The housekeeper’s office was just a few steps from the kitchen. A small writing desk with two chairs occupied the center of the room, while an upholstered chair sat next to the fireplace. Like the housekeeper herself, the room was austere, without any hint of decoration or frivolity.
Penelope glanced at the chairs, but decided not to sit. This would not take long.
Mrs. Gormley remained standing as well, her hands clasped in front of her, and her gaze fixed at some point over Penelope’s shoulder.
“I think it best to begin as we mean to go on,” Penelope said. “I wanted to take this opportunity to let you know what I expect of you.”
“I have been running a duke’s house for nigh unto a decade. I think I know what is expected of me,” Mrs. Gormley said stiffly.
No doubt Mrs. Gormley was quite accustomed to having her own way in all things. The old duke had been infirm in his last years, and with no female relatives there would have been no one to challenge Mrs. Gormley’s reign.
“I am certain the duke was satisfied with your service. But now you have a new mistress, and my expectations are a different matter,” Penelope said.
“No doubt you will find this household a trifle grand, given your station. But I will endeavor to teach you what you need to know,” Mrs. Gormley said loftily, as if condescending to a scullery maid.
Another young woman might have been cowed by such a tone, but Penelope had been running her own household for over three years now. And she had never been one to back down from a challenge.
“On the contrary, I am well versed in household management. As I am in the demands of courtesy and willing service. It is you, rather, that seems to have forgotten your place.”
“Well, I never—”
“I understand that you have not been accustomed to close supervision,” Penelope said, paying no heed to the housekeeper’s protests. “Because the late duke led a retiring life, you and your staff have grown lax over these past years. I am here to tell you that all of this ends today. It ends now.”
She took a deep breath and locked her gaze firmly on Mrs. Gormley’s watery blue eyes. “Anyone who is not willing to stay in my service had best give their notice and leave today. Those who remain should be prepared to earn their living, and to pay me and my husband the respect that is due our position. Those who can not do so will be dismissed.”
Mrs. Gormley’s pale complexion turned even paler and her eyes widened in disbelief. “You can not do that, the duke will never allow it.”
“On the contrary, my husband will abide by my decisions,” Penelope said, wondering if this was indeed true. “Do not put me to the test, or the first persons I dismiss will be you and your brother. Am I understood?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Gormley muttered.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Penelope corrected.
“I understand, Your Grace,” Mrs. Gormley said. “You will have no reason to complain of our service.”
“Very good,” Penelope said. “Then perhaps you will begin by showing me the menus you have planned for the rest of the week.”
She spent the rest of the morning with the housekeeper, revising the menus and then touring the house. Tomorrow she planned to inspect the household accounts, but she doubted she would find anything out of place. Mrs. Gormley was far too canny for that. Still she would bear careful watching.
Later that evening a footman came to ask her to join Marcus for a glass of wine in the library before dinner.
“I regret that I did not get a chance to see you earlier,” Marcus said, as he handed her a glass of ruby red claret. “I hope your day was pleasant?”
“It was informative. And yours?”
“Busy,” Marcus said. “I had no idea how much property the duke owned in Torringford. The bailiff Seth Hunter was able to show me scarcely half of it. But what I saw appeared well managed, I’ll say that for the old duke.”
“Pity he was not so strict with his household,” Penelope said wryly.
Marcus raised one eyebrow. “Problems?”
“None that I could not deal with. Mrs. Gormley did question my authority, but I assured her that in household matters I spoke for both of us.”
Marcus nodded. “Of course, you may do whatever you wish. I trust you will treat the servants fairly, but if there are those who do not meet your standards then feel free to dismiss them or pension them off as you see fit.”
His reassurance gladdened her heart, for this had been the first real test of her authority. There was still much that they needed to work out between them, but his confidence in her made her feel that in time all things could be settled.
“I appreciate your faith in me,” she said. “And I am certain that the household will settle down. After the gossip concerning that dratted advertisement, they had no idea what to expect.”
“On the contrary, they should have known precisely what to expect. Did not my advertisement specifically mention I wanted a wife experienced in managing a large household?”
He grinned and she could not help laughing in response at the absurdity of it all. For the first time she saw the humor in the situation. They were still chuckling when the footman came to summon them to dinner.
Eight
They settled into a comfortable routine. Each morning Marcus withdrew to his study, and busied himself with the accounts and ledgers that were part and parcel of his inheritance. He kept up a brisk exchange of letters and instructions with his solicitor in Edinburgh, and the various stewards who oversaw the Torringford properties. In the afternoon he would sometimes join her for luncheon before finding some errand that took him out-of-doors. Penelope soon realized he was a country man at heart, far more comfortable talking with his field workers or riding the paths of the home woods than he was indoors.
They certainly made for an odd pair, the city-raised bluestocking and the athletic sportsman. She found herself curious about Marcus, who was so different from any other gentleman she knew, and used every opportunity to draw him out. To get to know him. In a way it was an odd courtship, where the couple grew to know each other after their marriage.
