The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(3)
“No, sweets. I’m where I want to be. I want you to be here, too.”
“March?” Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in Julia’s beautiful doe eyes.
The uncertainty in her sister’s voice impaled her, and she feared her chest would split wide open.
“Who’ll take care of you?” Julia whispered. Her sister had asked these same questions every day, and the answer to this one was always the same.
No one.
She bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Bitterness was a useless emotion. The quicker she accepted the circumstances, the less misery she’d face. “Papa has provided for us. We’ll all take care of each other. That’s the way it should be.”
The baby bawled at the top of his lungs. Tears welled in her eyes once more. So lost in her own grief, she’d forgotten to go to the village today for supplies. What a wretched mess.
Her brother’s cries turned into heart-stopping screams. They had no food in the house, but at least there was a little milk. It was past ten o’clock at night, much too late to go to the village for supplies. Tomorrow, she’d replenish the pantry. Within a week, she’d hear from the solicitor. All would be well.
“Sweetheart, would you heat the rest of the milk for your brother?”
Julia dipped her head, but it didn’t hide the tremble of her lips. “I’m sorry, March. Please don’t be angry. I drank the last of it.”
The baby’s breath hitched as he struggled for enough air to scream again. A panic, one she’d fought every waking hour since her return to Lawson Court, welled within her. She gasped in a desperate attempt for control.
“March, I—I’m sorry. I was hungry.” Julia’s tears started to race down her reddened cheeks. “Are you going to leave me, too?”
Chapter One
Eighty years later
“Miss Lawson, you’re relieved of your duties as housekeeper.” The viscount squinted and lifted his chin. The attempt resembled the sour face he always made when he drank an unsweetened glass of lemonade. “Immediately.”
This was simply rich. March summoned thoughts of dirty laundry to keep the hilarity of his pronouncement from overtaking her in a bout of laughter. If only his words were true, she might get a much-needed rest. An image loomed before her of lazing in bed with a tower of the latest gothic novels on the nightstand, but she pushed it aside. There was no use to wish for things that won’t happen.
Her responsibilities were endless today. This morning, she’d already taken inventory of the pantry, planned the meals for the week, paid the butcher, and balanced the weekly housekeeping ledger. She still had to assess the damage from the newest leak in the roof. Where those funds would come from was anyone’s guess.
The viscount steepled his fingers on the desk, then regarded her with an attempt to lift one haughty eyebrow skyward. The effort failed miserably when both eyebrows shot up and delivered what could only be described as a look of surprise.
March pretended to cough. Otherwise, a bubble of laughter would burst from her chest. The viscount could always lighten the moment. She leaned back in her chair and decided to enjoy the interview as best she could since the afternoon promised to be even more hectic than the morning. She had to go through the attic and sort through the old clothes. The dressmaker planned to stop by tomorrow to determine if any of the gowns were fit for alteration. Since Parliament had convened early this year, the start of the London Season was only several weeks away. She needed to see Mr. Willingham about a delivery of wood and coal. They’d already run through the budgeted allotment for the next six months.
“My lord, I can leave at the end of the week, but I expect my full weekly pay and fare for transportation back to London.” Her even, dulcet tone was quite remarkable considering he was discharging her from her duties. “May I ask the reason for my dismissal?”
With a tug of his neckcloth, the viscount met her gaze. The shock on his face better resembled a wide-eyed trout flapping on a riverbank seeking an escape back into the water. He schooled his expression quickly, but an odd hint of something, perhaps disappointment, replaced his look of surprise.
“Very well. You’re entitled to an explanation.” When he swallowed his discomfort, the tiniest hint of an Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I’ve repeatedly asked that the weekly menu not include ham and beans.”
“My dismissal is over ham and beans?” March almost choked on the words. She bit her tongue in order to keep from guffawing. Her effort to hide her humor failed miserably. Stains of scarlet mottled the viscount’s face.
“Last night made the third time this month it’s been the main course for dinner. I despise the lumps and the congealed mess. Why isn’t there any sweets on the menu, I ask you? Your replacement, Miss Faith, has agreed to take your position with the assurance I’ll have more desserts. You may finish the week as you train her.”
March let out a sigh. Her heart squeezed at the pain of her failure. “Bennett, first, it’s ‘why aren’t there any sweets on the menu’ instead of ‘isn’t.’ Second, this is the best I can manage under the circumstances. Third, picking Faith as my replacement? What about her—”
“Her injured leg has no impact on her ability to do the work. You’ve repeatedly told us that she’s capable of anything and can do what she wants,” her nine-year-old brother challenged. The young viscount drew a deep breath and blew his unruly black locks out of his face. The startling green of his eyes was a welcome sight. His face appeared to change daily with hints of the man he would become. Every day he favored their father more and more.