Free Barbara Metzger by Lord Heartless

knew he wasn't thinking about the raid on Hammond House but the rake.
    * * * *
    Lord Hartleigh decided to stay in that evening. Byrd asked if he was ill, and the dog sniffed at him, as if he were a stranger in the house at night. He was exhausted, for one thing, not that he expected to get much sleep with a crying infant around, and worried about Maisie and the baby, for another. Would the young maid know what to do if Sue took sick? What if, heaven forfend, the babe did indeed fall out of the basket? Lesley knew precisely what to do: run across the street to fetch Mrs. Kane.
    The widow had to be the most competent woman in his extensive experience. As he lay between clean, fresh-smelling sheets, Lesley mused how he had never considered competency to be a requirement in a wife. A fellow certainly didn't look for brisk efficiency in a mistress. He could see how life could be more pleasant in the hands of a capable female, however, easier on one's constitution. He was looking forward to the occasional meal at his own board, finding his books all in one place, having his apparel in order.
    Why, if the new cook and servants turned out to be halfway acceptable, Lesley thought he might even invite some of his cronies over for dinner and cards one evening. Repay their hospitality, as it were. No, he amended, imagining the widow's pursed lips and pointed chin, dinner only. His acquaintances tended to become too raucous as the hours passed, much too loud for a sleeping baby.
    Lesley had his best night's sleep in ages, dreaming about Mrs. Kane. He only checked on the baby three times, when he heard a noise, or pretended he did. The first time Maisie was sitting up in bed, nursing Sue. She was mortified, not because of the baby at her carefully draped breast, the way Mrs. Kane had shown her, but because she'd let the baby's cries disturb his lordship's rest. She'd get faster about the diapering, she promised.
    The second time, when no one answered his soft scratch on the door, he tiptoed in. By the light of the oil lamp left burning on a dresser, he could see Maisie fast asleep on the wide bed, with the baby's basket next to her, and pillows mounded on the basket's other side. Sue was in no danger of falling. He leaned over the pillows and touched her angel-soft cheek.
    "I will find you a good family, little one, never fear.” The baby reached out and grabbed his finger and raised it to her mouth. She sucked a few times, then went back to sleep. “A very good family."
    * * * *
    After the child's supper Wednesday night, Carissa prepared to take Philippa across the street, along with her nightclothes, her doll, her favorite blanket, two books, and some gingerbread to share with Maisie. Carissa would also have brought Pippa's pillow, the miniature of her father that Pippa was used to saying her prayers to, and a jug of warmed milk. It was Pippa who dissuaded her, declaring, “Mama, I am not a baby, you know."
    "You are my baby.” And what business did she have, Carissa asked herself as she put down extra food for her cat, going off with a notorious womanizer? Why, she'd feel like an intruder, if not a burglar, visiting a house whose front door was firmly closed to her by reason of her position. Lord Hartleigh should have sent her with a note to his housekeeper. Better, he should have had the staff at Hammond House pack up whatever baby things they found and send it all on to him in Kensington, to sort through there. Best of all, the blond-haired rogue should have kept his britches buttoned. But then they wouldn't have Sue, of course.
    And Mrs. Kane wouldn't be abandoning her duties at Sir Gilliam's, for which she was guilt-ridden. Neither would she be abandoning her own precious daughter in a strange house with an inexperienced nursery maid, for which Carissa was petrified. Pippa could get eaten by a dog that should have been abandoned to his fate ages ago.
    "Gladiator is harmless, I tell you,” Lord Hartleigh said, trying to reassure