Leslie Lafoy (17 page)

Mrs. Miller saved the housekeeper the embarrassment of a noticeable surrender by exclaiming, “Ah, I was right!” as Fiona came back into the schoolroom cradling in her arms a gangly black and white cat. It was purring—loudly—and Caroline would have sworn that it was actually smiling. “He’s forgotten all about me. The fickle little beast,” Mrs. Miller accused as Fiona rubbed under its chin. Motioning for Fiona to share the animal with her, she added, quietly, “Run along and select your room, Simone dear. We’ll be fine in your absence.”

Mrs. Gladder didn’t hesitate to seize the chance for escape. “This way, please,” she said, sailing out of the room.

Caroline and Simone had little choice but to follow obediently in her wake. For a little round woman, she could cover ground quickly and she was past the stairs and halfway down the other hall before they caught up with her.

“Lord Ryland’s chambers occupy this end of the wing,” she said crisply and without a backward glance. “Would you care to see the general condition of them, Lady Caroline?”

Drayton’s room? As long as it was something of a group excursion, she supposed that there wasn’t anything overtly unseemly about going in there. “If he’s not present, I probably should,” she allowed. “Should he mention that he’d like some changes made, it would be nice to have some vague idea of what he’s talking about.”

“He and Lord Aubrey and their friend have gone to inspect the fields and the granary,” the older woman supplied
as she rapped her knuckles on the wood panel and then promptly proceeded to throw both of the doors wide open.

“Wow,” Simone said softly.

Well, yes, that rather did convey the general impression of the room. Shades of plum, rich browns, antique gold. All very masculine colors, all very tasteful and elegant in a subdued sort of way. And the bed . . . It was the biggest thing Caroline had ever seen and it—even with the canopied, heavily fringed velvet draperies surrounding it—was positively dwarfed by the size of the room itself.

“His lordship’s private bath is in here,” Mrs. Gladder supplied, gesturing toward a door in the far right corner. “His is the only one in the house that has piped water. The bath adjoins his dressing area.” She gestured to a door centered on the left wall, adding, “His private sitting room is through there.”

Caroline nodded and stepped to the end of the bed to inspect the truly gorgeous gold-tasseled edge of the curtains. “Oh, dear,” she gasped, her heart rolling over as they disintegrated between her fingers.

Beside her, the housekeeper sighed. “I’m afraid, madam, that every single curtain in the house is in similar condition. We haven’t taken any of them down to be aired in the last three years simply because they would shred if we did.”

Caroline nodded her acceptance and stepped back, remembering all that Drayton had told her last night of the estate’s finances. “It’s a lovely room,” she offered. “And clearly it’s been prepared to the best of your abilities given the circumstances.”

“Thank you, madam,” Mrs. Gladder said. Then she turned on her heel and marched back out into the hall,
saying over her shoulder, “The next room is the one to which I had your bags brought.”

Simone was closing Drayton’s doors when the housekeeper pushed open a single wide panel and marched into what Caroline couldn’t help but think of as a Pink Rose Riot. She allowed that it probably wouldn’t have been so shockingly bright—and wildly floral—had she not just come from the quiet elegance of the other room, but even taking that into consideration didn’t make the room any more to her taste. A maid, young and cherry-cheeked, dressed in black and wearing a simple white apron, stood frozen at the armoire, a hanger in one hand and Caroline’s blue dinner gown in the other.

“Hello,” Caroline said with a smile, quickly noting that all her bags lay open on the flowery bedcover.

“Good afternoon, madam.”

“This is Dora,” the housekeeper offered. “Her mother was personal maid to the late Lady Ryland. Before joining her mistress to receive their heavenly rewards, she trained Dora for service in her stead.”

“And you appear to be very good at it, Dora. Thank you for your obvious care.”

“My pleasure, madam,” she said with a quick curtsy. “It’s very kind of you to notice.”

“Your dressing room is to that side with Dora’s apartment adjoining it,” Mrs. Gladder explained, gesturing to the left. She pointed to the door on the right. “Your private sitting area abuts that of Lord Ryland’s through there.”

“Another lovely room, Mrs. Gladder. And just as obviously well prepared as the other.”

