Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) Read Online Free

tossed the fake book into the fireplace. “Ha-ha, Betsy Popham. Outsmarted you yet again.”
    The hand holding the poker trembled. Her only recourse at this point was physical attack, but she couldn’t strike. She doubted the court would be merciful to a girl who killed the son of the man her own executed murderess of a mother had killed. All she could do was hold her ground, powerless. He trod on her skirt as he passed by. She ignored the sound of rending fabric with difficulty and kept her gaze on him. He walked out of the house and down to the street without another word.
    Betsy swore as she set the poker down by the front door and locked it. In the dimming light, she saw he’d torn off the ruffle of her skirt and ripped the fabric clear up to her knee, and not on the seam either. It would need significant repair.
    Straightening her shoulders, she picked up the poker again and set it back in its place by the fireplace, then picked up the fake book. It had a dark smear where a not-quite-out match had singed it. She wiped at it with her ruined skirt and set it back on the shelf. Her father would have to find a new place to hide the housekeeping money now.
     
    “I am sorry, Mr. Redcake, but your children are more than me nerves can take,” said the nursemaid, twisting her hands into her bread-and-milk–stained uniform.
    “Are you giving notice?” Greggory stared at his bawling twins on the carpet. Artie had a runny nose and Sia was about to bite her brother’s foot. Probably teething. Hastily, he handed his daughter a round wooden rattle, hoping she’d bite that instead.
    “Immediately, sir. I do apologize. I hope this won’t mean you’ll refuse me a character.”
    The silly girl was leaving him flat and she wanted him to take time out of his day to write her a reference?
    His housekeeper appeared at the nursery door. “Your brother is here to see you, Mr. Redcake.”
    His brothers all lived outside London. “Which one?”
    “Mr. Dudley Redcake, sir,” Mrs. Roach said.
    Oh, him . “Our nursemaid will no longer be working with the children, Mrs. Roach. Can you help her gather her belongings and take her to the bus? Make sure we have an address for her.”
    “My character, sir?” the nursemaid begged.
    “I’m not going to write you one now,” he said, waving his hands at the children. “It can’t have escaped your notice that you’re leaving when Mrs. Roach is meant to have her half day.”
    “But sir—”
    “But nothing. Your conduct is offensive. Mrs. Roach, take care of this. And send Dudley upstairs.”
    “Yes, sir.” His rather fierce housekeeper took the nursemaid by the arm and marched her out of the room.
    Greggory had no doubt she’d be leaving the house with a tongue-lashing. Mrs. Roach had a few flaws, like a temper. Also, her power of animal attraction was decidedly limited. In her late forties, she had an abundance of lush moles dotting her face, a considerable overbite, and a bulbous nose. Having said that, she had proven herself to be a great comfort to him, almost a grandmotherly figure to the babies, and she had been an angel to Letty during her fatal illness. Mrs. Roach would never leave him and he was happy to overpay her. If she were a couple of decades younger, he’d shock the relatives and marry her.
    Not really. If he were to marry an employee, it would have to be someone he was attracted to, like Betsy Popham. Though, as he glanced at the mewling infants on the rug, he questioned whether he wanted to marry someone of childbearing age. He could end up with a dozen more children. However, at twenty-eight, he could hardly marry a woman over forty.
    Or could he? He thrust his hands into his pockets and chewed his lower lip.
    “What is that caterwauling?” asked his brother, coming into the room a couple of minutes later.
    “Teething,” Greggory said, having just investigated his daughter’s mouth. “Possibly a little ague in this one. Fancy working as a