Elsie didn’t know the half of it. Aunt Georgina simply adored those wretched felines. She really loved them as though they were her children. And they loved her back.
Even Jasper.
“I can take three,” I agreed. “I know just the ones.”
Quiet settled over us as we watched Tilly pack the trunks. “You are really taking everything, aren’t you? I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“I’ve been here a long time,” I reminded her. “I have not had adventures in Spain or India like you. I must have my own now.”
She nodded slowly, her eyebrows slightly hitched as she considered my words. “I hadn’t thought of it that way before. You haven’t really left London much, have you?”
“In the years since our Season I’ve twice visited my mother in Yorkshire. But nothing more.”
“Very well,” Elsie said, her energy suddenly lifted. “Which cats are you taking?”
“Kitty, Cleo and Max.”
Confused, she glanced around the room. “Is Cleo the gray one?”
“No, that’s Mabel. Cleo is black.”
Elsie nodded. “And the striped one is?”
“The gray striped one is Kitty. The one with brown and gray stripes is Lucille.”
She grinned. “So you are leaving me the lazy cats? How thoughtful of you.”
“I figure there should be balance. You get the calm ones to weigh out Jasper.”
The door inched open and Coco trotted into the room, coming to rest by my feet. I leaned down and picked up the chocolate-colored terrier, scratching behind her ears. I glanced up at my friend. “I shall miss you, Elsie,” I whispered.
Elsie took Coco out of my arms and lovingly scratched her belly. “Then you will simply have to come back and visit.”
“Or perhaps you will choose an estate near mine and we can be neighbors permanently.”
Elsie stilled, her mouth drooping slightly. “I hadn’t thought of that before. Cameron has mainly been looking around the outskirts of London or near his family estate up north.”
“Neither of those options sound very agreeable.”
“Rosalynn lives up north.”
“Oh, pish.” I swatted the air, taking my dog back onto my lap. “Rosalynn is constantly coming down to London. I am the one you should settle near.”
“I’ll speak to Cameron about it,” she said. I had a feeling it would not go anywhere, however. Which was fine. I did not want to force anyone to settle in Shropshire. I had never even been there before, myself.
The door flew open and Rosalynn swept inside. My sigh blended with Elsie’s and she jumped up to lead Rosalynn to the bed to sit on my other side. Rosalynn pulled her arm free. “I am not an invalid,” she said. “Only pregnant.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve brought you a gift.” She held out a brown paper-wrapped parcel and I accepted it, one hand holding the gift while the other continued to pet Coco.
“I still cannot believe you are leaving,” she continued. “It is wicked of you. I only just arrived and the boys did not get enough of you on Sunday.”
“I will visit them again before I go,” I said, placing Coco on the floor gently and watching her pad over to her bed near the fire.
“Well, open it!” Rosalyn said with a clap. She grinned, watching me closely.
I untied the string, peeling the paper back to reveal a lumpy pile of dark gray wool.
“Thank you,” I said with some uncertainty, lifting the pile of knotted yarn from the paper. A smaller lump fell to the floor and Coco barked at it from across the room. I bent down and swept it up, looking to Rosalynn for some explanation.
She blinked back at me expectantly and I didn’t have the heart to question her. “It’s lovely,” I said, fingering the thick woolly mass.
“What is it, exactly?” Elsie asked, and I could have kissed her.
Rosalynn laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Our blank faces must have answered her question, for she reached forward and lifted the objects from my lap. “Stockings and a scarf. I’ve been learning to knit.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said, turning the mass in my fingers and trying to find where I was meant to put my foot in the stocking.
“No, that is the scarf. Here are the stockings.” She turned them around in her fingers and found the general shape, showing me where I might stuff my foot. “I figured you can imagine my loving embrace as you wrap yourself to keep warm.”
“How very sentimental of you, Rosie,” I said, trying not to laugh.
Elsie, ever the peacekeeper, reached over me to squeeze Rosalynn’s knee. “What a thoughtful gift.”
