She didn’t tell Minta until she had contacted Uncle Packham, who answered her plea for help promptly and with enthusiasm.
This is just the chance he needs,the answering note read.He always has a place here if it doesn’t work out.
And so, with a beaming Minta to greet him, young Peter Winslow gladly accepted the promotion and his instructions as to first inspecting the properties for Georgie to assess their various needs and then after, conferring with her to address thevarious problems. After, of course, dispensing with the problem of Mr. Hartman.
Which, of course, brought Hartman racing to Mayfair to confront the uppity woman who didn’t know her place.
“But I do know my place, Mr. Hartman,” she said to the red-faced man who paced her library. “It is to protect the Marquess’s holdings until he returns.”
“You’ll pardon my saying so, ma’am,” he retorted, hands on her desk as he leaned in. “But that ismyjob, which I’ve been doing since long before you showed up.”
Georgie was sure he thought he was threatening. He hadn’t grown up with the Packham boys. She just hoped Winslow had taken advantage of Hartman’s absence from the estates to get all the estate books collected. She also hoped he’d been able to check Hartman’s cottage for an extra set of books or ill-gotten gains.
“What would a woman know of the needs of an estate this size?” the about-to-be-fired estate agent demanded, with an unwise amount of disdain. “This isn’t planning dinner and counting linen.”
“Mr. Hartman,” she said with absolute calm, “you were there when my husband informed you and Mr. Deevers that I was to be apprised of all the estate’s business. You nodded, as I recall. You cannot suddenly claim surprise. I would think you would be glad to have the Marquess and me involved in the running of the Greyville properties.”
His scowl was ferocious, but Georgie was working on very little sleep and the distraction of a sick daughter, and didn’t have the patience for his theatrics.
“I assumed he meant normal ladies’ duties,” he countered.
She smiled. “Those, too.”
She almost threatened him with her grandmother as well. But then she saw the calculating look come into his eyesand knew quite clearly that his days with the Greyvilles were numbered.
“I have contacted my uncle who runs the Packham estates,” she said before he could set off on another attempt at control, “and asked for his advice, along with the aid of one of our land agent’s assistants to help you and me with this transition, Mr. Hartman. I know you will accord him every courtesy. He is a bright young man, and anxious to be of any help he can.”
That straightened Harman like a shot. “I don’t need any help. We’ve been doing fine here.”
They hadn’t, but she nodded anyway. “But there is always a transition when a new master takes over. Which will be complicated by the Marquess’s obligations to the Crown. I know you agree that we need to do all we can to help ease his responsibilities as we care for his properties.”
She knew he was grinding his teeth, but there was really nothing else for him to say. With a sharp nod of his head, he spun around and stalked out. Without her permission, she noted. Just as well. She needed to get up to check on Amelia and make sure Sophie was all right. And then she had to go over staff needs with the Chalmers. And somewhere in there she had to fit in some sleep.
After that, her days were completely taken up with the burden of dispensing with the responsibilities she had left behind at home and learning about the different Greyville estates on the one hand and her new children on the other. Her family helped with the second, thank heaven, especially after Amelia slept off her fever and needed distraction. Mrs. O’Toole helped find the extra nursery staff needed, but Georgie had to interview governess candidates. She didn’t even manage to get away for her regular Friday forays, which made her all the more surly, even though the only people who were questionably privileged enough to witness it were the kings, who dropped bywhen they could to help. The girls loved them, Bark showed them his belly, and Georgie swore they carried sanity on their shoulders. She also began to systematically load them back down with the duties she was trading for those at the Greyville properties. Charlie, she handed the farming tasks, and Eddie, the household tasks.
There was no one she could hand Mrs. Keyse off to, so she suffered through three visits, not leaving the girls for a second while the slyly poisonous woman was in reach. Nor did she let Bark leave them, his eyes unerringly on the source of the tension in the room. Georgie had to admit that she was secretly delighted that he threw Mrs. Keyse off balance. It also helped her equilibrium that she surreptitiously let Bark get a good sniff at the older woman’s clothing.
The good news was that she and Grey wrote back and forth. Georgie relayed edited news about Mrs. Keyse’s visits and Winslow’s trial employment. She mentioned Winslow’s investigation into the estate books, but might have left out her own findings, since there was nothing Grey could do about them till he returned.
Her instincts had run true after all. When she reviewed the books with Winslow, it was to find them showing a higher cost of supplies than the purveyors remembered, and that rents had indeed been raised regularly without mention in the ledgers. Grey would find out about that and her remedies when he returned.Instead she filled her letters with news of the girls and their greetings in the form of sketches of Bark and the barn cats. The bad news was that Grey only corresponded once a week, sending not only what would have been considered harmless news from the embassy, but little gimcrack gifts to the girls and sketches he’d drawn of the people and places he saw on the street, like an organ grinder and monkey, a magician, and, of course, the street vendors.
Every night, much too late for real rest, Georgie fell into bed. And every night, she fought the shearing sense of loss at missing Grey. Not just his wit and sense and sly humor. The simple warm comfort of his body lying alongside hers. The open-air scent of him and the rumble of his laugh. She had slept with him one night. One. And she missed him all out of proportion. Wouldn’t it just be an irony if she went ahead and fell in love with the man once he was out of reach?
Had she really had to demand a white marriage? Would it truly protect her in any way, when she already suffered not having him here? Couldn’t she have had that one night when there could have been no boundaries between the two of them? Couldn’t she just once have felt the fulfillment of the marital act?
In her saner moments she knew better. Her burden was heavy enough as it was, especially knowing the confrontation that was coming with Hartman. The last thing she needed on top of that was a pregnancy.
So, she went to bed alone, although on occasion she would wake to see little faces standing by the side of her bed and invite them in for the rest of the night. She woke alone except for the newest maid Mary, who sneaked in to lay the fires.
At least she did not eat alone. The last thing the girls needed when trying to settle into a new—and evidently completely unknown—structure of family life, was to be banished to the top floor while their new mother—well, their Aunt Georgie—ate in lonely splendor in the dining room. So they all ate together in the breakfast room, sometimes alone and sometimes with their new governess, Mrs. O’Toole’s niece Kathleen, a bright, calm redhead, who loved little girls only a little more than she loved big dogs.
And then again, alone to bed with only the comfort of weekly letters and the memory of one night to comfort her.
The confrontationwith Hartman inevitably came. Georgie was wise enough not to face him alone. In fact, her Uncle Samson was gracious enough to sit alongside her, along with Winslow, footmen in the hallway just in case of problems, and Bark seated right next to Hartman’s chair, the dog’s attention razor sharp, his lips every once in a while curled back to show very sharp teeth.
“I doubt we need to show you the books,” she said, Uncle Samson perched silently beside her behind the desk, his silver hair gleaming in the morning light. “In fact, I am not at all certain why you’re still here. If I tried to present this imaginative accounting to my employer, I would have long since caught a ship for anywhere else.”
Hartman gave Georgie one scathing look and kept his silence.
