Rafferty kept his face impassive when Liliane Manning gave him the receipt for the scones, though he’d had to listen to Bertha’s complaints as she laboriously wrote it out, and then he was out in the crisp fall air, heading for Ormond House for only the second time In fifteen years.
He went to the servants’ entrance, in the unlikely hope he could simply drop off the paper, but he’d forgotten how gossip spread through a household. The kitchen at the house was positively crammed with servants, from housemaids to footmen to the august butler himself, someone new to Rafferty. He ignored them all, ready to thrust the paper into the cook’s meaty hand and beat a retreat, when old Robinson the gardener pushed through the crowd of innocent-looking servants, his old eyes full of tears, and Rafferty felt a pang.
“Master Jamie,” he said in a wavery voice. “I thought never to see you again.”
He should have looked at him blankly, denied the name, and escaped. But Robinson had put him on his first pony, had taught him how to whittle, had been his companion in mischief. He was an old man now and the other servants were watching them, hanging on their every word.
“Hello, Robinson,” he said, and an audible sigh filled the room.
“Her Grace will see you now,” the superior-looking butler announced, and Rafferty had no choice. He followed the man from the room, ignoring the excited buzz of conversation when the door closed behind him.
The house had changed little in the ensuing years, but then his grandmother was far from a frivolous creature. She would see no need to change the drapes or the wall coverings if the current were in good shape, and she was sitting in the small yellow parlor she’d always preferred, where he’d endured lectures on his bad behavior and exquisitely formal teas as she tried to drill some manners into a wild boy. When the butler pushed open the door and he saw his grandmother in her familiar chair, it felt as if all the years fell away and he was still an obstreperous child, too wild to accept his role in life.
“Thank you, Adams,” her grace said, dismissing the butler. “We’ll have tea in a few minutes.”
A few minutes? How long was she planning on keeping him here, forcing him through the exquisite ritual once more? At least by now he could carry it off without rattling his cup or spilling his tea.
He heard the door close behind him, and took a step forward. “Grandmother,” he greeted her in a low voice.
“You could come and kiss me,” she said with some asperity, and he did so, his lips brushing her papery-thin cheek. His grandmother blinked, as if she had something in her eye, but showed no other reaction.
“Sit down, Jamie,” she said. “You hurt my neck looking up at you. When in the world did you grow so tall? It doesn’t run in our family. Your cousin is not that much taller than your father was.”
He said nothing as he sat gingerly on one of her spindly chairs, having no answer. “Did you tell him?”
“He just left for his grand tour. I’ll tell him when he returns.”
“There’s no need. I don’t intend to make any claim on the family.”
“And what if the family wants to make a claim on you?” she countered.
“It would be foolish. I’m the child of your youngest son, with two uncles and five cousins between me and the title. You don’t need another heir.”
“What if I want one?”
“I don’t belong in this life anymore. It’s been too many years.”
“Are you going to try to convince me you belong as a butler?” she scoffed.
“I’ve done a good job.”
“You’ve been there a week at most. Hardly a proper amount of time to shine in your new profession. What did you do before you fell in with the dreadful Mannings?”
“They’re not dreadful,” he protested instantly. “They’re just foolish.”
“As I said. The mother is an idiot, the older girl, while a great beauty, looks to be a harridan, and I’ve heard stories of the brother’s drunkenness. Only the younger girl seems halfway presentable.”
He resisted the impulse to protest. Neddy was a drunkard, Norah was indeed a harridan, and their mother foolish in the extreme. Trust his grandmother to know quality when she saw it, in Georgie’s presence.
“They’re my responsibility,” he said in a reproving voice.
“They’re beneath you.”
His laugh was sharp and cynical. “I don’t think so.”
“What have you been doing these last fifteen years?” she demanded, changing tack. “Why didn’t you come to see me?”
He ignored the faintly plaintive note in her voice. “I’ve been a sailor, a horse trainer, a highwayman, and a thief,” he said defiantly. “This is the first honest job I’ve held in years.”
