by Gayle Buck
The butler’s statement combined with his style of delivery convinced Miranda that Lord Townsend had put his request a bit more strongly than Crumpet had intimated. She rather thought it probable that the viscount had finished off the bottle of wine on the dining table after she had left and then had subsequently made it clear that he had no desire for social pleasantries in the morning. “I understand, of course. Have you known Viscount Wythe long, Crumpet?”
“Indeed I have, Miss Miranda. For some years now,” said Crumpet, preparing to leave her alone to enjoy her meal.
Miranda shot a level glance at him. “Is Lord Townsend often in his cups?”
The butler was startled by the clear intentness of her gaze. “Why, I really couldn’t say, miss. That is, his lordship enjoys his wine like any other gentleman. He is the sort of rollicking gentleman one expects of a London beau. His visits to his brother have always been accompanied by high spirits and great fun. I have never seen his lordship moody or in a fit of the doldrums.”
“Thank you. Crumpet,” said Miranda with a nod.
As he left the dining room the butler was discomfited by the suspicion that he had perhaps said too much, but he cheered himself with the reflection that Miss Wainwright was a colonial, after all, and could not be expected to understand all the nuances of what he had left unuttered.
In that Crumpet was mistaken. Miranda was not at all behind in reading between the lines. Her eyes narrowed as she thought over the information that she had gleaned from the loyal butler. Viscount Wythe was a self-indulgent man who imbibed freely. He liked entertainments and was restless unless he could be on the go. He probably did not care for serious reflection or conversation. Crumpet’s disclosure, coupled with Lord Townsend’s own statement that he had left London because he was in disgrace with the Prince Regent, who from all accounts was a frivolous fop surrounded by a circle of acquaintances who were mad pleasure-seekers like himself, was fast-persuading Miranda that Viscount Wythe was a gentleman with no more substance or proper feeling than a cut-out paper doll.
“How revolting,” she said aloud. She felt an acute sense of disappointment. When she had first laid eyes on Lord Townsend, after those first few seconds when his frowning eyes had swept her with disdain, she had been startled by an incredible attraction to him. It was annoying to discover that once again she had been fooled by a handsome manly exterior that hid the shallowest of bases.
Miranda shook her head to rid herself of all thoughts of her former fiancé. That engagement had been a mistake never to be repeated. Though her thoughts had not carried her so far as to contemplate herself becoming affianced for a second time, Viscount Wythe was firmly shut out by her defenses. His lordship might be one of the handsomest gentlemen that Miranda had ever seen, but he was definitely not for her. Finished with breakfast and her reflections on Lord Townsend alike, she rose from the table and left the dining room to go in search of a feather duster.
Miranda spent the greater part of the morning in cleaning. When Constance appeared to assist her, Miranda had removed the last of the dust sheets from the furniture in several of the bedrooms and their adjoining sitting rooms. With an ongoing lively banter, Miranda and Constance cleaned grates and polished furniture to a shining mirror finish with an energetic application of beeswax.
Once Mrs. Crumpet popped in her head to inquire of Miss Wainwright whether she would prefer a boiled chicken or pot pie for the noonday meal. When she returned to the kitchen she expressed her astonishment to Mr. Crumpet at the sight of Miss Wainwright making herself so useful. “It’s not decent, Mr. Crumpet, for a gently bred lady to put herself out so. My eyes fair started from my head to see Miss Wainwright waving a polish cloth and to hear her joke of the ash from the grate marking her skirts,” said Mrs. Crumpet, greatly distressed. She uncovered a large bowl and turned out the doubled bread dough onto a floured board. She gave the dough an unwarranted hard thump and it collapsed, giving off a fresh smell of yeast. “And you may be sure that Mrs. Townsend knows nothing about it, for when I took up her dry toast and gruel and the chamomile tea that Miss Wainwright fixed for her this morning, she asked if her cousin was finding enough to entertain her. Entertain her! Why, the poor lady is in a fair way to working her fingers to the bone. Mark me, I did not say a word to the mistress, seeing as how Miss Wainwright has not. But it goes against the grain with me, Mr. Crumpet, and so I tell you.”
