Rules of Engagement (5 page)

The footman held the umbrella as Pamela urged Beth up the steps into Lord Kerrich's carriage. She followed Beth and seated herself on the forward-facing seat, where her doubts assaulted her full force. How could she have so impulsively taken a girl from the orphanage, when she knew quite well Kerrich desired a boy? Her reckless act of defiance might result in her dismissal—a dismissal she and the Distinguished Academy of Governesses could ill afford.

In silence, she stared at the dirty, badly groomed and gawky child before her.

But the silence lasted only as long as it took for the coachman to set the horses in motion and Beth to fall to her knees in the cramped space. Snatching Pamela's gloved hand in hers, she kissed it, and in a timid, earnest voice she said, "Thank you, miss. Thank you for your kindness in taking me away from that place. I never thought I could hope again, and now I can and I swear, miss, swear on the graves of my mother and father that I will do everything you want. I'll be good. I won't cause you any trouble. You won't even know I'm there, I'll be so good."

"Oh, please get up!" Appalled by the child's lavish gratitude, Pamela tugged her fingers away. Once again, Beth had reminded Pamela of herself as a child, endeavoring to be whatever her father wanted, to do whatever her father wanted. Not even the constant lessons he taught—that nothing she did could please him for long—had ever stopped her from trying. For her mother's sake, she strove desperately to make him happy, and for her own sake, too. She had lived in the hopes of hearing his praise and desiring his smile.

She wouldn't subjugate this child to that kind of torment.

"If you knew what I've got you into, you might not be so grateful."

Awkwardly, Beth sidled onto the seat opposite. Her hazel eyes were big and fearful. "I know. The master wants a lad."

"That, too."
The master doesn't really intend to adopt you.
The confession hovered on the tip of Pamela's tongue, brought forth by the guilt her deception caused her. Guilt she hadn't experienced until she'd put a face to the girl. The hopeful eyes. The pale lashes. The broad forehead and sweet chin. The teeth, new and too large for the childish face. The cheeks, meant to be round and full, but thinned with omnipresent hunger.

But what was the use of telling Beth of the consequences that might be visited on her so far in the future? They'd be lucky to make it through this day without Kerrich demanding Pamela fetch him a different child. "Actually," Pamela said bracingly, "he never told
me
he wanted a boy. That was an assumption on my part. Your qualifications make you a much better candidate for His Lordship's purposes than any of the other children."

"Qualifications, Miss Lockhart?"

Pamela smiled at the child rocking with the motion of the carriage as it traveled the rainy London streets. "Yes, indeed. You are polite and well spoken. Lord Kerrich will be able to display you to his friends without fear you will embarrass him."

Beth's grubby fingers twisted in her lap. "He's going to want to display me to his friends?"

"Lord Kerrich will be proud of you," Pamela explained. "He'll want to introduce you."

"Oh." Beth bit her lip, then confessed, "I'm rather shy. The other children make fun of me because of it."

The wretched colored glasses were sliding down Pamela's nose, and as she pushed them back up, she remembered—she wasn't young Pamela, the governess thieves and employers took advantage of. She was stern, no-nonsense Miss Lockhart, so unattractive Kerrich had been openly relieved when she hadn't responded to his flirtatious advances. The character she played had enough stiffness in her spine to give courage to an entire orphanage of bashful children, and that character wouldn't allow Beth to succumb to nerves now. Not when the child had just escaped the foundling home and still faced the gauntlet of Kerrich's examination. Drawing herself sternly erect, Pamela said, "Nonsense. You are not shy. Look at how you calmly introduced yourself to me after I had mistakenly assumed you were a boy. And view your bravery in recovering my watch! No, young lady, you are not shy. You are a lion in the face of adversity."

Beth drew back from Pamela's bracing manner. "I am?"

"Certainly." The carriage swung onto Hyde Park Gardens and stopped before Kerrich's townhouse.

"Maybe I'm only brave when bad things are happening," Beth said cautiously.

