I ever hoped or expected, but I confess I would not know how to begin hiring a cook-housekeeper, to say nothing of an exercise boy."
"I was going to come to see how Maisie and the baby are getting along, but I would be happy to select candidates, for your approval, of course, if Sir Gilliam does not require my presence tomorrow. And I can talk to Matron also, if you wish."
There was a teasing sparkle in the widow's brown eyes that Lesley found enchanting enough that he nodded his agreement. The female was a conniver, like all her sisters, but she was not underhanded about it. He admired that in Mrs. Kane, if not her efficiency. The blasted woman was handing him yet another list.
"They need you at the War Office, madam, to keep the troops better supplied. What is this list about?"
"The other list was what the household needs. This list is what the baby needs, if she is to be here any length of time."
The list was two pages long, in neat double columns. “Good grief, ma'am, Wellington travels with less."
"Wellington is not an infant, my lord. Sue cannot be expected to sleep in a food hamper, you know."
Lesley didn't see why not. The little darling looked adorable in her basket.
"As soon as she learns to turn over, she'll tumble out onto the floor. If you place her on a bed, she might creep to the edge."
Lesley borrowed Carissa's pencil to circle crib. “But all this other paraphernalia? Surely babies do not need so many ... things."
Surely they did, Carissa proceeded to convince him. A pram so the child could get outside for healthful fresh air, a rocking chair to help her get to sleep. More blankets and bonnets and booties. Talcum and special soap, a rattle and a teething ring. A cradle so Maisie could lay her down when she came to the kitchen for meals.
"Did you have all of this for your daughter?"
"Yes,” she answered curtly, volunteering no further information.
Hartleigh looked around. “Deuce take it, where the devil is she? The chit is so quiet, I forget she's around half the time."
"Pippa is upstairs with Maisie and the baby, having a nap. And yes, she is a quiet child. Living at Sir Gilliam's, she had to learn to be unobtrusive and well behaved."
Granted the viscount did not know much about youngsters, but he knew the brats on the street were always running and shouting. He could not believe that Philippa Kane's reserve was quite natural. Lesley wondered if the sobersided little chit ever laughed or cried or played with other children, and why not. His curiosity about Mrs. Kane and her daughter was growing.
As was Mrs. Kane's list as she thought of new items an infant needed. “Bibs, of course. How could I have forgotten?” She'd embroidered scores of them for her baby, and smocked so many infant dresses that Pippa hardly wore the same one twice before outgrowing it. Then there were tiny undergarments, for warmth. And wool for sweaters. Carissa could teach Maisie to knit if she did not already know how.
"Where the devil am I going to get all this stuff?” the viscount demanded. He'd be chasing from dry goods stores to furniture warehouses to carriage makers—if the manufacturers of his curricles were the same ones who made baby carriages. And Lesley could just imagine himself going into Mme. Pouquette's millinery shop, where he was used to shopping with his latest barques of frailty, and asking for baby bonnets. “Byrd!"
* * * *
"I ain't picking out no dainties,” the man replied when shown the list “You want a cravat, that I can buy. Handkerchiefs are at the haberdashers, no argle-bargle there, Cap'n. But nappies and nightgowns for the nit? No way."
Carissa took pity on the helpless males. “Most likely you have nearly everything you need right in the attics of your family home. Most households do."
Hartleigh saw sweet salvation. “Do you have all of your daughter's infant things over at Sir Gilliam's then?"
"No, I had to leave it all behind when I came to London.” Carissa had had
"I was going to come to see how Maisie and the baby are getting along, but I would be happy to select candidates, for your approval, of course, if Sir Gilliam does not require my presence tomorrow. And I can talk to Matron also, if you wish."
There was a teasing sparkle in the widow's brown eyes that Lesley found enchanting enough that he nodded his agreement. The female was a conniver, like all her sisters, but she was not underhanded about it. He admired that in Mrs. Kane, if not her efficiency. The blasted woman was handing him yet another list.
"They need you at the War Office, madam, to keep the troops better supplied. What is this list about?"
"The other list was what the household needs. This list is what the baby needs, if she is to be here any length of time."
The list was two pages long, in neat double columns. “Good grief, ma'am, Wellington travels with less."
"Wellington is not an infant, my lord. Sue cannot be expected to sleep in a food hamper, you know."
Lesley didn't see why not. The little darling looked adorable in her basket.
"As soon as she learns to turn over, she'll tumble out onto the floor. If you place her on a bed, she might creep to the edge."
Lesley borrowed Carissa's pencil to circle crib. “But all this other paraphernalia? Surely babies do not need so many ... things."
Surely they did, Carissa proceeded to convince him. A pram so the child could get outside for healthful fresh air, a rocking chair to help her get to sleep. More blankets and bonnets and booties. Talcum and special soap, a rattle and a teething ring. A cradle so Maisie could lay her down when she came to the kitchen for meals.
"Did you have all of this for your daughter?"
"Yes,” she answered curtly, volunteering no further information.
Hartleigh looked around. “Deuce take it, where the devil is she? The chit is so quiet, I forget she's around half the time."
"Pippa is upstairs with Maisie and the baby, having a nap. And yes, she is a quiet child. Living at Sir Gilliam's, she had to learn to be unobtrusive and well behaved."
Granted the viscount did not know much about youngsters, but he knew the brats on the street were always running and shouting. He could not believe that Philippa Kane's reserve was quite natural. Lesley wondered if the sobersided little chit ever laughed or cried or played with other children, and why not. His curiosity about Mrs. Kane and her daughter was growing.
As was Mrs. Kane's list as she thought of new items an infant needed. “Bibs, of course. How could I have forgotten?” She'd embroidered scores of them for her baby, and smocked so many infant dresses that Pippa hardly wore the same one twice before outgrowing it. Then there were tiny undergarments, for warmth. And wool for sweaters. Carissa could teach Maisie to knit if she did not already know how.
"Where the devil am I going to get all this stuff?” the viscount demanded. He'd be chasing from dry goods stores to furniture warehouses to carriage makers—if the manufacturers of his curricles were the same ones who made baby carriages. And Lesley could just imagine himself going into Mme. Pouquette's millinery shop, where he was used to shopping with his latest barques of frailty, and asking for baby bonnets. “Byrd!"
* * * *
"I ain't picking out no dainties,” the man replied when shown the list “You want a cravat, that I can buy. Handkerchiefs are at the haberdashers, no argle-bargle there, Cap'n. But nappies and nightgowns for the nit? No way."
Carissa took pity on the helpless males. “Most likely you have nearly everything you need right in the attics of your family home. Most households do."
Hartleigh saw sweet salvation. “Do you have all of your daughter's infant things over at Sir Gilliam's then?"
"No, I had to leave it all behind when I came to London.” Carissa had had
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