, "I don't think he's altogether to blame for his profligacy."

This caught Lady Martha's full attention. "Don't you?" she asked, head cocked. "Then who is? His friends? Or are you trying to say that
I'm
somehow to blame?"

"Perhaps in a way you are. I wonder if his profligacy comes from a resentment of the fact that his mother has control of his fortune."

"That was his father's condition in the will. I had nothing to do with it. The late Viscount Kettering did not have confidence in his son's discretion. And, as it has turned out, he was quite right. Luke has no discretion in money matters."

"But he's never been given the responsibility of
dealing
with money matters. Perhaps if he had..."

"Are you saying—after calling him a wastrel and a gambler—that I should turn over to him all control over his wealth?"

"Why not? You can do it if you see fit, can't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so." Lady Martha's brow wrinkled as she considered the matter. "The will provides that the time to turn over control is at my discretion until he reaches the age of thirty-five, at which time it becomes his. But—"

"He is now thirty-one, is he not? The fortune becomes his in a mere four years. At that time, will-you, nill-you, he will do one of two things: either dissipate what is left, or decide to act responsibly. If he's going to dissipate it, what does it matter that you've managed to stave off the disaster by a few years? On the other hand, if you show some confidence in him by giving him the reins
now,
he may live up to your belief in him and behave like a man of sense."

Her ladyship blinked thoughtfully. "What an interesting idea," she said after a long pause. "It is certainly worth considering."

"Yes, ma'am," Jane said and returned to her work.

"Of course, he knows nothing of managing a large fortune," the older woman murmured, half to herself. "He will need someone to advise him."

"Mr. Fairleigh is up to the task," Jane said, not looking up.

"Yes, on large matters, like investments. And he deals well with the bailiff on land-management matters. But the everyday sorts of decisions..." She got up and began to pace. "He'd need a man of business, or a secretary... or someone—"

"Yes, ma'am," Jane said absently, engrossed in her writing. "That's a good idea."

Suddenly her ladyship stopped in her tracks. "Someone like
you,
Jane!"

Jane looked up. "Ma'am?"

"Why not?" Lady Martha strode back to the desk and leaned over it. "Why couldn't you go to London and do the job yourself?"

Jane blinked in amusement. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You're the perfect solution."

"But, your ladyship, that's ridiculous."

"Why?"

"There are a dozen reasons why. For one thing, he will want a male secretary. I'm a female. For another, I know nothing of London or the kind of life his sort lives. And even if the idea were not preposterous, I have my family—"

"Yes, of course. It
is
preposterous," her ladyship agreed, her face falling. She sighed, turned from the desk, and walked slowly back toward her chair. "Of course, I could
demand
that he hire you... as a condition of the agreement, you see. And I could stay with you in town for a while, to help you become acclimated."

"Please, ma'am, stop. It is not an option to be considered."

"What if you went for only a month or two? Your family can certainly spare you for a couple of months."
 

"No, ma'am, they can't."

"One month, then. Just enough time for you to set things going. .. procedures, ledgers, and the like. And to hire someone for him..."

"Sorry, ma'am, I just can't—"

"And of course I'd give you a rise in salary. A big rise. Double!"

Jane stared at her.
"Double?
For the
year?
And I need remain in London for only a month?"

Lady Martha's eyes gleamed triumphantly. "Double. And a lovely gift on Boxing Day. Agreed?"

Jane drew in a deep breath. Forty pounds per annum was almost as much as the salary of the French cook! "Very well, ma'am. Agreed. Though I haven't a doubt in the world that I shall come to regret it."

THREE

Luke, sitting stiffly in the comer of his carriage, was trying to ignore Dolly's flirtatious overtures. It had been a dreadful evening, and his desire for her had considerably diminished during the course of it. He usually found Dolly's bright green eyes, spectacular shape, and lively spirit enchanting, but tonight he'd found her nothing but irritating.

From the moment of his calling for her at the doorway of the building on Curzon Street in which he'd established her, things had gone awry. First she'd appeared in a gown too shockingly décolleté for an evening at the opera at Drury Lane. Then she'd blithely announced that she'd embarked on a project of redecorating the apartments he'd rented for her, which meant not only that he could expect an exorbitant bill for the work but that the place was not at present in a condition for his viewing. "I can spend the night with you in Charles Street instead," she whispered into his ear with what, in other circumstances, he would have considered a tantalizing giggle. It was not tantalizing tonight.

The fact was that, as much as he enjoyed spending an hour or so in her arms, he did not enjoy a whole night of it in his own home. He did not like a female intrusion into his own abode, he did not like having to face her over breakfast, and he did not like his servants knowing so much about his affairs. But since it didn't seem gentlemanly to reject her offer, he ordered his coachman to make a stop at his home before going on to the theater in order to tell his butler to prepare a room for a guest.

They were already late for the theater. Instead of asking the coachman to carry the message to his butler, he leaped from the carriage himself, ran up the outer stairs, and gave the order to his butler in as few words as possible.

Parks, a rotund fellow whose triple chins tended to quiver whenever he was upset, nevertheless always tried to appear impassive, as the perfect butler should. However, he could not hide his surprise now. "A guest, my lord?" he asked. "Tonight?"

"Tonight," Luke snapped, turning back to the stairs.

"A female guest?"

The note of disapproval in the butler's tone, though slight, was enough to irritate Luke. He glowered at the fellow. "Yes, dammit, a female guest," he muttered and started back down.

Parks followed at his heels. "Miss Naismith, I take it?"

Luke threw him an icy look but didn't bother to answer.

"I shall wait up for you, my lord," Parks said, running past him and opening the carriage door for him.

"Thank you," Luke muttered as he climbed up, but he could feel the butler's unspoken smirk. Parks would have great fun this evening sharing this delicious gossip with all the servants, Luke was sure of that. As he sank back onto the cushions, the feeling of irritation spread through his innards like a chill.

But there was worse to come. As soon as they entered the theater, they came face to face with Moncton with a new
cher amie
on his arm (the woman dressed, by the way, in a perfectly respectable gown). Dolly preened and paraded Luke about like a trophy, making clear by her manner that she wanted Moncton's new doxie (and everyone else) to know she'd snared the better prize. It took all of Luke's self-control to hide his embarrassment.

Dolly's reaction to the opera, too, had been irritating. Luke had been dismayed by the performance—a popularized version of
Don Giovanni
that had, he felt, cheapened Mozart's lovely score. Dolly, however, had been enchanted by it—further evidence, if that were needed, of her lack of discrimination. And finally, after he'd endured the entire performance for her sake, she insisted on their going on to Limner's for a noisy, badly prepared dinner.

The result of this accumulation of vexations was an unaccustomed coldness in his reaction to her blandishments. Here in the carriage Dolly herself could feel it. "Oh, my sweet love," she murmured, snuggling up to him and running a gloved finger along his jaw, "are you in a pet?"

"I am never in a 'pet,' " he said, holding her off. "Pets are foolish little female tempers. Men do not indulge in them."

"Pooh," she said, snuggling closer. "They do indeed indulge in them. All the time. You are doing it now, even if you choose to call it something else, like... like... a 'huff.' " She looked up at him with an appealing little smile. "You are in a huff, then, aren't you?"