Mr. Crumpet was frowning as he peered into the emerging shine of the piece of silver that he was polishing. “I shall discreetly mention the matter to the viscount. Though his lordship does not express an interest in such matters as housekeeping, I am certain that he would want to be informed of Miss Wainwright’s activities.”
His wife nodded her head, satisfied. Her large, capable hands methodically kneaded the bread dough. “Aye, you do that, Mr. Crumpet. His lordship will know what to do.”
Crumpet chose the first opportunity that presented itself of informing Lord Townsend of the strange set of affairs. Crossing the hall to the dining room he chanced to meet the viscount, who was on his way to inspect the stables. His lordship was attired in buckskins and top boots and a well-cut somber brown coat and brass buttons that admirably set off his broad shoulders. “My lord! If I may have a word with you…”
“Well, Crumpet?” asked Lord Townsend, pausing to pull on his kid leather gloves.
The butler threw a glance around the hall before indicating that he wished the viscount to step into the dining room. Lord Townsend did so, made curious by the butler’s odd behavior. Crumpet turned to him and cleared his throat. “I beg forgiveness for the inconvenience, your lordship. However, there is a matter of some importance I wished to appraise your lordship of in privacy.”
“What is it, Crumpet? Has my nephew once again escaped his keepers?” asked the viscount with a smile.
“No, my lord. At least not yet,” said Crumpet, amending his assurance. “I wished to speak to you of Miss Wainwright, my lord.”
Lord Townsend suddenly frowned. He thought he understood. The colonial was upsetting the traditional style of doing things and the Crumpets were naturally offended. “I take it that Miss Wainwright presents a problem to you and, Mrs. Crumpet?”
“Yes, my lord. That is to say, not personally to us. But Miss Wainwright is quite unlike any other lady that I have had occasion to become acquainted with,” said Crumpet, wallowing.
“Indeed, I too find her different,” said Lord Townsend. He nodded to the butler. “Very well, I shall speak with Miss Wainwright. I shall not have her upsetting you and Mrs. Crumpet with her American way of doing things. You may be assured that she will not interfere with you in future.”
Crumpet saw that he had not conveyed what he had intended. “Oh no, my lord! It is nothing of the sort. Miss Wainwright is no trouble to myself and Mrs. Crumpet. Quite the contrary! But she is not behaving as a lady should and—”
“What?” The viscount’s tone was thunderous. His mind leaped to one scenario after another, none of which reflected well on Miss Miranda Wainwright.
Crumpet whitened a little and he hurriedly finished what he wanted to say. “Miss Wainwright is cleaning, sir! Mrs. Crumpet and myself, we do not consider it to be proper employment for a lady to be polishing the furniture and sweeping out the grates.”
“Sweeping out the grates?” repeated Lord Townsend, stupefied by the utter banality.
Crumpet nodded. “Aye, my lord. And polishing the furniture. It isn’t seemly, sir.”
The viscount recovered himself. “Certainly it is not. I shall attend to the matter at once, Crumpet. I take it Miss Wainwright is at this moment occupied with her odd hobby?” The butler nodded as he opened the dining room door. As the viscount stepped into the main hall, the butler pointed up at the partial balcony where a door stood open.
* * * *
Miranda looked at the clock on the mantel with a groan. Constance had left some minutes before to collect Robert and make certain that he was suitably cleaned
and attired to take the noonday meal with his mother. Miranda had elected to finish polishing the last piece of furniture in the sitting room before she went to freshen up and change for luncheon. But the time had gotten away from her and the advanced hour caught her by surprise. “Well, I shall just be late to the table,” she said. Exhausted as she was by her exertions, she had the satisfaction of being able to look about her and see that the room looked itself again.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the gilded mirror above the mantel, Miranda grimaced. A streak of dirt marked her forehead where she had brushed the back of her hand. Her hair, once neatly braided and pinned at the crown of her head, had come loose and wispy tendrils floated free about her face. She was perspiring and her gown was crumpled to a thousand wrinkles. Miranda wrinkled her nose. “I present a fine picture.”
“Indeed, Miss Wainwright,” said a male voice devoid of expression.
