by Cameron May
“So they will know of what you are made, Lord Brevard. It will elevate their opinion of you, most of them, and perhaps endow them with loyalty to you. Your service was no mean thing, and I intend to make that clear from the beginning, Lance.”
Lance stared at Winnie before nodding. It was a good move, one he wouldn’t have considered, but Winnie was right.
“The house steward is anxious to have his meeting with Lord Brevard,” Sarah told Winnie. “He’s been waiting for some time, and now all the bankers and businessmen have gone, he figures it’s his turn.”
“He’s that long-faced fellow who is always hanging about the office? What’s his name again?”
“Hammond Webster.”
“Would you tell Stockdale that Lord Brevard will see Mr. Webster after breakfast tomorrow? He may have the entire morning.”
Sarah nodded and hurried away. Winnie went to tell Lance. “A house steward? Good. I’m already conflicted with facts and figures, could hardly maneuver my way through all those petitions and requests. Perhaps this will be more my style. Yes, we’ll be ready.”
Webster entered Lance’s new office with a confident step that slowed when he saw Winnie sitting quietly in a chair behind and off to one side of Lance. Winnie smiled, and Webster nodded as Lance beckoned the man forward. “Mr. Webster, yes?”
“Right. I am house steward, have been for seven years.”
“I trust what you have to present will be less complicated and confusing than the parade of men who’ve just left,” Lance said with a small smile.
“I’m not sure it will be,” Webster said, frankly. “A house this large and wealthy has many different streams to it: there is the land steward, who oversees the, well, the land, the plantings, the yields, stock, that sort of thing, and he reports to me; and then there is the operation of the house itself, no small matter: the servants, the upkeep of this huge house, who does what…”
“Does the house have a tailor or seamstress?” Winnie asked.
“Uh, no, it does not.” Winnie nodded. Webster frowned at the interruption and turned back to Lance. “The running of the house runs to some thousand to two thousand pounds a year, more or less, and, if there is a great deal of entertaining, the cost may rise as much as two or three times again; there are servant’s salaries to tally, for example and…”
“Has there been much entertaining?”
Webster looked up at the inquiry and quickly back to Lance. “Ah, no, not for several years,” Webster said. “Your uncle became a recluse of sorts.”
“Do you oversee the servants, or does Stockdale do that?” It was Winnie again, and Webster took a deep breath.
“Stockdale directs the servants, and I pay their salaries.” Winnie nodded.
“Are you familiar with the men of business, the bankers, who came and only just left? It seems to me it might be more efficient in order to keep track of all the separate businesses and investments to have them in one place, a little book for each going into one big book,” Winnie said, musing.
“I was thinking the same, Winnie,” Lance said, “to perhaps have a business manager.”
“Your uncle used to do that, but he hadn’t seen to the accounts in a long time. I tried to keep them up, but it was difficult, and the former master of the house wouldn’t allow anyone new to be brought in. I had to rather do it on the sly.”
“Sounds like Uncle Harry to me. He, according to my father, liked to keep things close to himself, didn’t trust anyone. I’m surprised he didn’t catch you out.”
“Oh, I think he knew, he just didn’t want to pay the extra salary.” He looked at Lance after the wry admission. “Would you like to see where things stand with the house accounts?”
“Yes, I would. Winnie, would you come?”
“Of course.” She rose from her chair and came for the presentation.
“Winnie took care of our accounts, both house and land, while I was away fighting the war,” Lance said. “Did a fine job of it, too.”
“That so?” Webster opened the book he had before him and began going over the neatly organized pages and figures.
“Though it was of a much smaller scale,” Winnie said. Webster nodded absently, continuing with his explanations. It was all numbingly detailed but not so hard to follow once the size of the income and outlay were explained.
When Webster was finished, Lance sat back. “I’m quite impressed, Webster. Do you think you might be able to do something like it with the business accounts?”
“Of course, but…”
“But you wouldn’t be able to do it all, it’s too big a job, right?”