“When do you leave?” Rosalynn asked.
“I’ve written my steward to warn the household of my arrival and told them to expect me after the first of April. So I suppose I should leave on Monday.”
“That is only two days away!” Elsie lamented. “Will you be ready in time?”
Did she mean emotionally? It was unlikely I would ever be ready to leave this home. It was the place where I came into my own sense of self. Aunt Georgina fostered a home full of love and acceptance. It was a place where I could be who I wished without fear of retribution or disapproval. Aunt Georgina took in strays in every meaning of the word and loved them unconditionally, myself included.
The only thing that helped me leave behind this home was that at Corden Hall I would be mistress and could cultivate the same sense of belonging. That, and the fact that Aunt Georgina was no longer here.
“I am ready.”
Chapter 5
I was not ready.
The borrowed traveling carriage wrapped around a simple pleasure garden and rolled to a stop before a high, imposing, red sandstone building with dormer windows at the top and a square, solemn feeling about it. It was not the small, quaint building I had imagined my grandmother inhabiting. To my recollection, I had never met my mother’s mother; she died when I was quite young, but I knew she was kind and sweet and this sober house was not at all what I had pictured. The height alone caused me to shrink back against the squabs.
I inched forward again to peek out the window and startled when the door flew open, my coachman’s face mirroring my own surprise.
“Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I nodded, accepting his hand to step out of the carriage, my free hand holding up my voluminous skirts. I glanced back at Coco snoozing peacefully on the seat and reached in to pull her out, cradling her in my arms. Tilly stepped out behind me, followed by the cooped up felines.
The front door of Corden Hall opened and a man stood at the entryway, likely the butler, his chest puffed out and his nose in the air. I mounted the steps slowly and stepped past him into the house to face a line of servants, the cats circling my feet as I walked. A few maids and footmen stood beside a round woman with a full chatelaine and a tall, gangly woman covered in flour—most likely the cook—held up the end. There were no more than eight servants; Mr. Kimble would approve.
“Welcome, Ma’am,” the butler said, turning away from the open door as the coachman carried one of my trunks up the stairs and deposited it on the marble entryway floor with a loud thud.
“I am Harrison,” the butler said with a low bow. He gestured to the round, white-haired woman with the chatelaine. “This is your housekeeper, Mrs. Lewis. The cook beside her, Mrs. Covey, and the scullery maid, Joan.”
I smiled and nodded at each person in turn, hopelessly trying to memorize their names while my fingers absentmindedly stroked Coco’s head.
“The housemaids,” he continued, “Heather and Hattie. And the footmen, George and Alan. The outside staff is busy at present but can be assembled when you are ready.”
I nodded, stepping back. I wanted to say something profound but my tongue froze, growing thick in my mouth. I was jittery with anticipation. This meeting was a long time in coming and I hoped beyond measure that seeing my steward in the flesh would not hamper our easy camar
aderie. “Aren’t we missing someone?”
Harrison exchanged glances with Mrs. Lewis. “Is there another servant you have need of?”
“No, I only meant Mr. Bryce.”
Mrs. Lewis stepped forward. “He is gone away on business, ma’am, but he should be back tomorrow. He was sorry to miss your arrival but it was a pressing family matter.”
I nodded. I hoped none of his children or—heaven forbid—grandchildren had taken seriously ill. I must come up with some way to thank him for the work he did in creating such a successful estate out of my inheritance.
“I am happy to be here,” I said to the gathered group, their round eyes watching me warily. “I appreciate the work you’ve all done in maintaining my home. I am sorry it has taken me so long to get here, but until recently I’ve had a permanent home in London and did not feel a need.”
Mrs. Lewis flinched. I immediately regretted my words. “I only meant I did not have cause to come, for I was—” I clamped my mouth closed. It was not my responsibility to explain myself to the servants and announcing that I’d been serving as a companion in recent years would not necessarily help them to see me in the light of a mistress. I was already struggling to see myself in that capacity as it was.
