“I said the wrong thing, didn’t I? I always do.” She screwed up her face in consternation. And then the distress vanished. “I know what we can do! I’ll tell you all the little secrets of this household to ensure that you do an excellent job, and you can tell me when I’ve said the wrong thing. Not in front of my parents, mind you. They’ve given up on me and I don’t want them knowing I’m trying to improve. But you can help me while I help you, and that way we can be friends, can’t we?”
He looked down at her. No, we can’t be friends, he thought with some frustration. You need to stay in your world and I’ll stay in mine. But she was smiling up at him so sweetly that he couldn’t bring himself to crush her spirit. Assuming it could be crushed—he was having his doubts about the irrepressible Miss Georgiana. Georgie. It was an absurdly good name for her.
“We can be friends,” he said solemnly. “But for now, I’ve got my duties to perform, and you wouldn’t want to keep me from them, now would you?”
“Of course not.” Her brow wrinkled. “Will you come back later?”
“When I can,” he lied. He knew what he was—Miss Georgiana Manning’s new toy. She’d lose interest soon enough.
“Splendid!” she said, believing him, and he could have wished she weren’t quite so gullible. Quite so talkative.
Quite so tempting.
Chapter Three
The Manning household was in chaos, Rafferty reflected a few hours later as he was polishing Sir Elston’s shoes. The leather was worn thin, but he knew how to treat worn-out shoes, and he applied the polish in careful layers as he thought about his current situation.
The house was appalling—dust in the corners, shredded
curtains in the sunroom, an almost empty cupboard as Bertha struggled to maintain what she could. He saw no sign of the lady of the house—apparently she spent most of the day in bed before she rose to go out on an endless succession of parties, and, while he knew Miss Norah Manning had risen, she had yet to make an appearance. He’d managed to avoid Georgie so far, but sooner or later...
“There you are!” she cried from the doorway. “What are you doing with my father’s shoes?” She wandered into the kitchen, looking around her with interest.
“My job,” he said reprovingly.
She turned and smiled at him. “I said the wrong thing again.” She took the chair opposite and practically threw herself into it. She was dressed more appropriately now, though if his suspicions were right, the dress was too young for her, more appropriate for someone still in the schoolroom, which Georgie definitely was not. There was a stain across the front of the dress, and the hem had come loose, and her long, untended hair hung down her back. She looked more like a hoyden than a proper young lady, and he wished he didn’t find her so...
He couldn’t afford to think that way.
She didn’t wait for his reply. “What else have you been doing? Have they got you polishing the silver yet?” She made a face. “It’s huge—it’ll take you days and days.”
“No one’s got me doing anything, Miss Georgiana. As the butler, I decide what needs to be done, and a gentleman needs more than one pair of shoes.”
“I only have one pair of shoes,” she confessed. “My dancing slippers, which is ridiculous because I’m not allowed to dance.” She stuck her legs out from beneath her torn hem to display stockinged feet.
They were adorable. He frowned at her. “What do you wear when you go outside?”
“Oh, I have a pair of walking boots that are too small, but I can walk in them. I get blisters, so I tend to stay home, which is awful, but I think Mother prefers it that way. I miss the countryside, where I could go anywhere I wanted.”
“How long have you been in the city?”
“A long time.” She sighed, then smiled at him. “But life is going to get a great deal more interesting with you in the household. Do you want me to help you with Papa’s shoes?”
“No, Miss Georgiana.”
“Couldn’t you call me Georgie?”
“No.”
“What about Miss Georgie? That’s what Bertha calls me. When she’s not calling me a hellion and an imp of Satan and one of life’s sore tribulations.”
“What do you do to Bertha?” He was unable to hide his curiosity.
“She’s teaching me how to cook, and I’m not very good at it. But really, someone’s got to help out around here, and we can’t let the beauteous Norah soil her lily-white hands with menial labor.”
No young lady of his memory would ever be allowed in the kitchen. “Does your mother know?”
“Oh, Mother doesn’t care about anything but her parties and her cards. We wouldn’t be nearly so destitute if she didn’t gamble, or if she didn’t always lose, but she says it’s her only character flaw, which frankly isn’t true, but I don’t argue with her because she has a temper just like Norah, though she talks almost as much as I do.”
