Married to the Viscount (25 page)

Children. Yes, she could ask for something that would answer her most nagging question about him. “You have to let me complete Lady Brumley’s order.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “As long as you spend the rest of the time preparing to meet the king, do as you please with that.”

“That’s not all.” She dragged in a deep breath. “If I’m to let it sit for a week, I have to produce those hundred bottles by this Saturday, so I need more hands to get it done. Clara offered me the use of her reformed pickpockets. If you’ll let me, I want to bring the children here tomorrow to help me bottle the Heaven’s Scent.”

He scowled. “Why can’t you have them help you at the Home?”

“I don’t want to haul all my materials over there. Besides, Clara doesn’t have the room for such a big project.” Abby swept her hand around her. “But you have plenty of it here. With fifteen or so eager hands, I can have the bottles put together far more quickly than a few friends and I could do it.”

“Use my servants.”

“That would disrupt your household.” Sarcasm edged her voice. “I thought you didn’t want it disrupted by a wife’s ac
tivities. Or was that just hogwash?” She knew perfectly well that it was, but he’d never admit it.

When he turned away to mutter a low oath, she added, “It’s not as if the time would be wasted either. Clara can instruct me in etiquette and titles and such while we fill bottles and letter labels.”

“She can do that without the children here.”

Abby thrust out her chin. “That’s what I want, Spencer. Take it or leave it.”

He shot her a frustrated glance. “That’s all you want? The children to help you?”

“Yes.”

“I’d rather give you the jewels.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand with a sigh. “All right, bring them here. But only if I don’t have to put up with them running about underfoot. On Fridays Parliament adjourns early, so I’ll be home for dinner at seven. I want them gone by then, understand?”

“Yes.” She understood perfectly. He wanted everything his way.

Well, he wasn’t going to get it. This was her chance to test his reaction to children, and she would take full advantage of it. Even if she annoyed him a little in the process.

Chapter 15

A household with children requires a butler with certain skills. Do not go to work for an employer of childbearing age unless you are prepared to learn them.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

A
bby could hardly contain her pleasure. Surrounded by babbling children of varying ages, she sat at the long table in the schoolroom, cutting lengths of ribbon. It was hard to believe these sweet-faced angels had ever been thieves…except when they were working. Then their clever hands moved so quickly she could hardly follow them.

“What a delight they are,” she told Clara. “You’ve taught them well.”

Clara raised an eyebrow as she meticulously lettered a label. “You didn’t see Jack trying to lift that porcelain figure of a shepherd on his way up the stairs or Mary gauging the silver with her eagle eye.”

Abby’s eyes went wide. “They wouldn’t really steal from
us
, would they?”

“If they thought they could get away with it.”

Clara reached over to steady the hand of a seven-year-old pouring finished perfume from a pitcher into a bottle. The girl, whose name was Lily, smiled shyly.

Abby melted. “Oh, I don’t care. Let them steal if they want. God knows Spencer can afford it.”

“Watch what you say,” Clara warned, though her eyes sparkled. “I’m trying to teach them
not
to steal, you know.”

“I wouldn’t steal,” Lily said stoutly. “I ain’t stolen since I was a little ’un.”

Clara laughed. “That’s because you know you’d be in trouble with me if you did.”

Lily screwed her face up as she poured more liquid into a new bottle. “I didn’t like stealing anyhow. Too scary when you get caught.”

Abby could hardly imagine a girl of seven having to steal, much less a “little ’un.” But she’d heard it wasn’t unusual in London. It wasn’t even unusual in Philadelphia, but London seemed to have more pickpockets—and crueler punishments.

No wonder Clara was so dedicated to her Home.

“Will we be able to provide Lady Brumley with her bottles?” Clara asked, glancing toward the schoolroom windows and the darkening sky outside.

“I think so. How many are there now, Jack?” Abby asked the wiry-framed eleven-year old who was gluing labels on bottles.

“We’re up to eighty-nine, milady.” Jack scowled over at Lily. “It would be ninety-one if not for the two that Miss Fumble-fingers knocked over.”

“But there was a spider!” Lily stuck her lower lip out petulantly. “I hate spiders.”