A scuffle took place behind me and I turned. “Oh! This is my maid, Tilly, and these are my cats: Cleo, Kitty, and Max; and my dog, Coco. I hope they might be welcomed here as well.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Harrison said gallantly.
Mrs. Lewis stepped forward. “Allow me to show you to your room.” She turned and gestured to the footmen, indicating the trunks left behind by the coachman.
The entry room, though large with intricately carved posts and beams, did not house the staircase. We crossed under an archway and came to a hallway with a large, imposing stairway. The wall had cut out slots that looked down on the foyer and allowed natural light to spill onto the stairs.
Keys dangled on the chatelaine as the housekeeper mounted the stairs and I followed right behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, Mrs. Lewis said, “The first floor has previously been used as family rooms. The main bedroom has a master and a mistress suite that connect via dressing rooms. We have prepared the mistress suite for you, but if you would like another room you need only say so and the necessary preparations will be arranged.”
I nodded, following her down the hall to a door on the right. The walls and bed coverings were done in a matching rose silk with cream accents and an intricate cream carpet. A vanity sat near the window with a wardrobe flanking the other side.
“This should do nicely,” I said, noting the writing desk against the dark wall and mentally shifting it closer to the window.
“Will the animals reside here with you?” Mrs. Lewis asked with a hint of distaste. She did not seem a fan of me, at present.
At home, the cats had a room of their own. Here, I had thought to put the cats outside if they would be of any use. “Do you already have cats in the stables?”
“Yes, there are sufficient wild animals to take care of the rodents.”
So she was not a fan of animals, either, it seemed. That was not likely helping my case. “Then perhaps we will have a room made up for the cats to stay in.”
“A room for the cats?” she clarified.
Was that so very odd? There was an entire floor of rooms above me completely empty. “Yes. But Coco will stay with me.”
Clearing her throat, she nodded. “I will see what I can do.”
The servants left, leaving me with Tilly, the roaming felines, and the sleepy dog. I stepped into the center of the room and turned slowly, taking in every detail before laying Coco at the foot of my bed. This was to be my new home. When would it start feeling like it?
Tilly moved to the wardrobe and began unpacking the trunks while Cleo stretched in the windowsill and Max sniffed around under the bed. Kitty circled my feet, staying close to the side of my leg.
“I feel it too,” I said, leaning down to pick her up and stroking her gray-striped fur. “It will be an adjustment for us all.”
“I’d say,” Tilly said from where she knelt, bent over a trunk of my gowns.
I left Tilly, Coco, and the cats behind to unpack and decided to explore. I began with the first floor, glancing in each room and noting the various style differences, and a few pieces of furniture I wouldn’t mind moving to my own bedchamber. By the time I reached the end of the hallway, Harrison found me.
“Dinner is served in the dining room downstairs.”
I followed him down, not bothering to change for dinner despite his pointed look at my disheveled gown, to say nothing for the state of my hair. But it was my first night in residence and I simply did not want to bother.
Harrison led me into a room lit with candlelight against the fading sun; a long, solid oak table sat in the center with one place setting at the head. I sat in the chair, diving into a meal full of dishes I was familiar with, but found to be far more flavorful. I was in awe as my mouth erupted with new, superior tastes. Could the cook have used magic, perhaps? I had never had such a remarkable culinary experience in my entire life.
My eyes closed as I savored iced ginger cake, rich and airy at the same time.
“Mrs. Covey is superior in the kitchen, is she not?” The deep tone caught me off guard. My eyes flew open to see a tall, grinning gentleman leaning in the doorway and my bite of cake shot down my throat, sticking unpleasantly. I coughed, hoping to dislodge it in vain. The man crossed the room swiftly, concern clouding his brow as he picked up my water goblet and thrust it into my hand. I gulped down the liquid and sputtered, making a complete fool of myself.
“I apologize, Miss Hurst. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Do not worry, sir,” I said, fixing my gaze on the water goblet as one of the footmen—George, I believe—filled it again and I emptied it once more. But how did this man know my name? And why did the butler fail to introduce him?