“Ah, yes, it would be a stretch.”
Lance turned to Winnie. “Are you thinking what I am?”
“I might be. I think Lord Brevard and I might be able to divide up the house accounts, have Stockdale handle the wages of the house workers, and you might fit into another job, with accompanying pay raise.” She leaned over Lance’s shoulder. “Was that what you had in mind?”
“Yes.” He looked at Webster. “I was thinking you might fit better into the duties of a business manager. Do you think you could handle it?”
“I would appreciate the challenge, and yes, I believe I might. It would entail traveling, but I wouldn’t mind, and with the extra pay…”
Stockdale was at the door. “We have company coming, two or three carriages, from the looks of things.”
Winnie laughed softly. “Likely more jackals descending wouldn’t you say, Mr. Webster?” She smiled at the reddening of his skin.
“I would agree,” he replied, startled, before a wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. So, one of the servants must have overheard his remark and repeated it to the mistress of the house.
“We’ll talk later, Webster. I must put on my welcoming face,” Lance said, rising.
“Thank you. We still have very many important things to discuss,” he said, looking pleased, his chest expanding.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
To Winnie’s shock, the first carriage brought her family. She stood, nearly overcome with conflicting emotions, beside Lance as they rushed toward her. Winnie hadn’t realized how much she’d missed them, but it was also an inconvenient time. Lance had barely begun to ‘dip his toes in the water’, nor had she, still unaccustomed to directing the servants.
“Where are our rooms?” her mother asked. “Oh, my dear, we’re exhausted, hungry and thirsty.”
“How did you hear so soon?” Winnie asked.
Mistress Alexander looked around as she talked, her eyes growing larger with every new direction she gazed. “Would you believe it? We had come to visit you, Winifred, and were informed by that man, whoever the caretaker is…”
“Barnaby Jones, Mother,” her father broke in, looking around as well, his doffed hat in hand. Winnie batted the tears away as she embraced her father. Offering her hand to Melville Munster, who looked shy and uncomfortable, impulsively she embraced him, too. A breathless Miranda, her face beaming, rushed forward next and hugged Winnie.
Once let go from Miranda’s tight grip, Winnie turned to Stockdale. “Would you be so kind as to show our guests to their rooms, and then we might have refreshments laid out, perhaps in the dining room?”
Stockdale bowed, “Very good, Lady Brevard. I’ll take care of it at once.” He signaled to a waiting footman and spoke briefly to him before taking the company up the stairs.
“I’m sorry to have to leave you, Winnie. It seems the next carriage is with relatives of mine, though I’ve no idea who they are.”
“I’ll come as soon as I can, Lance. I believe my people would like an early night.” She paused for breath. “This is becoming terribly complicated, isn’t it?”
He chuckled. “And just as I thought all was going rather smoothly.”
It was late in the day, and Winnie sat with Miranda in one of the sitting rooms, her father and Melville gone off to the smoking room, her mother still napping. “You must be thrilled to t
he heavens, Winnie. To think of the luck, falling into this situation.”
“It isn’t what you’re thinking, Miranda. You might bear in mind that this came about because someone died. Would you celebrate that? And Lance had no idea he was elevated. It was quite confusing at first and a very difficult adjustment. We’d been invited by the former occupant but didn’t know he’d passed away between our arrival and his sending out the invitation. And so, it hasn’t been a thrill, not yet. Lance lost his last chance to say goodbye to his Uncle Harry, and what we’ve inherited is bewildering. The estate is very large and complicated. It’s taking all our time just to feel our way along hoping we won’t make terrible mistakes.” She smiled ruefully at Miranda. “I rather miss the other.”
“Well, the old estate is larger than I’d thought it to be, and quite becoming, such as it is, though nothing like this. You have a small army of servants to do your bidding,” Miranda said. “I can’t imagine your ease.”
Ease! Perhaps Miranda hadn’t heard Winnie’s litany of worries. “Yes, you might think so, but my responsibilities have only increased since we’ve arrived, Miranda.”