Miranda whirled and met the eyes of Viscount Wythe. He stood there in the doorway and coolly his gaze went over her. Miranda colored hotly. It was one thing to have planned to make a point with his lordship, but it was another to have him discover her in such untidy and soiled disarray. As Miranda took in the viscount’s immaculate and nicely fitted riding clothes, she felt at a distinct disadvantage.
Lord Townsend closed the door. “I should like to speak privately to you, Miss Wainwright.”
Miranda felt a flutter of nervousness. She walked over to a graceful settee covered in faded blue taffeta and seated herself. She laced her fingers together in her lap, at pains to project calm. “This is unexpected indeed, my lord. I am all curiosity.”
Lord Townsend did not move from his place by the door. His hand remained on the brass handle. His gaze was somewhat frowning. “Miss Wainwright, I address you with the utmost reluctance, believe me.”
Miranda put up her well-marked brows. “This becomes more curious by the moment, I swear.”
“Miss Wainwright, it has come to my attention that you have taken upon yourself the burden of refurbishing Willowswood. It is a noble ambition but quite an improper one for my sister-in-law’s guest to undertake,” said the viscount.
Miranda was startled into laughter. Her eyes held a hint of derision. “My dear sir, I am not so poor a creature that I can see what needs to be done and not do it. If it is your fear that I overstep myself, I have spoken to my cousin on the matter. Anne does not object, I assure you.”
“Come, Miss Wainwright, surely you are not telling me that my sister-in-law has been put in full knowledge of your activities!” He saw that she had the grace to appear a little guilty and he pressed his advantage. “Miss Wainwright, I should be loathe to acquaint Mrs. Townsend with the fact that her cousin is acting as her housekeeper. It would naturally upset her to learn that you were not enjoying your stay at Willowswood as you should. Pray leave the cleaning to others more suited for it, Miss Wainwright.” Lord Townsend bowed to her and turned the knob.
“Oh? And who might those others be, my lord?” asked Miranda. Her dark eyes were suddenly serious in expression. “I suppose you expect my companion to take on the task. I must disillusion you, sir. Constance is already committed to me and to caring for your nephew. Or perhaps you envision poor Mrs. Crumpet on her knees scrubbing the floors between preparing of the meals?”
The viscount’s brows drew together in a deep frown as he stared at her. He had not given thought to the matter other than to agree with Crumpet that Miss Wainwright was delving into what should not concern her. Blast Miss Wainwright and her sensible Yankee mind, he thought disagreeably. She was right, of course. There was no one else. He was beginning to see that this visit to Willowswood was not destined to be quite like any other. With reluctance he realized that the responsibility of the estate was placed squarely on his shoulders. Anne Townsend was certainly not in any condition to attend to her duties and he had virtually ordered Miss Wainwright to mind her own business. “I suppose the thing to do is to hire a proper housekeeper and a maid or two,” he said lamely.
“A laudable thought, my lord. And perhaps a footman or two would also be in line. I should ask Crumpet’s advice, but of course you have already thought of that. Who is to interview the applicants and make the decisions?” asked Miranda. She was aware that she was pushing him against the wall and she enjoyed the sensation.
There was a flare of irritation in the viscount’s eyes. He looked at Miranda with dislike. “I shall attend to the matter myself.”
“Indeed. I see that you are a gentleman of unusual talents, my lord. I would not have suspected that a London beau would be familiar with the hiring and outfitting of a household,” said Miranda in a bland tone.
Lord Townsend stared at her a moment longer. “I find your manners atrocious, ma’am.”
“I believe that your previous observation was ‘graceless colonial manners,’ was it not, my lord?” asked Miranda. She bestowed an amiable smile on him.
The viscount audibly ground his teeth. He yanked open the sitting room door and strode to the stairs. Upon descending, he found Crumpet hovering in the hall. “My lord? Will you be wanting luncheon?” the butler asked timidly.
The viscount did not bother to pause in his swift progress. “I am going riding, Crumpet. I do not know how long it will be before I return.”
