Again Lord Greystone and Mrs. Parton laughed in harmony. Beatrice joined them, filled with a sense of a companionship such as she had not experienced since Mama died.
* * *
Against his better judgment Greystone permitted himself to enjoy the moment. He could not deny that Lady Beatrice intrigued him. This was no spoiled lady who refused to let her clothes be soiled by the work at hand. In fact she seemed not to notice the soot on her pretty new frock and white kid gloves. How different was her willingness to be involved with this child from her brother’s apathy to any charitable matter introduced in the House of Lords. How could a brother and sister be so dissimilar? Greystone tried to build an inner wall to block out the effects Lady Beatrice had on him, but her gentle, generous spirit breached all his defenses. With luck this would be a passing attraction, one that would mellow into kind regard. For now there was a child to deal with, and the lady was putting him to shame in comforting the lad.
“Ladies, perhaps you would wait outside while the servants tend to our new friend?”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Parton, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, beckoned to her companion. “Come along, Bea.”
Lady Beatrice gaped briefly at her employer, then complied with her order. “Yes, of course.”
“Don’t leave me, miss.” Kit reached out as if to grab her arm and almost fell out of the bed for his efforts.
Greystone caught and righted him. “Easy, lad.”
“I shall come back when you are presentable, Kit.” She looked at Greystone, and her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “And when you are presentable as well, sir.”
“What?” Greystone quizzed her with a look, then glanced in the mirror over the nearby bureau. Like Kit, he bore streaks of soot all over his face, hardly the visage a peer wished to display in front of ladies. Yet he could not object when it brought such amusement and, dare he say, a feeling of amity with the most charming, selfless young miss he had ever met.
* * *
“Come along, Bea.” Mrs. Parton clasped Beatrice’s hand and led her from the chamber. “We will have that cup of tea with Lady Greystone while we wait.”
Beatrice did not resist her leading, but she did balk at the byname her employer used. “Mrs. Parton—”
Before she could voice her complaint, a plump young housemaid in mobcap and apron came charging up the corridor dragging a tiny boy who was as dirty as little Kit. The girl stopped in front of them and curtseyed.
“Begging your pardon, mum, but her ladyship sent me up with this one to join the other.” The maid’s upper lip curled with distaste, and she held the boy away from her.
The child’s eyes were round, and his lower lip trembled. In fact, his entire body shook, sending soot into the air, but he did not speak.
“Well, now.” Mrs. Parton bent down to give the boy a smile. “Won’t Kit be delighted to see you, my boy?”
A flicker of hope lit his eyes, and he gave her a solemn nod.
Mrs. Parton waved a hand toward the door. “Then let us not waste a moment. Take him inside.”
“Aye, mum.” The girl knocked on the door, and a footman answered. After a brief exchange he took charge of the child and closed the door. She brushed her hands together. “La, mum, I haven’t ever seen such dirt on a person in all my born days.”
The maid’s impertinence in engaging a guest of the viscount in conversation brought a rebuke to Beatrice’s mind, but Mrs. Parton merely chuckled.
“I would not disagree.” She glanced at her soiled gloves. “And how nice of the boys to share it with us.”
The maid laughed all too familiarly for Beatrice’s taste. Who had trained this girl? Why, instead of lowering her eyes, as custom dictated, she even stared Mrs. Parton full in the face.
“Now.” Mrs. Parton seemed not to notice the impertinence. “Who are you? And how long have you been in service?”
“I’m Lucy Crawford, mum.” At least the girl had the sense to curtsey. “My grandfather’s been the butler here at Lord Greystone’s ever so long, and he just got me hired.”
“Ah, yes. Crawford is a fine fellow.” From her friendly manner, one would think Mrs. Parton was talking to an equal, not a servant. “And what will your duties be?”
Lucy shrugged. “I’d hoped to be a lady’s maid, but as there’s only one lady in this house, and Mrs. Hudson takes care of her, I’m not sure what all I’ll be doing.” She gave Beatrice a shy smile. “Do you have a lady’s maid, miss? I should ever so much like to do your pretty hair. I have a talent for it, if I do say so myself.”
Beatrice withheld a gasp at the girl’s effrontery, even as humiliation filled her. “No, I have no maid.” Melton’s wastefulness had required her to let the woman go two years ago. Beatrice had been forced to manage on her own at home, but now that she was in town and needed to look her best, she had to depend upon Mrs. Parton’s lady’s maid, Poole, to help her dress.
“But you are employed here, Lucy,” Mrs. Parton said. “You are in training with your grandpapa, and I am certain he would not wish you to leave.”
The girl chewed her lip and stared at the floor. “No, mum.” Then she gave Beatrice a bright smile. “But if I could get away from time to time when my duties are done, could I work for you? I won’t even ask a wage, just so I can get the experience.”
Before Beatrice could respond, Mrs. Parton nodded with a measure of reserve. “Yes, that is a possibility. What do you think, Lady Beatrice?”
Beatrice could not help but think her employer’s way of addressing her was for the girl’s benefit. But Mrs. Parton’s charity gave her pause, as well as a hint of self-rebuke. Helping Lucy learn a skill was not much different from working with the girls at the orphanage. And it would be grand to have her own maid again.
“I believe it is a possibility.” Perhaps she could also give the girl some lessons in proper decorum, as well.
“Oh, miss, um, my lady, thank you.” Lucy clapped her hands and bobbed another curtsey. “You won’t be sorry.”
Mrs. Parton chuckled, but also wagged a finger at the girl. “Now, if this works out, you must not shirk any duties here at Greystone Hall. I will not tolerate a shirker.” Her words echoed Beatrice’s own concerns. What would Lord Greystone think of her enticing away one of his servants?
“Aye, mum. I’ll do it all.”
Laughter within the bedchamber drew their attention, and they all watched the door expectantly.
“I cannot wait to see what those darling boys look like under all that soot.” Mrs. Parton voiced the very idea Beatrice was thinking.
As if in response to her curiosity, Crawford opened the door. “Lady Beatrice, Mrs. Parton, Lord Greystone requests your presence.”
As they entered the chamber, the butler’s bushy gray eyebrows arched at the sight of his granddaughter, but he said nothing to her as she followed them in.
Clustered around the two boys, who were wrapped in linen towels, Lord Greystone and the footmen were still laughing, despite all of them being drenched and dirty.
“Can you believe it, Mrs. Parton?” The viscount waved them closer. “The lads are blond. Why, I doubt their own master would recognize them now.”
Indeed Beatrice thought the two mites bore no resemblance to their former selves, though they still had a gray cast to their skin and black lines embedded in various