Free The Disdainful Marquis by Edith Layton

said, ringing for Gracie to get her her cash box, “and I suppose you’ll want the same arrangements Rose and Violet did. I’ll be your banker on our trip, and when it’s over I’ll hand it all over to you in a lump sum, or you can have it quarterly. It’ll be like an extra cash bonus whenever you get it.” The duchess chuckled. “Money in the bank.”
    Catherine took the money that the duchess handed to her, too grateful to count it. It seemed like a great deal, and even more, as it was the first money she ever earned by herself. And as far as the total sum of money being an extra bonus, it would be far, far more than that to her. The duchess, she thought gratefully, could have no idea of how penny pinched she really was. At the thought of the independence of spirit that the lump sum would buy her—the freedom to choose whether to work again for some other woman, or to take her earnings and pay Arthur and Jane back some small portion of what they had given her so that she could live with them again with ease and spirit—Catherine smiled with pure joy.
    “Money’s a great thing. Ain’t it?” the duchess crowed, seeing the girl’s rapturous face.
    “It is, ma’am,” Catherine sighed. “It is indeed.”
    “Get on with it, then,” the duchess said, at first amused, but now bored with the chit’s obvious greed. She immediately went back to chivying Gracie again about the whereabouts of her favorite feathered bonnet.
    Catherine was as careful as a new mother with her firstborn child as she decided how to spend her wages. This time she had drawn Annie, a sharp little kitchen maid, as female escort. Annie was as distant and silent with Catherine as the others of her position. But Catherine had gotten used to the peculiar notions of status that prevailed in the duchess’s household.
    After hours of searching in the shops as carefully as a master chef searching for a perfect cut of meat, Catherine selected a warm but exquisitely made colorful shawl for Jane and a set of six beautiful enameled buttons for Arthur. Both presents were practical enough to please their sense of propriety, but extravagantly styled enough to be kept as personal treasures. And, best of all, both were small enough to be sent without incurring the world’s expense on her shoulders. She was sure that Griddon could be asked to parcel them up for her, and that he would know how to go about posting them safely. For Catherine had never had to send a package to anyone before, never being far enough from home or knowing anyone far enough away.
    To be sure, she thought, frowning slightly as she made her way back home, setting Annie to wonder if Her Grace’s fine trollop had seen her wink at the butcher’s boy, Jane’s papa had lived far away and traveled further. But there was never any question of anyone posting anything to him, as he had never left a forwarding address.
    Her own father, that dimly remembered handsome blue-eyed dark-haired man, had died when she was six. Mama had gone on alone, till she had met Jane’s papa. He had been a slight, blond, elegant, and altogether charming widower. And Mama’s heart had gone out to the outwardly blithe man with his little motherless, sober blond girl, only twelve to her own orphan’s seven years. And if it had not, Catherine thought wryly, he would have pirated it anyway. For he was a persuasive man. Merry and laughing, charming and light spirited, he had invaded their house and swept Mama away with him. But only so far as the vicar’s.
    For after they were married, he had soon grown bored with Mama and two little girls, as he had grown bored with everything that he had encountered in his life. Soon he was charming and delightful only to his drinking cronies, and soon after that, having found a safe harbor for his little girl—say that much at least for him—he was gone altogether, off on his own journeys. In search, he had said, of his fortune.
    And he had left Mama with Jane and Catherine