Free Of Moths and Butterflies by V. R. Christensen

deprived he’s been in that quarter. At least of late. I suppose you need something to keep him coming home to.”
    “That’s not what she’s here for Miles, and if you believe that then you’re a bigger fool than I thought you.”
    “You know how to pick’em, that’s all I’ll say.”
    “So long as you remember I didn’t pick her for you, or for Archer, for that matter, we’ll all get along well enough.”
    “Why then? You’ve turned away enough mill girls to provide an army of servants. Why her?”
    Sir Edmund didn’t answer this.
    “Looking for an alternative to Mrs. Barton, are you?” Wyndham exhaled a breathy laugh. “I don’t blame you for that.”
    “I’ll beg you to remember your place, Miles! It’s for Mrs. Barton this girl has been employed.” Sir Edmund rubbed at one eyebrow. “I need someone to attend to the west wing improvements, if you must know.”
    Wyndham whistled and stood. “And so you’ve hired a common housemaid to appoint a suite of bedrooms for you and the future mistress of Wrencross Abbey? That’s taking a bit of a risk, isn’t it?”
    “It may be. At the very least they’ll be cleaned and ready for the rest.”
    Wyndham turned from the window. “Of course you could have Mrs. Barton see to the decorating. So long as your taste runs toward hothouse flowers and canary yellow.”
    “That’s enough, Miles!”
    Wyndham sat down again as he continued to examine the door, and the view beyond it.
    “Hamilton’s home?”
    “He’s expected this evening.”
    “Ah!” Wyndham answered, tossing his eyebrows high. “If you’re anxious at all… Well, I can take her off your hands for you. I could use some extra help under my roof.”
    “Under your roof. In your bed is what you mean! I’ve not got enough capital to be supporting any more knocked up wenches and their bastard children. Get out of here and keep a wide berth if you know what’s good for you!”
    Wyndham arose.
    “Through the front door, if you please!”
    With Wyndham’s departure, and reminded of his anxieties, Sir Edmund returned his attention out of doors. Perhaps he had put too much faith in Archer’s obedience. That same faith had failed him before. Charlie Mason was living proof of it. Such a disaster could not be allowed to happen twice. Should some great obstacle come between his nephew and the ambitions which Sir Edmund had long held, and which he depended so much upon, all would be ruined. There was not much left to hold onto now. He was in debt up to his ears. What money he’d put forth for the recent improvements was little more than an investment. Mrs. Barton would bring them some relief, but it was a drop in the bucket compared to what Archer might do. Sir Edmund, pacing the width of the library, turned once more to look out upon the latest risk to all his long established hopes. Was she truly a risk, or was it possible she was something else entirely? Until he knew for certain, it was the risk he needed to mitigate. He went to the door and summoned her.
    She turned to look at him but hesitated to approach. Dust covered, sweat stained, she was still miles above the others in both appearance and manners. Yes, Archer would notice her. And what then?
    “I believe I warned you once before that I prefer my servants to be as nearly invisible as is possible,” he said to her upon her arrival.
    “Yes, sir. I remember.”
    “And yet here you are, in the very centre of my lawn, beating rugs into the open air.”
    “I cannot very well beat them indoors, sir.”
    “The kitchen yard will not do?”
    “Mrs. Prim forbids it, sir. She says it taints her cooking.”
    “Someone else then will have to see to it,” and he turned to ring the bell.
    “May I infer then, sir, that it is not your servants in general you object to seeing, but to me in particular?”
    She seemed actually hurt by it, right as she was. Her audacity galled him.
    “I think I made a mistake in hiring you. I was curious. It was