town house,” Quentin explained. “If he doesn’t come home, God love us, both you and I could be”—he gestured at the shadowed streets around them—“out on our backsides. Not a leg to stand on.”
“We pray for Jason’s return,” Maria agreed. “But when he does come home, your occupation remains a great deal more secure than mine if Jason learns I write as Miss Crimson. You’ve heard how Dora and Jemma would have me dismembered!”
He smiled slyly. Waiting for her reaction, damn him.
“Does Jason know about Miss Crimson?” she blurted.
“No, milady. Nor does Mrs. Booth, specifically.” He glanced toward the town house, contemplating what he would reveal. “She thinks you write in your diary at nights, heartsick after a wedding gone wrong. A social pariah. Alone and without…a family.”
Maria considered this, relieved that the busybody housekeeper wouldn’t betray her to Lord or Lady Darington—unless this crafty man decided to share his secret. “Then what do you really want?”
Quentin McCallum was no idiot: they’d reached the place in the conversation he’d been awaiting. Yet again, she sensed no cruel intent, for his smile waxed almost adolescent. “It’s more a question of whom , Miss Palladino. You see, to Jemma Darington I’m quite invisible: as functional as window glass, yet no one really notices until I make a misstep or—”
“Or until the glass needs washing.”
“Precisely. People of their ilk curse the dirt rather than appreciating how a window lets in the sun while keeping out foul weather. As long as I perform as expected, I remain unseen—”
“But you want Jemma to notice you?”
“Oh, Miss Palladino, I worship the ground she treads!” he gushed. “Isn’t she the most beautiful—the most spirited—young woman you’ve ever met?”
Well, there was a revelation! The ground was far more stable and reliable than the girl herself, but of course she couldn’t say that while bargaining for her own security. “There’s no one quite like Jemma,” Maria affirmed carefully.
“But she’s so far above me, I don’t stand a chance unless—unless you might provide opportunities to be of assistance to her. I would do anything to be near—”
“You would keep my secrets. All of them.”
“Yes! Yes! I adore your secrets, Miss Palladino!” The butler clasped her hands between his, beseeching her with his shining eyes. “I feel quite honored to serve in your household! And I sincerely pray it will remain your household even if—”
“Then you must look after my welfare as well, Quentin! Promise me you’ll do everything in your power to keep a roof over my head!” Maria stood taller, pressing every advantage she could think of. Deadly serious now, she lowered her voice. “If the Daringtons see me for my dirt—my soiled literary reputation, or the triangular arrangement I have with their sons—I’ll not only be out of a home, I’ll be out of an income. More at the mercy of their whims than you are! A woman left alone at the altar has nothing but loneliness and destitution in her future, Quentin.”
“Oh, I would never forgive myself—or Lord and Lady Darington—if you were left destitute, Miss Palladino! Miss Crimson is my idol!”
“Excellent! We have an understanding!”
They stood nearly nose to nose. Then Quentin coughed to cover his chuckle. “I should tell you something about the house that will ensure your privacy. Or at least delay Mrs. Booth’s discovery of your other identity.”
Maria raised her eyebrows. “She knows of Jude’s physical affections for—”
“When I saw him slipping in through the service entrance, and then coming from the wine cellar, I…I distracted Ruthie with, well—sex,” he confessed. “So she wouldn’t notice any unseemly noises coming from your room. She makes plenty of her own.”
Maria blinked. It was still inconceivable that Ruthie and this young man would—but what could she say? Quentin had
“We pray for Jason’s return,” Maria agreed. “But when he does come home, your occupation remains a great deal more secure than mine if Jason learns I write as Miss Crimson. You’ve heard how Dora and Jemma would have me dismembered!”
He smiled slyly. Waiting for her reaction, damn him.
“Does Jason know about Miss Crimson?” she blurted.
“No, milady. Nor does Mrs. Booth, specifically.” He glanced toward the town house, contemplating what he would reveal. “She thinks you write in your diary at nights, heartsick after a wedding gone wrong. A social pariah. Alone and without…a family.”
Maria considered this, relieved that the busybody housekeeper wouldn’t betray her to Lord or Lady Darington—unless this crafty man decided to share his secret. “Then what do you really want?”
Quentin McCallum was no idiot: they’d reached the place in the conversation he’d been awaiting. Yet again, she sensed no cruel intent, for his smile waxed almost adolescent. “It’s more a question of whom , Miss Palladino. You see, to Jemma Darington I’m quite invisible: as functional as window glass, yet no one really notices until I make a misstep or—”
“Or until the glass needs washing.”
“Precisely. People of their ilk curse the dirt rather than appreciating how a window lets in the sun while keeping out foul weather. As long as I perform as expected, I remain unseen—”
“But you want Jemma to notice you?”
“Oh, Miss Palladino, I worship the ground she treads!” he gushed. “Isn’t she the most beautiful—the most spirited—young woman you’ve ever met?”
Well, there was a revelation! The ground was far more stable and reliable than the girl herself, but of course she couldn’t say that while bargaining for her own security. “There’s no one quite like Jemma,” Maria affirmed carefully.
“But she’s so far above me, I don’t stand a chance unless—unless you might provide opportunities to be of assistance to her. I would do anything to be near—”
“You would keep my secrets. All of them.”
“Yes! Yes! I adore your secrets, Miss Palladino!” The butler clasped her hands between his, beseeching her with his shining eyes. “I feel quite honored to serve in your household! And I sincerely pray it will remain your household even if—”
“Then you must look after my welfare as well, Quentin! Promise me you’ll do everything in your power to keep a roof over my head!” Maria stood taller, pressing every advantage she could think of. Deadly serious now, she lowered her voice. “If the Daringtons see me for my dirt—my soiled literary reputation, or the triangular arrangement I have with their sons—I’ll not only be out of a home, I’ll be out of an income. More at the mercy of their whims than you are! A woman left alone at the altar has nothing but loneliness and destitution in her future, Quentin.”
“Oh, I would never forgive myself—or Lord and Lady Darington—if you were left destitute, Miss Palladino! Miss Crimson is my idol!”
“Excellent! We have an understanding!”
They stood nearly nose to nose. Then Quentin coughed to cover his chuckle. “I should tell you something about the house that will ensure your privacy. Or at least delay Mrs. Booth’s discovery of your other identity.”
Maria raised her eyebrows. “She knows of Jude’s physical affections for—”
“When I saw him slipping in through the service entrance, and then coming from the wine cellar, I…I distracted Ruthie with, well—sex,” he confessed. “So she wouldn’t notice any unseemly noises coming from your room. She makes plenty of her own.”
Maria blinked. It was still inconceivable that Ruthie and this young man would—but what could she say? Quentin had
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