Pamela nodded with all the firmness of a seasoned mentor. "A clear indicator of courage." Young Timothy, the footman, opened the door. He held the umbrella in one hand and offered his other hand. Taking it, she stepped out and turned in time to see Beth tumble out on her heels. "Ah. A chance for our first lesson. One always allows the footman to lend a hand when descending a carriage."

Beth looked up at the impassive, liveried servant. "I can get out without his help." Then, perhaps thinking she had hurt his feelings, she said to him, "But thank you anyway, mister."

The footman's mouth twitched with suppressed laughter.

Yet he liked the child's courtesy, Pamela could see that by the stiff little bow he gave.

Kerrich
had
to keep her. Pamela fell further into the role of masterly Miss Lockhart. "Very good. One should always thank the servants, by name if possible. He is Timothy."

"Timothy," Beth repeated.

"Now stand up straight, shoulders back."

Beth straightened.

"Come with me, and remember—you are a lion."

"Yes, Miss Lockhart." Beth answered bravely enough.

But her little hand crept into Pamela's, and Pamela looked down at her and smiled with encouragement. "That's the spirit!" she said, although Beth had paled so much the smudges of dirt stood out on her cheeks.

The footman with his umbrella sheltered them as they started up the stairs toward the massive double door that was the entrance to Kerrich's townhouse.

Beth's steps dragged. "Miss Lockhart? Is this a boardinghouse or a hotel or… what is this place?"

Pamela stopped, brought face to face with the massive task she'd set herself—to prepare a foundling for a masquerade to fool society. To fool the queen who, from Kerrich's throwaway comments, knew him and his mechanisms only too well. Pamela, used to entering the homes of the wealthy, counted Kerrich's home and its trappings as among the greatest she'd ever viewed. Beth, raised by middle-class parents, living in a squalid orphanage, was ill prepared to deal with this kind of affluence.

But Beth was a child. Children adapted easily to change—or so Pamela told herself. With a gesture that encompassed the broad stairway, the Roman arches above each window, the brooding stone eagle carvings set in the brick facade, she said, "This is Lord Kerrich's home."

Beth lifted her chin and looked up, up, to the roof four stories above the street. "Does he have a large family? Children?" She pleaded for information as if she suddenly realized how little she knew of the man who held her fate in his hands.

"Never fear, he has only a cousin, whom I met and who seems a good gentleman. I understand from Mrs. Godwin, the housekeeper, that he is staying for a time with Lord Kerrich. I don't know about any other relations." She didn't, she realized. She hadn't cared about Kerrich's family, only about herself and how he and his money could serve her.

And that was fair, she told herself sturdily. She cared about him as much as he cared about her. Although it did seem Beth had a good plan to acquaint herself with her patron before being introduced to him.

"Is Lord Kerrich nice?" Beth asked.

That Pamela could answer without qualm. "Very nice indeed, when he decides to be." She rapped on the door, and nodded at Moulton when he opened it.

"Is this the child?" Moulton asked as Pamela led Beth into the foyer.

"Is this the master?" Beth asked in a voice of awe.

Moulton, stuffy and pretentious, unbent enough to whisper, "No, miss. I am the new butler."

"You're the butler?" Beth examined his austere features and magnificent suit, and she made her admiration known with one reverent word. "Never."

Pamela smiled as she unpinned her hat and handed it to the footman. Beth had charmed Moulton, for if he had been a grouse he would have ruffled his breast.

Instead he examined Beth's shabby appearance with undisguised horror and advised, "Lord Kerrich is in the study. Miss Lockhart, I would strongly suggest you wash the child before presenting her to the master."

So he, and undoubtedly all the servants, knew why their elegant domain had been invaded by a child.

"Yes, she needs a bath."

"Not likely," Beth muttered.

Pamela paid her no heed. With every intention of whisking her upstairs, she guided the child into the foyer.