“So do I.” Abby reached across the table to pat Lily’s hand. “Don’t worry, two bottles won’t break us. And we can work a while longer, can’t we, Clara?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to send word to the Home for them to keep dinner back for us.”

“Nonsense, you’re eating dinner here,” Abby said. “I’ve already arranged it with Cook. It’s the least I can do after you’ve helped me so much.”

Clara chewed on her lower lip. “What about Spencer? Are you sure he’ll approve of having all these little devils at his dinner table?”

“He told me they could come here, didn’t he?” she answered evasively. “Besides, it’s a special menu—soup and pork pies and sausages. I tried to choose things the children would like.” And that Spencer might enjoy, too.

She jerked up straight. “Mrs. Graham, you did show Cook how to make the clam chowder, didn’t you?”

“I did indeed.” Mrs. Graham tied a bit of ribbon around a bottle neck. “You should have heard the silly man, complaining about putting bacon in with them clams. ‘Next you’ll be wanting mussels with your roast pork,’ says he. I told him that her ladyship wanted it that way, so he’d best be doing it right. Mr. McFee will make sure he does. He’s seeing to the lemon ices, too.”

“Lemon ices!” Jack exclaimed. “Heigho, chaps, did you hear that? We’re having lemon ices tonight!”

“You’d think I fed them only gruel and gravy,” Clara said wryly as the news ran through the children.

Their delight thrilled Abby. “Oh, you know children. Half of their excitement probably comes from being able to have their treat away from home.”

“I doubt it. The Home could never afford to serve them all lemon ices in April. It costs a fortune.” Clara eyed Abby curiously. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” she said, though she wasn’t at all sure. But she had to find out if Spencer really did hate children. And if he resented the expenditure, that would tell her something, too.

The schoolroom door opened, and a young nursemaid came in carrying a large, gurgling infant on her hip. “The wee one’s just up from her nap, my lady,” the girl said, “and I thought you might not mind if I brought her up here with the rest of you.”

“Of course we don’t mind,” Abby answered for Clara as
the children clamored to see the baby. Abby held out her hands and shot Clara a glance. “May I hold her?”

“Certainly,” Clara said with a smile.

Looking harried, the young nurse seemed only too happy to hand the child over. Abby could see why. Lydia was quite a large nine-month-old. Hauling her up two flights of stairs must be no mean feat. Entranced by Lydia’s liquid brown eyes and sweet baby scent, Abby cradled the dear thing close. Oh, if only this were
her
baby, hers and Spencer’s.

As she stared fondly down at the infant, the door opened. “What the devil is—”

Her head jerked up at the sound of Spencer’s voice, but her words of welcome died as she saw the pure shock in his face. His eyes were riveted on her and the baby, and he stiffened until he rivaled one of her glass bottles for unyielding rigidity.

“Forgive me for interrupting.” Every word was clipped, spoken through a taut jaw and tight lips. Dragging his eyes from the baby, he lifted his head. “Abby, if I might have a word with you in the study…”

She nearly gasped to see the icy anger in that wintry gaze. “Yes, of course,” she breathed. But inside she was dying. Now she had her answer concerning his feelings toward children. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one she’d hoped for.

Spencer paced his study, barely restraining his urge to smash something. He had to get control of himself before she came, but that seemed impossible. He was a grown man, for God’s sake—how could a lot of children turn him into this seething bundle of rage?

Because they’d been surrounding Abby. Because she’d been holding little Lydia—for he had no doubt of who the baby was—and staring down at the infant with such yearning it still sent pain knifing through his gut to remember it.

Devil take her! She’d deliberately kept those children here
for him to see—he was sure of it. And after he’d ordered her to have them gone before he got home.

The door opened and she slipped inside, but he gave her no time to speak.

“What are those brats still doing here?” he growled. The shock in her eyes drove the knife deeper in his gut, but he couldn’t hold back his bitter words. “I told you I didn’t want to see them. And it’s nearly dark outside, so don’t pretend you forgot the time.”

Though she paled, she held her ground. “We weren’t finished.”

“I don’t care.” He kept seeing her with that babe in her arms. He could never give her a babe, never be the one to bring that tender look into her eyes. It tore at him more deeply than he’d expected.

He gritted his teeth. “I want them gone, do you hear? I want them gone now.”