With a curt nod to Dora, the housekeeper swept past Caroline and Simone, stepped directly across the hall,
and threw open another door. “Because of its size, this room has generally been set aside for the use of the most honored guests,” she said, stepping back so that the two of them could gaze in wonder at another tribute to floral abundance. Violets, this time.

“I would have put Lord Aubrey in here,” Mrs. Gladder said as Simone’s lip curled in disdain, “but I think it would be better suited for his mother’s use.”

And Aubrey would be ever grateful for . . . Caroline blinked and swallowed. “His mother?”

“The Dowager Lady Aubrey is expected to arrive within the next fortnight, madam. For an extended stay.”

“How lovely,” she managed to say, wondering why no one had bothered to tell her before they had the housekeeper. Maybe that was the way these sorts of things were done. It really didn’t matter, of course. Not given the larger implications of the announcement. Judging by even what little she’d seen so far, it would take a bloody miracle to have the house ready for company within a fortnight. “It does seem to be the perfect room for a female guest.”

“Lord Aubrey has been placed in this next room, instead,” Mrs. Gladder went on, pulling the door closed and then marching down the hall.

Someone had really, really liked flowers, Caroline decided as she gazed at an homage to blue delphiniums. And . . . yes, larkspur and bachelor buttons, too. All varying shades of blue, of course. Themes weren’t themes if you deviated from them the slightest bit. Either there hadn’t been very many male guests at Ryland Castle over the years, Caroline decided as Mrs. Gladder closed the door and moved on, or they’d all been remarkably confident of their masculinity.

“Mr. Haywood has been placed in this one.”

Sunflowers. Bright yellow sunflowers. Accented with a ripened-wheat sort of brownish gold and a dull grayish green. But there wasn’t enough of the latter two hues to make the overall effect of the room any less blindingly bright. Given that the huge windows faced east, it was a certainty that Haywood wouldn’t be able to sleep a moment past the break of dawn.

“Are there any other rooms?” Simone asked quietly, her tone clearly conveying her dismay at the possibilities she’d seen so far.

Mrs. Gladder arched a brow, turned on her heel again and threw open another door. Tulips. In shades of red, leaning decidedly toward orange. The Daisy Room was rather a pleasantly bland surprise by the time they got to it, but Simone was all but swaying on her feet and unable to appreciate it being the lesser of all the evils. Caroline reined in her smile, wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulder, and helped her stagger forward. To the doorway of Fuchsia Peony Hell where Simone actually whimpered and turned a bit pale.

They crossed the landing and began opening doors along the schoolroom hallway. The first of those was . . . Caroline had never seen so many shades of green all in one place before. “Ivy, of course,” she muttered as Simone quickly walked away.

Mrs. Gladder was smiling ever so thinly and closing the door rather sharply when, from across the hall, Simone cried, “Oh, thank you, merciful God!”

Well, well, Caroline silently chuckled as she stepped into the open doorway, the vegetation fairy had missed a room. It was the smallest of all the rooms she’d seen, but, like Drayton’s chamber at the end of the other wing, it
had been done in subdued, decidedly masculine tones—dark greens and taupes and little touches here and there of burgundy. On the wall, between the two windows and over the bed on which Simone was rolling in delight, was a set of crossed épées.

“The schoolroom is directly through that door,” Mrs. Gladder supplied, giving a nod in the direction of the door on the right side of the room.

“Leave the weaponry on the wall, please, Simone,” Caroline instructed as she backed out of the room and closed the door. “Thank you for your assistance in selecting her room, Mrs. Gladder. And now that we have that task done, shall we begin the grand tour? If there’s a conservatory, I’d like to begin there, please. I’d like to see some real flowers.”

caroline couldn
’
T FORCE ANOTHER SMILE. NOT AT THIS
point. After two hours of one unpleasant discovery after another, her face would crack and fall off if she even made the attempt. There was nothing to do now but be honest as she and Mrs. Gladder entered the foyer together.

“Well, there’s certainly a good deal of work to be done, isn’t there?” she ventured, sliding a glance over at the woman.

“There is indeed, madam,” the woman replied evenly, giving not the slightest indication of how she might feel about it all.

“I assume you would have shown them to me if there were fabric inventories in the house.”

