“Impossible,” he said faintly, setting down the shoe.
Georgie wasn’t one to take offense. “Father adores Mother, but she really is useless.”
“And Miss Norah is useless as well?”
“Oh, no! She’s going to marry well and save us all.” She sounded just the slightest bit doubtful of that happy outcome.
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll have to think of something else.”
“You could marry some rich toff,” he suggested.
She shook her head. “Hardly. Norah is the beauty. No one can hold a candle to her. I expect that if I’m lucky enough to get married, it will be some ancient widower.”
He could have explained to her in simple terms how wrong she was. Her tall, lush frame was just the sort of thing any man would like, and even her endless prattle was disarming. Despite not having a dowry, she could have her pick if the men in society had half a brain. Which he suspected they didn’t.
She needed someone to show her just how pretty she was. If they were anywhere else, he’d take her in his arms and demonstrate, but she was too young and he needed this place too much. He told himself he wasn’t even tempted, and he knew he lied.
“But that’s neither here nor there,” she continued briskly before he had a chance to come up with a response. “I’ve come to find you because I want to help. I’m quite good at it, you know. I can make beds, and dust, and?—”
“Now you go leaving Rafferty alone, Miss Georgie!” Bertha announced as she trudged into the kitchen lugging a bucket of water and a mop. “He’s got his work to do—he doesn’t have time for the likes of you. And don’t expect me to give you cooking lessons today—we’ve just about nothing to eat, and I don’t know what we’re going to do. The butcher and the greengrocer won’t advance us any more credit, and while I can make a meal out of eggs and bread, it’s not the sort of thing I like to set before the gentry.”
“I wasn’t bothering him, Bertha!” she protested. “He’s my protégé, and I’m looking after him.”
“Your what?”
“My protégé.”
“He’s no such thing, and you should be ashamed to think it!” Bertha snapped.
“Why?” Georgie asked, perplexed.
“Never you mind! You just go along back upstairs and see to some of the mending—that’s a nice, ladylike occupation.”
“I’m terrible with a needle and thread,” Georgie confessed.
“I know you are. Practice makes perfect.”
Rafferty rose then, setting the polished shoes on the floor. “I’ll see what I can do about the larder.”
Georgie looked up at him. “You’re going out? Can I come with you?”
“No!” Bertha and Rafferty said in unison, but Georgie was far from cowed.
“Well, I’m coming, and if you leave without me, I’ll just sneak out and follow you, so you might as well let me come. Besides, if the butcher sees my woebegone face he might take pity on us and extend us a little more credit.” She came up with a creditably forlorn expression, and Rafferty laughed before he could stop himself.
“I doubt it,” Bertha said. “It’s a waste of time for both of you—Jenkins has a heart of stone and we’re more than two months in arrears.”
“I’m a butler,” Rafferty said. “I’m supposed to work miracles.”
“You’ll need one for Jenkins.”
“And I’m coming with you!” Georgie announced, brooking no argument. “Just let me get my boots.” She was off before he could come up with another protest, and his eyes met Bertha’s.
“Is she always like this?”
“Miss Georgie? Oh, she’s the best of them—good as gold, she is, and worth twice her feckless family. The master’s not so bad, but he’s over his head and can’t find his way out of the mess he’s in. Sooner or later we’ll all be out on the streets, and that’s likely to be sooner.”
