Read My Lady Below Stairs for Free Online

worthy has led a retired life for some years—”
    “Evidently not retired enough.” Eddleton closed one eye and peeped through the small slit in the curtain again, trying to see who was pounding on his door.
    “What I mean to say, milord, is His Grace, your uncle, did not often show himself in public. It will surely be some time before the change in your disposition with regard to the inheritance becomes common knowledge among the beau monde.”
    Eddleton nodded grimly. Not all the upper crust had as open a relationship with their servants as he had with Wigram. Their loss. Servants in the great houses knew everything.
    “Let us hope, Wigram,” he said. “Gambling debts are deucedly inconvenient to a gentleman. Last time I ventured into White's, the blighters I owed there were al most impossible to shake off.”
    “If I may suggest, milord, perhaps you might offer your shares in the Pearl to settle—”
    “I tried, but unfortunately they knew as well as I that the Pearl was reported lost in a typhoon off Sumatra.” Eddleton smiled sardonically. "Besides, I've already pledged the Pearl shares to my soon-to-be-betrothed's father.”
    Fortunately, Lord Somerville was not as well informed as Lord Eddleton's creditors. The earl's solicitor had agreed to give Eddleton exclusive rights to his unentailed property in Kent in exchange for shares in the whaler as part of the betrothal arrangement between Eddleton and his lordship's harridan of a daughter.
    “Sally? Cecily? Hang it all, what is that chit's name?”
    “That would be the Lady Sybil,” Wigram supplied in a monotone.
    “No matter,” Eddleton said, with a wave of his hand. “Our salvation lies between her thighs. The girl is Lord Somerville's sole heir and that old graybeard must be pushing seventy. All I need do is get a son on her—a chore I will happily devote all my energies to!—and the succession will continue.”
    With Eddleton in control of the considerable land-rich Somerville estate until the snot-nosed brat came of age. That left plenty of time for him to enjoy the fruits of his future father-in-law's rank.
    He parted the curtains another finger-width and caught sight of a frill of yellow lace.
    “Ah! A parasol. Very well, Wigram.” Eddleton let the curtain fall back into place. Women were always more taken with his blond curls than his finances in any case. “Show the lady in.”
    The rest of the town house was entirely bare of furnishings, but Eddleton had been careful to keep his parlor appointed in the first state of fashion for just such an eventuality. His sorry financial state was still a secret to the ton, and he intended to keep it that way.
    He settled into a red leather wing chair flanking the fireplace and opened a dog-eared copy of Keats. He rarely read poetry, but appearing to read poetry was every bit as effective when it came to impressing members of the fair sex. Women found Keats's work sensitive and endearing, qualities Eddleton could not claim in his own right but was happy to borrow for short periods of time. He might be intending to plight his troth at Lord Hartwell's ball later that evening amid much pomp and general well-wishing, but a prudent man always kept a few tender morsels on the string.
    He didn't look up immediately when the delicate patter of feminine steps came to a stop at his threshold. Whoever his caller was, she'd no doubt think him enthralled by the poet's fine words. He forced himself not to turn his head when he heard the faint rustle of silk.
    “Ahem!” the woman finally said.
    Eddleton looked up with what he hoped was a dream ily distracted expression. Then he recognized his caller. He snapped the book shut.
    “Lady Darvish.” He rose to greet the last woman in all London he'd wish to find in his parlor.
    “Good afternoon, Lord Eddleton,” she said with a wry smile. “Your man said you were at home and receiving callers. The way you've kept me standing, I must say, it doesn't seem as if you've