insisted on waking up Mr. Charlie now? Even though she’d been told expressly not to by Miss Bea?
Not that Charlie would be any help. He was a sweet man when you knew him, but not the slightest bit of use in defending his sister’s honor. In fact he’d helped her lose it in a roundabout way. If he’d only introduced her to a decent, respectable chap with a bit of money, instead of that sod Eustace Lloyd, they might all have been nicely set up by now instead of fearing the bailiffs and worse at any moment.
Reaching for another chemise, she eyed her silent, watchful companion out of the corner of her eye.
And who the hell are you, when you’re all at home?
Was he a bailiff? A moneylender’s thug? Him and his mate had arrived together half an hour ago, with a letter for Miss Bea, and now the other fellow was upstairs, getting the answer. What a cheek, expecting that Miss Bea jump to it and reply straight away? And then insisting on going up to get the letter from her hand.
“If your mate doesn’t come down soon, I’m going up there to sort him out! It’s not right him bothering Miss Beatrice. She’s got enough to contend with as it is.” She turned on the man by the fire, who was the younger and had seemed to defer to his cohort. There was something decidedly fishy about the pair of them, and Polly had a feeling she knew the older one from somewhere. If only she’d never let Enid open the area door in the first place.
Even if she did fancy Mr. Quiet and Watchful over there.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. Mr. Ritchie doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s conducting business with a lady.”
Polly’s blood boiled. How dare he threaten her, the scallywag? He was no better than she was, and neither was his mate. She didn’t trust the pair of them further than she could throw them.
“Mr. Ritchie, eh? Who the hell is he? Who the hell are the pair of you? Marching in here, laying down the law and getting Miss Bea up at an early hour when she was out late last night.” She glared at him, meeting his bold stare head-on. He might be a wiry, strong-looking type, just how she liked them, but she knew a trick or two herself, in a tussle. “She could easily have sent her answer round to your boss with Fred, the next-door’s boy. That is if we were allowed to know who your mysterious boss is?”
The man unwound himself from Cook’s chair by the hearth and joined her at the airing rack. Without speaking, he reached into the basket, took out a pair of Miss Beatrice’s drawers and, with a salacious grin, hung them up along with the rest of the washing. As he reached for another item, Polly grabbed him by the arm.
“I asked you a question, Mr. Whoever you are. What’s your real business here and who do you work for?” She held on tight to the solid muscle beneath the wool of his work jacket. He felt good, despite the danger he presented. “If I don’t get a straight answer, I’ll have to fetch Mr. Charles and then we’ll see.”
The brown-haired man laughed suddenly, as if he knew what she knew. Handsome Charlie meant well, despite his many faults, and he loved his sister. But he couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding, much less deal with a couple of toughs on his own.
A warm hand effortlessly removed hers from his arm.
“Well, I work for Mr. Ritchie, who’s the gent upstairs. And he works for no one but himself.” He held on to her hand, not in a cruel way but with no sign of yielding. Despite her crossness, Polly trembled with excitement. “And don’t worry, your lady won’t come to any harm. Quite the reverse, he’s here to do her—and this entire household—a lot of good.”
“What the dickens do you mean?”
“I’m not at liberty to reveal the particulars, but my Mr. Ritchie thinks very highly of your Miss Beatrice, and only wants the best for her. You needn’t have any concerns on that score.”
But she was concerned. She couldn’t help it.
Mr. Ritchie was a
Not that Charlie would be any help. He was a sweet man when you knew him, but not the slightest bit of use in defending his sister’s honor. In fact he’d helped her lose it in a roundabout way. If he’d only introduced her to a decent, respectable chap with a bit of money, instead of that sod Eustace Lloyd, they might all have been nicely set up by now instead of fearing the bailiffs and worse at any moment.
Reaching for another chemise, she eyed her silent, watchful companion out of the corner of her eye.
And who the hell are you, when you’re all at home?
Was he a bailiff? A moneylender’s thug? Him and his mate had arrived together half an hour ago, with a letter for Miss Bea, and now the other fellow was upstairs, getting the answer. What a cheek, expecting that Miss Bea jump to it and reply straight away? And then insisting on going up to get the letter from her hand.
“If your mate doesn’t come down soon, I’m going up there to sort him out! It’s not right him bothering Miss Beatrice. She’s got enough to contend with as it is.” She turned on the man by the fire, who was the younger and had seemed to defer to his cohort. There was something decidedly fishy about the pair of them, and Polly had a feeling she knew the older one from somewhere. If only she’d never let Enid open the area door in the first place.
Even if she did fancy Mr. Quiet and Watchful over there.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. Mr. Ritchie doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s conducting business with a lady.”
Polly’s blood boiled. How dare he threaten her, the scallywag? He was no better than she was, and neither was his mate. She didn’t trust the pair of them further than she could throw them.
“Mr. Ritchie, eh? Who the hell is he? Who the hell are the pair of you? Marching in here, laying down the law and getting Miss Bea up at an early hour when she was out late last night.” She glared at him, meeting his bold stare head-on. He might be a wiry, strong-looking type, just how she liked them, but she knew a trick or two herself, in a tussle. “She could easily have sent her answer round to your boss with Fred, the next-door’s boy. That is if we were allowed to know who your mysterious boss is?”
The man unwound himself from Cook’s chair by the hearth and joined her at the airing rack. Without speaking, he reached into the basket, took out a pair of Miss Beatrice’s drawers and, with a salacious grin, hung them up along with the rest of the washing. As he reached for another item, Polly grabbed him by the arm.
“I asked you a question, Mr. Whoever you are. What’s your real business here and who do you work for?” She held on tight to the solid muscle beneath the wool of his work jacket. He felt good, despite the danger he presented. “If I don’t get a straight answer, I’ll have to fetch Mr. Charles and then we’ll see.”
The brown-haired man laughed suddenly, as if he knew what she knew. Handsome Charlie meant well, despite his many faults, and he loved his sister. But he couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding, much less deal with a couple of toughs on his own.
A warm hand effortlessly removed hers from his arm.
“Well, I work for Mr. Ritchie, who’s the gent upstairs. And he works for no one but himself.” He held on to her hand, not in a cruel way but with no sign of yielding. Despite her crossness, Polly trembled with excitement. “And don’t worry, your lady won’t come to any harm. Quite the reverse, he’s here to do her—and this entire household—a lot of good.”
“What the dickens do you mean?”
“I’m not at liberty to reveal the particulars, but my Mr. Ritchie thinks very highly of your Miss Beatrice, and only wants the best for her. You needn’t have any concerns on that score.”
But she was concerned. She couldn’t help it.
Mr. Ritchie was a
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