My composure recovered as much as it could be, I turned a sweet smile on the stranger. What was this man doing in my dining hall? I glanced behind him but my butler was nowhere to be seen. “How may I help you?”
“Oh, forgive me. I am Mr. Daniel Bryce.” He delivered a handsome bow, his medium brown hair flopping over his forehead as he dipped. It was slightly longer than fashionable, but in a rugged way which suited him well. His clothes were well cut, but of practical material. His boots buffed, but not foppish.
And he could not have said Bryce.
I guessed his age to be slightly older than my own; he must be the son. I was never informed that my steward’s family was in residence. Not that I minded, but it was a strange thing for my steward to leave out of his missives when he had been so thorough in every other regard. I gestured to the chair beside me. “How is your father? I was told he would be returning tomorrow.”
He took a seat and George immediately set a plate of food before him. It was as though the servants anticipated that I would invite the man to join me. “I am afraid I do not follow,” he said, his eyebrows pulling together. “My father is dead.”
“Oh.” Well, that is awkward. “Your grandfather, then?”
He gave me an apologetic—if slightly unsure—glance. “Dead, too, I’m afraid.”
I bit my tongue before uncle could spill forth. “Oh, dear. Perhaps I should cease guessing. Tell me, sir, what is your relation to my steward?”
Mr. Bryce set down his fork and coughed on his bite of ham, pulling a napkin up to his mouth and turning away from me. “I’m sorry to disappoint,” he said when he again faced me, “but there are no other Bryces in residence.” His hands came up in surrender. “I am your steward.”
My mouth fell open and I raked my gaze over the man beside me. He was tall, handsome, and not nearly old enough to be my father. This was the Mr. Bryce I had been corresponding with for the last year? He did not fit the image I had created in my mind of a sweet, elderly gentleman with kind, crinkly eyes and an endearing smile.
My gaze landed on his lips. His smile was wide and unabashed. I would certainly call it endearing. So, perhaps he had one of the traits I had been envisioning.
Heat crept up my neck and I turned my attention to my plate. After my choking fiasco, however, the ginger cake didn’t look so appetizing anymore. I pushed it around for a moment with my fork.
What was I doing? I was no simpering miss. I was a grown woman with an estate of my own and this man, regardless of how attractive and decidedly not ancient he was, was in my employ. We had a comfortable repertoire over letters, so why should that be any different now?
“Have you completed your business?” I asked, rallying my nerves. “I was told you had urgent family matters to attend to.”
His gaze, previously fixed on me, flitted away before coming back and resting on my hands, clasped on the edge of the table. “Things are well in hand,” he answered ambiguously.
“Very good. And do you…” I cleared my throat. “Do you reside in this house?”
Silence sat in the room. A smile played at Mr. Bryce’s lips and I immediately glanced away from them, moving to gaze at his eyes instead. “Yes. I have a room on the second floor. It is above the family rooms.”
Nodding, I considered the propriety of the matter. He was, it seemed, reading my mind.
“I had not before considered the matter of a chaperone,” he said delicately. “Perhaps I ought to move to the stables.”
“You cannot sleep with the animals,” I said, disgusted.
“No,” he chuckled, a low throaty sound. “I would not find a horse to be a pleasant roommate. But the people of Linshire are not as progressive, perhaps, as those in London. And there is a handsome set of rooms above the stables which are not in use. I would be quite comfortable there.”
And my reputation would remain intact. I did not voice the conclusion, but we were on the same page. There was enough fodder in my history to feed the gossip mill of Linshire if it were to be discovered. There wasn’t much sense in adding to it before I had the chance to make a decent name for myself. I wanted, badly, to argue that as a spinster firmly on the shelf, it mattered not what the people of Linshire thought of me. But I refrained. He knew my feelings on the matter. I had not held much back in our correspondence.
Love For The Spinster (Women 0f Worth Book 2) Page 4