The door that gave access to the back of the house was closed sharply behind him. At hearing a peal of soft laughter, Crumpet turned a bewildered gaze up to Miss Wainwright, who stood at the balustrade above. She shook her head at him. “Pray do not be so concerned, Crumpet. His lordship has merely taken a pet because I pointed out to him that someone will need to hire a housekeeping staff. I somehow do not think Lord Townsend is looking forward to the task.” She glanced down at herself. “I believe that I shall go freshen up before I set foot in the dining room. This guise has suited it purpose admirably.” Blithely ignoring Crumpet’s appalled expression, Miranda tripped away to her bedroom, humming to herself.
“And that,” as Crumpet very soon related to his spellbound wife, “is just the way she said it. I very much think that Miss Wainwright meant to give his lordship a nudge, what with her working so diligent-like at the cleaning and whatnot.”
“I can’t say that I approve of the way Miss Wainwright went about it, but there is no gainsaying that his lordship would hardly have thought of doing anything on his own. What proper gentleman would, and especially one cut from London cloth as is his lordship!” said Mrs. Crumpet. She pursed her lips as she stirred the broth for that evening’s side dish. “It will be interesting to watch, Mr. Crumpet, mark my words.”
He did not quite follow his wife’s thoughts. “What will, Mrs. Crumpet?”
But she only shook her head. “It will be interesting indeed. Only wait, Mr. Crumpet.” He shrugged, dismissing the remark as one of Mrs. Crumpet’s indecipherable musings, and turned to his duties.
* * *
Chapter 9
Miranda ate luncheon in solitary splendor. Crumpet served her with all the punctilio that he would bring to a party of twelve and Miranda enjoyed the novelty. Though she and Jeremy had come from a family well versed in observing the social amenities, Miranda could only marvel at the formalness of the English way. She was perfectly prepared to serve herself and more than once it was on the tip of her tongue to dismiss Crumpet, but she sensed that if she did so it would gravely offend the butler. When she was finished, she thanked him for his attentiveness. Crumpet was gratified by her appreciation and bowed deeply as she left the dining room. “A fine lady is Miss Wainwright,” he said to himself.
* * * *
Miranda made her way upstairs to visit with her cousin. It had become her custom to sit with Anne for an hour or two during the early afternoon and it was a time that they both enjoyed. On this particular day Miranda found her cousin sitting up on a blue satin-covered settee by the bedroom window where she could look down on the knot garden below. Dappled sunlight gently warmed her face so that she did not appear as pale as be
fore. Anne stretched out her hand in welcome. “Miranda! I have been looking for you these several minutes. Have you been enjoying your morning?”
“Indeed, my expectations for the morning were far exceeded,” said Miranda. She bent to lightly kiss her cousin’s soft cheek. She saw the immediate inquiry in Acme’s eyes and laughed as she seated herself in the rosewood chair opposite the chaise. “I fear that you shall think me the greatest beast in nature, Anne, but I have actually extracted a promise from Lord Townsend that he will see about gathering together a household staff. Now do not eat me! It was his own decision, after all. I merely pointed out the need.”
Anne settled back against her cushions. “Somehow I cannot picture Andrew in the role of agent. He is such a—a laughing sort, if you catch my meaning. One could never think of him as being serious more than a moment or two at best.”
Recalling the viscount’s irritated expression, Miranda said, “Oh, I rather think Lord Townsend was quite serious about the matter. And it will surely be a relief to you, dear Anne, to know that Willowswood will soon have the attention it deserves.”
“Yes, of course. But Andrew! He knows nothing about servants except to notice when they are absent if he needs them. Miranda, you must promise me that you shall quietly advise him,” said Anne.
“I! Why, I hardly know the gentleman, and frankly, his lordship hardly strikes me as one who would take kindly to advice, however well intended,” said Miranda.
Anne waved aside her objections. “I am certain that you shall get along famously with him, Miranda. You have such a friendly way about you that one cannot help but respond. Do say that you will do it, Miranda. It will so ease my mind to know that I shall not end with some awful woman in charge of my home.”
“Oh my dear, of course, I shall help in any way that I can,” said Miranda, keeping private her conviction that Lord Townsend would rather consign her to the devil than to take any advice from her. She and the viscount had gotten off to such a rousing beginning and the dissention between them had certainly not abated. But she would not willingly erase the grateful and unsuspecting smile from Anne’s face. “Tell me how you are feeling today. You appear far more rested than previously.”