Marcus, she learned, was seldom given to talking about himself. Or to long speeches of any kind, although once started on his enthusiasms he could get carried away, until he realized from Penelope’s glazed expression that he had lost her. But by dint of patient questioning, she had begun to form a picture of his character.
“Your morning was spent profitably I trust?” Penelope asked.
Marcus held the chair for her as she took her place at the table, and then took his own seat across from her. They had fallen into the habit of lunching in the small parlor, in part because it was smaller and less oppressive than the grand formal dining room where the old duke had been accustomed to take his meals. And the large windows offered a splendid view of the lake, which even on a gray and rain-soaked day was still an impressive sight.
“I will never get these ink stains off my fingers,” Marcus said, holding up the offending hand and glaring at it critically. “I will be fit for nothing but a clerk, if this keeps up.”
Indeed there was a faint stain on his first finger, and the beginning of a callous from gripping the pen. But this did nothing to detract from his hand, which was large and well shaped, though she could hardly tell him such.
“You should hire a secretary to assist you,” Penelope said. “But until then I would be happy to help. I have a fair hand, and considerable practice, having scribed hundreds of letters on behalf of worthy causes over these years.”
Marcus nodded. “I have a man who clerks for me at Greenfields, when need arises. But a duke’s correspondence is far greater than a mere landowner’s, and I refuse to become a slave to it. When I return home, I will see about hiring a secretary.”
So he did not consider the Abbey his home, though by rights it was the duke’s family seat. And yet, could she blame him? It was hard to imagine anyone cheerfully calling this enormous pile their home. As it was, the two of them rattled aro
und like peas in an empty pod. It would take a large family to make this place feel like home.
“You will make your home at Greenfields?”
“Of course,” Marcus said. “Though as you know I have asked McGregor to find us a place in Edinburgh, which will be yours. And I suppose we will need to visit here from time to time, to inspect the property and for the sake of appearances.”
Such had been their agreement. She to live in the city, and he to live in the country. Each would get what they wanted, and would meet on formally arranged occasions. It was all very civilized, if a trifle cold-blooded.
He seemed to sense her mood had grown dark and sought to cheer her. “Although, one can imagine the Gormley’s chagrin should I decide to make this my home. The two of us were uproarious enough; I dare not contemplate how they would react to the addition of a hundred hounds and their keepers to this establishment”
She had a sudden vision of a long line of coaches pulling up the driveway, and commencing to unload their precious cargo of beagle hounds, to the horror of the serving staff. Penelope chuckled, and Marcus’s eyes twinkled in response.
“They would be suitably horrified,” she agreed. “Nor do I believe that the beagles would enjoy their stay.”
“There is that as well,” Marcus agreed.
They finished the lunch in a companionable mood.
“Are there more letters to write? I would be happy to help you,” Penelope said, glancing out the windows. The sullen skies had opened up and a heavy rain was now falling.
“No, I am done for the day. I am to meet Michaels at two,” Marcus said, referring to the capable steward he had inherited along with the property.
“In this rain? It is a veritable deluge out there,” Penelope said.
Marcus shrugged. “It is only water. We will not melt. And a rainy day is perfect. We can inspect the roofs of the outbuildings for leaks, or check the drainage pits.”
She was absolutely certain that there was indeed no other duke in all of Scotland, or England for that matter, who would consider a rainy day as a perfect opportunity to inspect his properties for water damage. Then again, what did she know? Perhaps all countrymen were as mad to be out-of-doors as her husband.
“Go then,” she said. “And stay dry.”
“And you?” he asked.
“Have no worries about me. I have plenty to keep me busy, and if my occupations run out, there is always the library to explore. There is no friend on a rainy day like a good book.”
Marcus shook his head in polite disbelief, and she realized that he found her as incomprehensible as she found him.
Indeed, Penelope had plenty to keep her busy, although she missed Edinburgh and the friends she had made there. Still there was the household to run, for despite her newfound spirit of cooperation, Mrs. Gormley bore careful watching. And after so many years as a bachelor household, there were a myriad of things to be set right. Not that she intended to reside at the Abbey permanently, but for appearances’ sake she and Marcus would probably spend at least some time here each year, and she wanted them to be comfortable. Marcus had provided her a very generous household allowance, so as she toured each room of the house, she took careful note of the items that needed to be refurbished or repaired.
There was one room, however, that she did not know what to do with. The old nursery was set up on the top floor, and had not been used in decades. Now all it held was a dusty crib with two broken spindles, a battered dresser, and a wooden chest that held a moth-eaten rag doll and a spinning top.
“No doubt you will want this quickly set to rights,” Mrs. Gormley said, her eyes drifting toward Penelope’s stomach as if she suspected Penelope was already pregnant. “Shall I send for the painters?”
“No,” Penelope said.
“No?”
“No,” Penelope said, instinctively loathing this barren and ugly room. “I see no reason to relegate the nursery to the inconvenience of the attics. There are plenty of spare bedrooms on the second floor. When the time comes I will fit one of them up as a nursery.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” Mrs. Gormley said.
