Barbara Metzger by Cupboard Kisses

head?
    “A tour of the house, you say? I’m sure we could have things more to your liking in a few days. You caught us by surprise, you know. Delightful surprise, of course. Baron Harwood was more in the way of an absentee landlord, though, so things aren’t quite ready for regimental inspection, heh, heh.”
    Cristabel was determined to see her house, and to spend a bit more time admiring the major. She wasn’t nodcock enough to be infatuated, she reassured herself. She wasn’t a silly schoolgirl, after all, but there was no harm in enjoying the company of the first true gentleman she had met since her father’s passing. Especially not if he looked like a storybook hero.
    So the tour commenced. The maroon front parlor was for callers. Behind it was a dining room, which was more often used as a second sitting room, since no board was provided to the renters and most of them cooked in their rooms or ate at nearby coffee houses. Humbert’s was just at the corner, the major informed her, though Cristabel could no more imagine herself sitting alone in a public restaurant than she could see herself ringing the chimes at Westminster.
    The dining table could have seated fourteen or so, if it hadn’t been pushed along the wall to make room for more of the flowered chairs and cushioned lounges. Buffet-style, MacDermott said as they passed through in a rush.
    “Please slow down, Major,” Cristabel pleaded, smiling. “I’ll see the dust and worn spots in the morning light anyway, you know.”
    “What’s that? I didn’t—Oh yes, well, I warned you how it would be. I, ah, just hate to see a delicate rose in a chipped glass.”
    A woman’s first compliment should be set to music, especially if she is twenty-four years old and can barely recognize it as such. So what was a little bad housekeeping?
    The glow lasted through the next door: Nick Blass’s office. It must have been the library before the house was converted to flats, since the bookcases were still there, nearly empty now except for overturned bottles and dishes filled with ashes and cigar butts.
    What books remained in the room were used as props for uneven chair legs, painfully reminding Cristabel of the precious volumes she had to leave behind in Bath. How could anyone treat a book with such disdain? At least Blass had enough sense to keep the ledgers on a separate shelf, except for the open one on the desk. Seeing where her eyes wandered, the major quickly shut the ruled pages. “No need to bother with fusty old accounts. Nick and I can tell you the particulars.”
    “I wouldn’t think of imposing on you further, Major, and you mustn’t think that I am one of those women with no head for figures. I was a school teacher, you know. I did teach music, but the instructors were all required to be proficient in many skills.”
    “A schoolmistress, you say? Bla—bless you. Still, there’s no need to fill your lovely head with figures. I am certain you will find many better things to do with your time now that you’re in London. You’ll want to visit the shops, of course. What woman can resist? And you’ll want to visit all the historic sights so you can tell your students when you get back. Bath, was it?”
    “I shall not be returning to Bath, Major, but yes, the shops do sound inviting.” That hundred pounds was like an itch. Uniforms for Blass and Fanny, new hangings for the parlor, a cartload of soap and rags—and that was just to start. There were the famous London booksellers, too, like Hatchard’s, and all these empty shelves. “Still, business must come first, so I’ll want to look over the books myself, but not tonight, of course.”
    “Of course.”
    The connecting door led to Nick Blass’s bedroom, which Cristabel insisted on viewing, over the major’s protests.
    “He is my employee, isn’t he? No one could complain of the impropriety in that. It is not as though I were visiting your chamber, sir.” Cristabel was mortified to find