She thrust out her chin. “I can’t do that. They deserved some reward after all their hard work, so I promised them a nice dinner. And I’m not going to renege just because you don’t like having your careful little life upset.”

Upset! Good God, if she only knew. “Very well, serve them dinner if you must. I’ll go to my club. But if I ever see them here again—”

“You won’t.” She scowled. “If I’d had any idea how strongly you felt, I wouldn’t have subjected them to your temper. I know you don’t exactly approve of frivolity. Spencer, but I never expected you to take it out on mere children.”

“Take it out—What the hell do you mean? I’ve done no such thing.”

“Oh, your displeasure was very clear to them, I assure you. They endure enough from everybody else for being pickpockets—they don’t need your condescension, too.”

“You think this is about their being pickpockets?” he said incredulously.

“What other reason could you have for being angry over the presence of children?” She eyed him coolly. “I wouldn’t blame you for fearing that they might steal some of your gimcracks and silver. I mean, without the evidence of your lofty social standing that you must parade before—”

“For God’s sake, it’s not that.” He faced her, feeling oddly like a child himself, being chastised by the schoolmistress. “If I was worried they’d steal from me, I would never have hired one of Lady Clara’s charges as a groom.”

She gaped at him. “You did?”

“Yes. Years ago. And two of my footmen were once her charges.” But they’d been nearly grown—not children who could torture him with thoughts of what might have been. “Ask Lady Clara yourself if you don’t believe me. This has nothing to do with their being pickpockets. I just don’t like children.” He cast her a pointed glance. “As you know very well.”

“I heard your friends say such nonsense at the ball, but I didn’t credit it. Why would a grown man take a real dislike to what are simply younger versions of himself?”

Her gaze was steady on him, and he had the uneasy feeling she was baiting him.

Well, he would not be baited, and he certainly wouldn’t tell her his shame so he could watch her anger turn to pity. Especially not now that he’d seen the yearning in her eyes when she’d held little Lydia. She wanted children, and he could never give them to her. Nothing would change that. “Perhaps the grown man doesn’t like having his peace disrupted, his home invaded, and his opinions challenged at every turn.”

“Are you talking about the children now or me?” she asked quietly.

He sucked in a steadying breath. “I don’t wish to argue
with you, Abby.” Snatching up the satchel he’d left on his desk when he’d first come in, he brushed past her toward the door. “Give them dinner and get rid of them. I’ll be at my club.”

But when he opened the door, he was hit with a bustle of noise coming from the entrance hall. What were the bloody devils up to now? He strode down the hall, heedless of Abby hurrying to keep pace with him. As he burst into the foyer he saw Lady Clara helping her children sort out hats and gloves.

Abby rushed past him. “Wait a minute!” she protested to Lady Clara. “Where are you going?”

Lady Clara shot Spencer a furtive glance. “We thought it best if we return to the Home and leave you and your husband in peace.”

A curly-headed imp pouted at Spencer. “And without sausages, too. It ain’t fair.”

“Hush, Lily,” Lady Clara admonished the girl.

Abby turned to stare at Spencer expectantly, and something twisted in his gut. He knew what she wanted of him, the willful wench.

“There’s no need to go,” he bit out. “I’m heading off to my club anyway. Abby has an entire dinner prepared—it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Joyful cries erupted in the entrance hall even as Lady Clara tried to quell them. “Really, Lord Ravenswood, if you’d rather we go—”

“No,” he said firmly. “Please stay.” He glanced over to McFee, whose hands were already filling up with the gloves and hats that the children had thrust back at him when Spencer made his announcement. “McFee, fetch me my coat and hat.”

“Certainly, my lord,” the unflappable butler said as he handed his burden over to one of the footmen.

Abby herded the imps together, casting Spencer a grateful smile over her shoulder. “Come this way, children—it’s
nearly time for dinner anyway, so we might as well go on to the dining room.”

“But do it quietly,” Lady Clara added with a glance in Spencer’s direction. “All this noise is surely giving his lordship a headache.”

He wanted to tell her that the noise was the least of his complaints, but he held his tongue. He just wanted them gone. Yet before they’d moved an inch, a crash sounded from the drawing room upstairs, followed by a loud rattling noise.