Of course there would be no need for a nursery, if their marriage was never consummated. And for that she was grateful. She felt barely adequate as a wife. She was not sure if she was ready to be a mother as well. Not yet, though someday she would have to face having children. After all, when she had agreed to marry the duke, there had been the unspoken expectation that Marcus would expect her to provide him with an heir. She had resigned herself to doing what was necessary, but her husband had yet to show any desire to fulfill his part.
If only there was someone she could talk to. She longed for Harriet Lawton’s sage advice. But there was no one here, and so she pushed aside her troubled thoughts, and concentrated on those things where she could make a difference.
Four days after their arrival, Penelope was busy on the third floor, having discovered yet another chest of linens that needed to be inventoried. Dust flew everywhere as Betsy, the cheerful maid, pulled out the topmost stack of folded cloths.
“These are sheets. I think,” Betsy said.
Indeed no doubt they had once been sheets of the finest white linen but time had turned them dull yellow and musty smelling. Not a surprise really, for the linen closets she had discovered had been in much the same state. Since the duke had few visitors and no wife to oversee the household, such niceties had long been overlooked.
She fingered the topmost sheet, and found that the cloth was still good.
“Put those in the basket for washing,” she directed. Though no amount of bleaching would restore them to their pristine condition, it would be a shame to waste good fabric. “They can be used in the servants’ quarters or as furniture covers if needed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Betsy said. “There’s a dozen, in all.”
Penelope made a careful note on her inventory. “What’s next?” she asked. Peering into the chest, she saw bundles of squares tied with ribbons. Napkins? Handkerchiefs? They would all have to be counted, she realized with a sigh.
Deliverance came in the form of a footman bearing a summons to join Marcus and a guest in the library, at her convenience.
“Betsy, please continue with the chest, and when finished in this room check the others in this wing,” Penelope said. “Robby, would you ask Mrs. Gormley to come assist?”
There was a certain satisfaction in giving that order. Since Betsy could not write, Mrs. Gormley would have to take over the inventory, a task she should have done on her own these past years.
Penelope stopped by her chamber to brush her hair and wash the dust from her hands, and then went to the library.
As she opened the door, she saw Marcus speaking with an elderly gentleman dressed in an old-fashioned frock coat. Both men put down their sherry glasses and rose as she entered.
“May I introduce Mr. Abercrombie, the Vicar of Torringford? This is my wife, Lady Torringford,” Marcus said.
“Your Grace, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Abercrombie said. With his white hair and kindly blue eyes he was the very embodiment of a country parson.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well,” Penelope said.
She took a seat and the two men resumed their own. She glanced at Marcus, but he seemed quite at ease, considering that Mr. Abercrombie was the first visitor they had had. She felt nervous, wondering how the vicar saw them. No doubt he knew of the circumstances of their wedding. Would he be shocked? Disapproving that they married in a civil ceremony? Or perhaps he was simply here to curry favor. No doubt his living was one of many that fell within the duke’s patronage.
“Sherry?” Marcus asked. “I have asked the footman to bring tea, if you prefer.”
“Tea will be lovely,” she said. “The dust has left me quite parched.”
“I must beg your pardon for intruding in this way,” Mr. Abercrombie said. “I met your husband in the village, and when he ment
ioned that you were in residence, I am afraid I imposed upon him to make the introduction. I hope I did not interrupt anything of importance.”
“You are most welcome,” Penelope said. “And in truth, I am glad for an interruption. The linen inventory is necessary, but hardly diverting.”
Mr. Abercrombie nodded. “It has been a long time since this house saw a woman’s touch. The late duke was alone for many years, poor soul, and a bachelor household is simply not up to a woman’s standards. Or so my daughter informs me, almost daily.”
He smiled with self-deprecating humor, and she found herself warming to this kindly gentleman.
The footman arrived with the tea cart, and Penelope poured a cup for herself, and one for the vicar as well. Marcus elected to stay with sherry, and refilled his glass.
“So tell me, how do you find the countryside? Have you had a chance to view the neighborhood?” Mr. Abercrombie asked.
“It is quite a change from Edinburgh. What I have seen is lovely, though I have been so busy with the household affairs that I haven’t set foot off the grounds since we arrived,” Penelope said diplomatically.
Not to mention that she had no idea of how she would be received in the village. And as for the neighbors, etiquette dictated that they be the first to call upon her.
Until now they had had no callers. Perhaps the neighbors were simply being polite, allowing the newlyweds their privacy. Or perhaps they had already judged the new residents of the Abbey, and decided not to associate with such scandalous beings.
“I have no doubt that there are many who will be as eager as I to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Abercrombie said. It was as if he could read her thoughts. “Tell me, will you be staying here long?”
“Our plans are not fixed, but we should be here through July at least,” Marcus said, with a glance toward Penelope, who nodded. Such had been their agreement.
“Good, then you will be here for our summer festival. We hold it every year on the third Saturday in July. It is quite the event, with musicians from all over the county, mummers, games for the children and contests for the men. It is the highlight of the summer.”
A Most Suitable Duchess Page 7