Page 8 of The Secret Word
“You sound proud of him, but the man is clearly a villain. Is that how your ancestors managed to make it into the top drawer? Taking things from other people?” Her tone made “top drawer” into a sneer.
Chris chuckled. “Probably. The only members of my father’s family I have ever met were my father, who was a do-nothing and a dirty dish, and my grandfather, who is a scoundrel through and through. They are not good advertisements for theirancestors, but perhaps it speaks well of the family that they cut my grandfather off, and then my father in his turn.”
He didn’t normally tell people the truth about those two reprobates, but Clem would soon discover the facts if he really did court her. Might as well be the one to tell her.
“And you?” Clem asked. “Have they cut you off?”
He’d not given them the opportunity. “I have not met them,” he repeated. “As far as I know, they have never shown any interest in me, so I cannot tell what they would do if I introduced myself.” He had been tempted. The current earl was the son of his grandfather’s brother. The earl’s son—Chris’s cousin, he supposed—occasionally played at Fortune’s Fool.
He returned to her previous remark. Once again, only honesty would do, for the facts were widely known. In any case, he wanted her to know the truth of him and choose him anyway. “I grew up in one of Billy’s gambling dens,” he offered. “I cannot say I am a close friend, or any kind of friend at all—I do not think he has any friends. But I owe him a great deal. Not just for letting me stay when I was a boy, but for seeing me educated. Now I work as his bookkeeper. That’s why I know Tiny and the others, and why I hoped they would let us in.”
“I see,” she replied. “I suppose I can understand why you admire him, then.”
They were interrupted by Clem’s maid. They heard her shout before she came into view. “Miss Wright!” She came around a shrub and caught sight of them. “Oh. There you are.” She glared at Chris as if he was up to no good, but addressed herself to Clem. “Your father wishes to speak to you.”
“Miss,” Chris said.
Both lady and maid looked at him in bewilderment. Chris addressed the maid. “‘Your father wishes to speak to you,Miss.’ Your master requires his daughter to behave like the lady she is. As the maid of a lady, you must address her correctly. I amcertain Mr. Wright will see the truth of that when I point it out to him.”
Clem lifted an eyebrow and directed a speculative gaze at her maid. “He makes a good point,” she commented.
The maid turned her shoulder to Chris. “You are keeping the master waiting,” she insisted.
“Miss,” said Clem. She glanced at Chris, her eyes laughing, though she kept her face straight.
Two could play at the ignoring game. “Sleeps with the master, does she?” Chris asked. It was an educated guess, and did not entirely miss the target. The maid’s face flared bright red, but with anger rather than guilt. “Do not!”
“Not for lack of trying,” Clem told Chris.
“I’ll tell him you are not coming, shall I,” threatened the girl.
“I shall tell him you are an impertinent baggage who flirts with the footmen instead of attending to your duties,” Chris retorted. “It does not speak well of his control over his household.” Another shaft fired not quite at random. For Clem to escape the mouthy maid’s supervision in the bookshop, the maid must have been preoccupied with something else. This one struck the bullseye. The maid flushed an even deeper red, and muttered, “Miss. If you please, Miss.”
“Enough, Mr. Satterthwaite,” Clem decided. “Martha, tell my father I shall be with him in a moment. Mr. Satterthwaite, good day, sir.”
Chris took his dismissal. “Good day, Miss Wright.” He resumed his walk home. He had a lot to think about.
*
Mr. Satterthwaite wasfar too observant. Martha had been flirting with Papa since the day he employed her to be Clem’s maid. Papa flirted back, and Martha thought herself too good forservice as a result. Not that Papa would do more than flirt. Or, at least, he never had in the past. Clem had no idea what he did outside of the house, but he left his servants alone.
Meanwhile, Martha consoled herself with the footmen. However, between her hopes of becoming Papa’s mistress and her imitation of Papa’s own dismissive attitude, Martha was not treating Clem with the respect due to one’s employer.
Clem had had enough of Martha’s impertinence. She could try the kind of subtle threat that Mr. Satterthwaite used so well, but she was more comfortable with direct dealings. “Martha, I must go to my father, but afterward, you and I are overdue for a chat. Wait for me outside his study.”
Father merely wanted to crow about finding her a suitor to suit his needs. He was so delighted that his language reverted to the patterns of his youth, as it tended to do when he was in the grip of a strong emotion. “Young Satterthwaite’s family is top of the line, my girl. ’Is da was a wastrel. Yes, and his gaffer, too. But the gaffer was second son of an earl. The current earl is young Satterthwaite’s cousin. Top shelf, I tell ye. ’As never taken an interest in the boy, but that’s all the better for us, Clementine, isn’t it?”
“Is it, Father?” Clem asked, her heart sinking. What made Father think Mr. Satterthwaite, from a line of wastrels—yes, and drunks and rakes, she’d be bound—was any different than his father and grandfather?
“O’ course, girl. Listen. The boy’s mother came from the best bloodlines in the business. An earl’s daughter, and some sort o’ cousin to a marquess. I’ll ’ave to look into it. Charmed ’er, I ’spects, then spent all her money. We won’t be ’avin’ none o’ that, Clementine. Ye can trust me to tie it up right and tight.”
He chuckled and rubbed his hands together, unable to contain his glee. “First-class bloodlines and no family what cares what ’appens to ’im. Couldn’t be better. Except… Na. The currentearl’s got three sons, I reckon, and I heard tell one o’ them’s married. Not much chance of being a countess, Clementine, but ye have to take what ye can get, and yer not much to look at, and that’s a fact.”
“Thank you, Father.” She had heard the comment often enough for it only to rub a little raw, and after all, her own mirror confirmed the truth of it.
“Ye’ve done well, my girl, to be rescued by Satterthwaite. And he stood up for ye, mind. Said ’e didn’t think ye plain and ’e liked that ye did not dither, or some such. Trying to turn me up sweet, like as not, but there ye are.”
“How nice of him, Father.” If Mr. Satterthwaite really wished to please Father, he would praise Father’s business rather than his daughter, but it was nice of him to praise her for being decisive. If that was indeed what he meant.
