“I can’t do that, Miss Georgiana,” he said solemnly. The nightgown she was wearing was worn thin from use, whereas Norah’s had been rich silk from the glance he’d had.
“Oh, call me Georgie,” she said. “All my friends do.”
“I’m not your friend, Miss Georgiana, I’m your servant. And it would be improper of me to come into your bedroom.”
“Why not? Our old butler did when he brought me my tea. So did Harkner, Papa’s valet. It’s perfectly all right.”
No, it wasn’t, but he wasn’t sure how he could explain that to her, when she herself came up with the answer. “You are remarkably handsome, Rafferty!” she said with a heartfelt sigh. “I never realized beneath the rags and dirt and beard that you were so pretty!”
He just looked at her. “Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?”
“I’m afraid so. My mother tells me it’s a very bad habit, but since I don’t go into society much, I don’t see that it matters.”
“You were out last night,” he pointed out.
“That’s because the Rutherfords aren’t good ton,” she confided. “And I don’t really like society much. I wish we were back in the country.”
“Why?” He shouldn’t be having this conversation with her—he should be back down in the kitchen and away from temptation. Though why he should find her so tempting was a mystery. She was pretty enough, but no great beauty, and she definitely talked too much.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she said, and he hid his amusement. She talked about everything else.
Rafferty kept his face stoic. “Bertha said she’d bring your tea up to you. Would you like me to see what’s keeping her?”
“Oh, she brought my tea ages ago. I was going to get dressed when I heard Norah having one of her temper tantrums. Was that over you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Good,” she said with a grin. “And you must have gone into her room. Why can’t you come into mine?”
Because she doesn’t look at me with shining eyes and call me pretty, he thought grimly. “Rules are rules, Miss Georgiana. You want me to be good at my job, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” she said earnestly.
“And you don’t want to give your father any cause to fire me, do you?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t. No one else would work for free.”
He hid his own grin. “He’s already warned me not to touch a hair on your head or he’ll horsewhip me.”
“But I didn’t expect you to do my hair,” she said, far too literal. “I just want to talk to you. You must have lived such an interesting life—I want to hear all about it.”
He could just imagine her reaction to some of the harrowing tales of his thirty-one years. “Miss Georgiana, there’s a great divide between those downstairs and those upstairs. Servants never converse with their employers.”
Instead of looking chastened, she smiled at him. “See, you’ll be perfect at this. How do you know so much about...about butling? Were you ever one before?”
He wondered how she’d react if he told her the truth. That the first fifteen years of his life he had lived in a great house, albeit on the edges of the family, and he’d had more than enough time to observe the duties of a butler. “No, miss. But I’ve read a lot.” He threw that in for his own amusement, then regretted it when she latched on.
“You can read! Oh, that’s wonderful. Except I’m disappointed—I had plans to teach you to read and write...oh, you can write, too, can’t you?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Oh, don’t call me miss. It’s too formal.”
“If there’s one thing a butler is, it’s formal.”
She grimaced. “That’s all right. I’ll find something else to teach you. You’re going to be the very best butler in all of London and everyone will want you but you’ll tell them no and stay here because you’re loyal and we’re the ones who took you in.”
“Very noble of you,” he said, just a trace of ice in his voice.