Miranda shrugged her shoulders. “Still, I’m sure you appreciate all the help you have at your fingertips.”
Winnie gave up. “Yes, of course I do.”
“And that husband of yours. He’s even more attractive than I remember.”
“Is he? How do you mean?”
“Why are your frowning? Haven’t you noticed the change? He was a handsome, callow fellow just starting out and now he’s well, he’s very different, don’t you think?”
Winnie thoughts meandered. What ought she to say? “He had to go away right after we were married, you remember? And so much of consequence has happened since, so, no, I hadn’t given it much thought.” She sighed. There was no way to explain their history or their relationship now, it was such a muddle.
“But, Winnie, doesn’t it thrill you when you’re waiting in bed for him to come claim you?” Miranda’s eyes were wide, and she was practically salivating.
“Miranda, please.” Winnie stood agitated, left the settee to wander to the single window in the room and looked outside. Lance was there, welcoming other newcomers, the dark golden hair gleaming in the setting sun, the wide grin on his face exposing dimples on either side of his sensuous mouth. Winnie drew in her breath. Yes, he was the very picture of compelling and beautiful masculinity, had come back from the war with none of that boyish foolishness following, as if it had all been left in Portugal, or Spain, or France, wherever he ended before coming home. He was every bit of what Miranda thought him to be. But that was only his outward shell; his inner self was more complicated. Miranda hadn’t been exposed to the utter honesty, painfully expressed as it had been at the Blackwaters’, his kindness, as with Jem, his comradeship with Barnaby, the way he worked the animals and did his share of the labor, the many thoughtful things he did that surprised her, like the unexpected gift of the piano, or when he made the way smooth for them all when little Freddie was born, and walking the cob back to the house. He wanted to do more, but she hadn’t let him, her mind so set against him, her memory all too keen remembering what had been their beginning, when what Lance wanted was to put his past behind him and move forward.
Miranda laughed. “Goodness, Winnie! You blush like a schoolgirl, and after all this time, too.”
Winnie turned from the sight outside. “Please, Miranda, haven’t we better things to talk about than what happens between married couples in their bed?”
“Oh, don’t be so stiff, we’re sisters after all.” She chuckled. “But, yes, we can. I haven’t told you yet, Winnie, but you’re an auntie.”
“Oh, am I? Tell me…”
“A boy and a girl, Thomas and Lorna, four and two.”
“Oh, but you should have brought them! I would have loved to see them.”
“But, they’re such nuisances at their ages, into everything…”
“But, to see them. I cannot wait. They must be beautiful children.”
Miranda preened. “I have to admit they are. They take after me, you see.”
The remark set something off in Winnie. “Hmm. Well, then, let us hope in other ways they are like their father, who is thoughtful and kind, not shallow like some.”
Miranda went on as if she hadn’t heard. “La, to think I might be mistress here, if fate hadn’t intervened and sent Mama and Papa and me to the Munsters.”
Winnie sighed. “But then, what would have happened to Thomas and Lorna?”
“Oh! Well, yes, there is that. I hadn’t thought.”
“Perhaps you ought to do more of it.”
Miranda frowned. “Yes, perhaps I should. Being married, running a household wasn’t as easy as I’d thought it would be, which is what Mother told me. She was right about a good deal, come to think of it. But at least, you haven’t had to stint…”
“My dear Miranda, you’ve no idea what you’re talking about! In the beginning, with Lance away almost five years, his income so meager, only enough for us to eke out the barest of livings. To bring Greenhill to its current state was a struggle, one such as I truly hope you’ll never have to endure. There were no servants, no one to help but Barnaby Jones, and Mistress Sherman, of course. Don’t you understand that the reason Mama and Papa didn’t want you to marry Lance is because he was poor and had little prospect of becoming otherwise? You would have been miserable. The house was in a state almost unfit to live in…oh, never mind.”
