“Where are you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.
Martin chuckled. “Well, for God’s sake, don’t tell me. Leave it to my imagination.”
“I’m a butler in the Judge’s old house on Corinth Place.”
Martin looked at him for a long moment. “No, you’re not!” he said flatly.
“I am. For Sir Elston Manning, who has about as much money as a church mouse. I’m trying to get him out of the mess he made for himself.”
“Why?”
It was a logical question, one that Rafferty wasn’t disposed to answer. It was pure whim on his part and had nothing to do with a certain young lady who...well, he wasn’t going to think about her. “I don’t want see them kicked out of the house. The Crown will claim it as they claimed all of Belding’s other assets, and I won’t be able to get close.”
“You think the money’s in the house?”
“It must be. I can ferret around and find it without disturbing anybody. If Stiles gets wind of it, there’ll be a bloodbath.”
Martin shook his head in disbelief. “It sounds logical. Somehow, I don’t think that’s the entire truth. You’ve always had a soft spot for someone down on their luck, but I wouldn’t have thought that would extend to the gentry. Wouldn’t it be better if the place were deserted?”
“I don’t want to risk it. It’s working out well enough as it is. I have plenty of time to search the place while they’re out and about,” he said.
Martin shook his head in disbelief. “There’s something you’re not telling me. James Rafferty, King of the High Toby, prince of the thieving classes, brought down to this! A butler!”
“I really am.” Rafferty leaned back, surveying him. “In fact, I may have something for you in the same line.”
Martin raised a delicately plucked eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“If you’d like to consider a new position. Your old one’s growing too dangerous.”
Martin sighed, leaning forward. “Tell me more.”
Georgie dreamed, as usual, about a pair of vivid blue eyes that haunted her, keeping her tossing and turning for half the night, and it was late morning when the sound of someone moving around in her room awakened her from her deep sleep.
The clink of china signaled her morning cup of tea, and a moment later, the curtains were flung open, letting in the fitful light of a gloomy autumn day. Rafferty, she thought, and struggled to sit up, only to be confronted by a stranger.
“Good morning, Miss Georgie,” the woman said in a warm contralto.
Controlling her disappointment, she managed a sleepy smile. “Who are you?”
The woman was already bringing her tray over, so Georgie sat up in bed, unused to being fussed over. “I’m the new lady’s maid, Martina,” she said. “I’m here to look after you and your family. Rafferty says you’ve been too long without a proper maid.”
“Rafferty brought you here?” Georgie said, immediately approving of this new addition to the household.
“He did, indeed, miss.” Martina arranged the pillows behind her, then set the tray on her lap. There was a pot of tea and her favorite marmalade toast, and Georgie sighed in happiness.
“Rafferty is a saint,” she said firmly.
Martina choked. “Not what I’d call him,” she said wryly, and Georgie took a long look at her.
She was pretty in a strong-featured way. She favored heavy maquillage, and her dark hair was in a low bun at the back of her neck. She wore a flowered dress with an apron, rather than a maid’s uniform, and Georgie remembered that lady’s maids were the aristocracy of the servants’ quarters—her mother’s Havisham had been a terror even abovestairs.
Martina looked far from terrifying, and there was a decided twinkle in her eye. “I’ve never had a maid before,” Georgie said. “And I promise I’ll be the least of your worries. My sister is having her first season, and my mother is very fond of society. You can concentrate on them.”
“I’ve met them,” Martina said.
Georgie looked at her warily, recognizing something in the tone of Martina’s voice. “Was everything all right?”
