Chapter One
The day her father came home at six o’clock in the morning
and summoned the household staff was the day that changed Lady Clarissa
Darlington’s life inextricably. She’d known their straits were dire for some
time as she took note of the dwindling number of paintings in the drawing room,
the mysteriously disappearing candlesticks and silver. Even her mother’s jewels
had been taken from Clarissa’s own bedchamber. Credit was refused them at the
butcher’s the week before, the wine merchant had been calling daily for funds
owed him and an assortment of ruffians had all begun appearing at Number
Thirteen Grosvenor Square, requesting audiences with her father.
It was Daisy, her lady’s maid, who shook her awake early
that morning to the terrible news of their continued fall from grace. “Lady
Clarissa, you’d best rise quick and come downstairs. It’s the master!”
Clarissa had been waltzing in the arms of a handsome earl
until Daisy’s unceremonious disruption. She blinked, blinded by the candlelight
shining into her eyes. “Daisy, you know we haven’t the funds to waste tapers in
the morning!”
“It’s sorry I am, my lady, but candles are the least of your
worries now. Your father’s gone and dismissed the lot of us!” Daisy’s broad face
reflected her worry.
“Dismissed you?” She sat up, her bedclothes falling unheeded
around her even in the chill of the morning.
“Aye my lady, dismissed us! The maid-of-all-work has already
packed up her things and left, and the footman isn’t far off. It’s dreadful, it
is. He tells us we’re to leave straightaway. He hasn’t got the blunt to feed so
many mouths and it’s best if we be on our way.”
Dear God . Had it come to this? She held a hand to her
heart and tried to calm its startled beats. “Every last one of you?”
“It’s that horrible, my lady, when I’ve been with you since
you were a wee little girl and I love you same as were you my own daughter.
I’ve got no home to go to save for my mother’s in the East End, but I doubt
I’ll even get a bed there, I do.” Daisy’s words gave way to thunderous weeping.
Clarissa’s head began thumping. Something had to be done.
She patted her maid’s back and wondered just what it was. “Help me to dress,
Daisy, and I’ll speak with him.”
* * * * *
Her father, as it turned out, had locked himself in his
study and refused to materialize. As Daisy looked on, crying with enough force
to propel an indelicate stream of snot onto her bodice, Clarissa attempted to
induce him to emerge.
“Papa, I do wish you would rethink your position on the
staff,” she tried. “It shall be impossible for us to run a decent household
without them.”
“Haven’t got the blunt for it,” he called back, his words
slurred. “Tell that spot-faced maid of yoursh to bugger off!”
Oh dear. Daisy gasped at his insult. It was
abundantly clear he had not only been gaming all evening but had been indulging
his love of whiskey as well. Before Mama’s death, the Viscount had been such a
wonderful, dependable man. But grief had sent him spiraling to a dark place,
turning him into a virtual stranger. Gone was the happy family she’d once
known. He attended clubs all day and night, gambled on a daily basis and
consorted with the worst sort of ruffians and cutthroats. He was, in short,
ruining them and she had never felt more alone.
“Papa, can you not see that Daisy, at least, should stay
on?”
“Can’t countenansh it,” he replied with a belch.
She tried the door again. “Won’t you let me in?”
“Nothing for it. Can’t come out now. That rotter’sh coming
here thish afternoon to take all from me. You’ll have to hold him off,
Clarisha. Shee if you can’t.”
Daisy blew her nose loudly into a handkerchief. “We’re
doomed, we are, all of us!”
Clarissa held her fingers to her temples and took a calming
breath. “What rotter, Papa?”
“That bloody Pierce
The day her father came home at six o’clock in the morning
and summoned the household staff was the day that changed Lady Clarissa
Darlington’s life inextricably. She’d known their straits were dire for some
time as she took note of the dwindling number of paintings in the drawing room,
the mysteriously disappearing candlesticks and silver. Even her mother’s jewels
had been taken from Clarissa’s own bedchamber. Credit was refused them at the
butcher’s the week before, the wine merchant had been calling daily for funds
owed him and an assortment of ruffians had all begun appearing at Number
Thirteen Grosvenor Square, requesting audiences with her father.
It was Daisy, her lady’s maid, who shook her awake early
that morning to the terrible news of their continued fall from grace. “Lady
Clarissa, you’d best rise quick and come downstairs. It’s the master!”
Clarissa had been waltzing in the arms of a handsome earl
until Daisy’s unceremonious disruption. She blinked, blinded by the candlelight
shining into her eyes. “Daisy, you know we haven’t the funds to waste tapers in
the morning!”
“It’s sorry I am, my lady, but candles are the least of your
worries now. Your father’s gone and dismissed the lot of us!” Daisy’s broad face
reflected her worry.
“Dismissed you?” She sat up, her bedclothes falling unheeded
around her even in the chill of the morning.
“Aye my lady, dismissed us! The maid-of-all-work has already
packed up her things and left, and the footman isn’t far off. It’s dreadful, it
is. He tells us we’re to leave straightaway. He hasn’t got the blunt to feed so
many mouths and it’s best if we be on our way.”
Dear God . Had it come to this? She held a hand to her
heart and tried to calm its startled beats. “Every last one of you?”
“It’s that horrible, my lady, when I’ve been with you since
you were a wee little girl and I love you same as were you my own daughter.
I’ve got no home to go to save for my mother’s in the East End, but I doubt
I’ll even get a bed there, I do.” Daisy’s words gave way to thunderous weeping.
Clarissa’s head began thumping. Something had to be done.
She patted her maid’s back and wondered just what it was. “Help me to dress,
Daisy, and I’ll speak with him.”
* * * * *
Her father, as it turned out, had locked himself in his
study and refused to materialize. As Daisy looked on, crying with enough force
to propel an indelicate stream of snot onto her bodice, Clarissa attempted to
induce him to emerge.
“Papa, I do wish you would rethink your position on the
staff,” she tried. “It shall be impossible for us to run a decent household
without them.”
“Haven’t got the blunt for it,” he called back, his words
slurred. “Tell that spot-faced maid of yoursh to bugger off!”
Oh dear. Daisy gasped at his insult. It was
abundantly clear he had not only been gaming all evening but had been indulging
his love of whiskey as well. Before Mama’s death, the Viscount had been such a
wonderful, dependable man. But grief had sent him spiraling to a dark place,
turning him into a virtual stranger. Gone was the happy family she’d once
known. He attended clubs all day and night, gambled on a daily basis and
consorted with the worst sort of ruffians and cutthroats. He was, in short,
ruining them and she had never felt more alone.
“Papa, can you not see that Daisy, at least, should stay
on?”
“Can’t countenansh it,” he replied with a belch.
She tried the door again. “Won’t you let me in?”
“Nothing for it. Can’t come out now. That rotter’sh coming
here thish afternoon to take all from me. You’ll have to hold him off,
Clarisha. Shee if you can’t.”
Daisy blew her nose loudly into a handkerchief. “We’re
doomed, we are, all of us!”
Clarissa held her fingers to her temples and took a calming
breath. “What rotter, Papa?”
“That bloody Pierce
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