“Oh, dear. I see I’ve upset you, Winnie, and I don’t wish to do that. Melville says I too often speak, too seldom listen. And, he was very patient with me, avowed he wouldn’t put up with any foolish feminine nonsense.” She paused, and it appeared she was thinking. “Everything changes once you’re married, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it certainly does. So, we finally have something both of us agree on, don’t we?”
“It wasn’t easy to accommodate myself to being a wife…I thought the courtship, which was rather pleasant, would go on forever.”
“There, you see, Miranda. I never had a courtship at all. I was spirited away to Scotland for a hasty wedding, and Lance was forced to leave the next day. Be thankful for what you have, dear sister.” Winnie crossed her fingers that Miranda would be satisfied with the shortened tale and not ask questions.
“You’re very quiet, milady,” Sarah said as she helped Winnie dress for supper.
“Just thinking, Sarah, that’s all. My family coming so soon, I experienced a hundred different feelings, well, a number anyway, if not actually a hundred.”
Sarah chuckled. “I believe you ought to put off the mourning clothes, milady, and wear a frock that’s modest but cheerful. It might help you feel better.”
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea, Sarah. Would you choose for me, please?”
“Of course.” Sarah went to have a look at her mistress’s clothing. Winnie sighed, trying to make her way through feelings that assaulted her in different ways. In the beginning when Lance had come home, she was so angry and barely acknowledged him. Even after living together for a time, she hadn’t really seen him. He was handsome, like many men his age, but he was set apart, too. Despite her efforts to keep distance between them, she was drawn to him and couldn’t help it. Beneath his most attractive masculine exterior, she sensed the struggle to fit back into his former life and make sense of what had happened to him abroad. He’d shrugged away the scars when she’d bathed him—how much harder those wounds he carried inside must be to heal. She might have seen that had she not been so caught up in her own hurts. She shook her head. Where was she going with all these dismal thoughts?
At table, Lance sat back and looked around at his company, pleased. It was beginning to fall into place, this new venture. How he envied Winnie her family when all he had of his own were memories, good ones to be sure, but not like having the real thing. Lance liked Winnie’s father, and Mistress Alexander, though excitable, was a woman of com
mon sensibility. And, what on earth had he ever seen in Miranda?
Winnie looked down the table at that moment and smiled absently at Lance. How pretty and elegant she looked wearing a simple blue muslin dress with white sprigs, one of the frocks done up by her dressmaker, its sleeves with white cuffs and a white sailor neckline, looking almost like a girl just out of the schoolroom. The rest of the women at table, including Miranda, looked overdressed and over- stuffed by comparison.
Every day, the decision he’d made seemed the right one. There would be no divorce. They belonged with each other, the accident that brought them together somehow ordained. Now all he had to do was convince Winnie of it. They would work it out, Winnie being a reasonable young woman, and he had a lot in his favor. She loved Greenhill, had made the estate a place of comfort and a haven from the turbulent world he’d just exited. He knew no other couple who worked together as well, and one day, soon he hoped, he would know the fullness of love with her. Though in a hurry, he would take his time, do whatever she wished, court her if she wanted it. He might even put the matter before her this very evening, just as soon as his meeting with Lord Blackwater was over. His carriage arrived late, and the man was in a state of some excitement, unsmiling, quite serious, wanting, almost demanding to see Lance about some very important matter. He declined supper, though he took food and drink in his room. Whatever he had to say, it would have to wait until later when the rest of Lance’s company had gone to bed.
Finally, even Winnie had headed there. Usually she waited to see that all the guests were taken care of before retiring herself, always checking at the last with Stockdale to give him special reminders for certain guests. Lying on her bed, her head swimming with too many thoughts to go to sleep, Winnie gave up trying. Sleep just wouldn’t come. Perhaps she would ask Stockdale if someone might make a posset for her, or, if he wasn’t available, the stove still warm, she could do one up for herself. Slipping from under the sheet and light cover, Winnie hurried on her robe and stepped quietly down the stairs.