“Yes, madam. Sadly, there hasn’t been so much as a spare meter for the last five years.”

So she’d gathered in the course of the tour. “Are there table linens?”

“Yes, madam. This way, please.”

Caroline followed her through the house, through the dining room and to the large storage room between it and the door that led out into the yard and the kitchen beyond.

“I’m afraid,” Mrs. Gladder said, pulling open a set of what turned out to be cedar-lined doors, “that you’ll find them all in much the same deteriorated state as the other fabrics in the house.”

Yes, she could see the wine and food stains as the linens hung on their rods. “The old duke didn’t entertain much, did he?” she observed, taking the cloths out one by one and draping them over her arm.

“Not in the later years, madam. Not in the public rooms of the house.”

“Well, we’re not interested in setting a table at the moment, anyway. I simply need enough fabric to fashion at least one suitable gown for each of my sisters.”

“You intend to cut them up?”

Caroline stopped and looked over at the housekeeper. “Are they suitable for any other purpose?”

She compressed her lips into a bloodless line for a long second and then said, “No, madam. They aren’t.”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Gladder,” Caroline said, going back to her pillaging. “I fully intend to see that huge quantities of fabric are brought from London before the week is out. At the moment, properly clothing my sisters is my most pressing concern.”

“Maggie is the castle seamstress. She lives in the village. She’s very good and quite quick, but I doubt that she possesses any patterns appropriate for young ladies’ dresses.”

“Would she be available to come up here this afternoon?”

“I’ll send for her immediately.”

“Thank you,” Caroline offered sincerely, stepping back from the closet, her arms loaded. “When she arrives, please send her up to the schoolroom.”

“Will there be anything else, madam?”

“Not that I can think of,” she admitted, heading for the main staircase. “Oh, yes, one thing,” she corrected, stopping. “Please have additional dinners sent up to the schoolroom for both Maggie and myself this evening. We’re going to be too busy to stop to be sociable.”

“As you wish, madam.”

It took real effort, but she managed to a dredge up a smile. “Thank you for the tour, Mrs. Gladder. I appreciate your time. If there’s anything else about which you think I should be aware, please don’t hesitate to inform me. Until Maggie’s arrival, I’ll be about the house, collecting fabric samples and writing out a lengthy list of necessities.”

“It would be very nice to have the house restored to its glory again, madam. Keeping it has been a dismal task for so long. I hope the new lord doesn’t feel compelled to whittle your list to nothing.”

Ah, so Mrs. Gladder wasn’t going to be an obstacle. That was nice to know. “He won’t,” she assured the woman. “He isn’t the sort to deny a woman her pleasures.”
Private or public,
she silently added as she headed for the schoolroom with the table linens.

DRAYTON FROZE ON THE STAIRS AND ABSENTLY SHOT HIS
cuffs as he watched two men roll a potted tree of some sort into place in the foyer below. It was obviously the third of God only knew how many. And there was a large round table in the center of the space that hadn’t been there when he’d come in only thirty minutes or so ago. And the
brass vase with the tall, fresh flowers sitting in the middle of it was new, too.

Movement on the other side of the sidelights caught his attention and drew him the rest of the way down the stairs and to the front door. Two men were rocking a huge stone urn into place on the lower steps.

“Caroline,” he muttered, remembering the way her eyes had sparkled in appreciation as they’d rolled up to the inn last night. “Not letting any grass grow under your feet, are you, woman?”

He closed the door and caught the eye of one of the departing workmen. “Do you know where I might find Lady Caroline?”

“In the study, sir.”

He nodded his thanks, got his bearings, and headed across the foyer and down the hall. She was indeed in the study. Sitting behind the walnut desk, her golden hair piled atop her head, dressed in the traveling costume she’d put on early that morning, and looking absolutely ravishing as she scribbled intently on a piece of paper.

“Writing a plea for rescue?” he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and ambling across the room toward her.

She looked up, smiled, rolled her eyes, and went back to her scribbling as she answered, “I’m making a list of things I want Jane to bring with her when she comes from London. Hopefully your solicitor can carry it back with him with his legal papers tomorrow. She’s going to need all the time she can possibly have.”