Read Online Carla Kelly by Reforming Lord Ragsdale - Free Book Online

had been thinking about all day. He would sink into his favorite leather chair, a full bottle near his hand, and pronounce himself liberated from all further exertions. Fae would be glad enough to see him later, he was sure. In her own practiced fashion, she would remove any rough edges that remained from the day. That was what he paid her for.
    As he was dismounting in front of White's, he was struck by the thought that this was what he had done the day before yesterday, and the day before that. Barring any unforeseen eventualities, he would do it all again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. The thought dug him in the stomach, and he clutched the reins tighter, ignoring the porter who stood by to receive them.
    Something of his unexpected agony must have crossed his face. In a moment, he heard the porter ask, “My lord, my lord, are you all right?”
    He looked down at the little man, and after another long moment, handed him the reins. “I am fine,” he said, fully aware for the first time that he was lying. He had never been worse. As he went slowly up the steps and into the main hall, he realized that he would probably never be better, either. This was his life. Mercy , he thought to himself, mercy.
    The milkmen were already making their rounds when he returned to Curzon Street. His head was large as usual. He had drunk too much brandy at White's and then compounded the felony at Fae's by attempting exercise far beyond his capacity. The results had left him embarrassed and Fae irritated, muttering something she refused to repeat.
    The house was dark and silent. In another hour or so, the kitchen staff, with yawns and eye rubs, would gird itself for another day of cooking, and the upstairs maids would answer tugs on the bell pulls with tea and hot water. Lord Ragsdale listed slowly down the hall toward the stairs, which loomed insurmountable before him. I think I will sit down here until they shrink , he thought as he grasped the banister to keep it from leaping about, and started to lower himself to the second tread. To his relief, it did not disappear. He sank down gratefully, leaned against the railing, and closed his eyes.
    He opened them a moment later. He was not alone on the stairs. Someone else sat nearby. He turned his head slowly, wondering what he would do if it was a sneak thief or cutpurse, come to rob and murder them all. Lord Ragsdale sighed philosophically and sat back to wait for the knife between his ribs. At least when they found his sprawled corpse at the foot of the stairs, the constable would think that he had died there defending his family. It would be rather like Thermopylae , he thought, and giggled.
    “All right, do your worst,” he managed finally, looking around.
    In another moment, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. A woman sat near the top of the stairs, asleep and leaning against the railing. He looked closer and sighed again. Heavens, it's Emma Costello , he thought, the plague of my life. As he watched her, his mind began to clear and he wondered what she was doing there. Surely she was not waiting up for him.
    Suddenly it occurred to him that she had no place to sleep. He remembered his mother mentioning something about hiring a proper lady's maid for Sally. The woman must have arrived and usurped Emma's place in the dressing room. He stared at Emma and wondered why his mother had not done anything about the situation, until he remembered her exhausted face as her own maid helped her from the carriage. Mama must have gone directly to bed, too tired for a thought about Emma.
    And here she was now, at the mercy of his staff, and asleep on the stairs. He felt an unexpected twinge of remorse, remembering his own disparaging words about her to his butler. The staff knew how he felt about the Irish.
    “Emma,” he called out softly, not wishing to startle her into a plunge down the stairs.
    He called her name several times before she straightened up, moving her head slowly