But Beth skittered to a stop as the interior of the house opened up to her view. The large and towering entrance gleamed with polished wood floors and massive hand-tied Oriental rugs in deep colors of rose and royal blue. Two footmen flanked the outer door, each so still in his blue and gold livery he might have been part of the furniture. Gilt-framed mirrors decorated the white-painted walls, reflecting the light from the crystal chandelier and the diamond-shaped windowpanes. Fresh-cut flowers blossomed everywhere. A stairway rose up the middle and split at the top to become a gallery where one could scrutinize the comings and goings of the household.

A series of chambers led off the foyer. As Beth crept forward, she peered into the morning room, the breakfast room, the library, and her gasps sang in the silence. Pamela followed, observing the child's wonder with a fascination of her own. It was like watching the girl open her first present on Christmas morning, and Beth's wide eyes and trembling awe only reinforced Pamela's determination to keep the orphan.

Then Beth peeked into the open door of Kerrich's study, and she scurried to hide behind Pamela.

Pamela glared at the gentleman who stalked toward them, a broad-shouldered silhouette against the fading light behind him.

"Miss Lockhart, is that the child?"

Beth clutched at Pamela's skirt.

Without effort, Pamela found herself transformed into the strict Miss Lockhart, acting—and reacting—to his egotistical lordship. "My lord, this is indeed your child."

"Bring it in." With the confidence of a man who was never refused, Kerrich turned his back and returned to his refuge.

Pamela marched forward, towing Beth behind her. Stepping into the doorway, she said, "The child would be better served if allowed to bathe and change before meeting you."

"No."

Kerrich's flat refusal put Pamela on her mettle. "Very well." Clasping Beth's hand, she drew her gently into the study, then urged her forward with a hand in her back.

Kerrich had taken up position with his hip on his desktop, long-limbed, graceful, and as unintentionally attractive as he had been yesterday on purpose. His gaze considered first Pamela, then slowly moved to rest on Beth. His eyes sharpened, and he straightened from his fashionable slouch. In a furious, betrayed tone, he said, "Miss Lockhart,
that
is a girl."

"Very astute of you, my lord," Pamela approved. Heavens, how good she was at this pretense of pedantry and restraint! "Amazingly enough, the only other choice in gender the orphanage contained was that of a boy."

"Why
didn't
you get a boy?"

"None was suitable."

"What do you mean, none was suitable?"

"Beth is the only child in the foundling home with the necessary qualifications."

"The necessary qualifications?" He commanded attention by his arrogant pose and imperious tone. "Woman, what the devil are you talking about?"

"My lord, your rough speech is unacceptable in the presence of two ladies. Unlike Beth's, whose speech is unmarked by street cant." Pamela paused and let that sink in.

From the foyer came the sound of a knock on the outer door.

Kerrich examined Beth again. "Surely there was some lad there who—"

"No." Pamela's gaze clashed with his. "Also, Beth's manners are impeccable. And she is honest. I will make no comment on the state of
your
honesty."

Beth whimpered, a pitiful whisper that halted the two combatants.

Moulton tapped at the open door. "My lord?"

Kerrich paid his butler no heed, but he did take note of the child's unease, for he tempered his tone. "What am I to do with a girl?" he asked.

"Just what you would do with a boy, I fancy," Pamela answered. "Show her off. Become a character of kindness and respectability."

"That's stupid!"

Pamela truly enjoyed retorting, "I have thought so all along."

Kerrich narrowed his eyes at her. "Miss Lockhart, you overstep your bounds!"

Voices came from the foyer, and the drift of fresh air told Pamela the outer door was open. "Forgive me, my lord. I thought most men enjoyed having a woman agree with their pronouncements."

Beth tugged at her sleeve, and Pamela leaned down so she could whisper loudly. "Please, ma'am. We're supposed to be convincing him I'm the tyke for him."

Pamela slid her gaze toward him. He'd heard, of course, and of course he felt no compunction about grinning his delight at Pamela's discomfiture. "A boy," he announced, "would go to the horse races with me. And to the fights. And to the club."