Page 23 of The Paid Companion

While the girl set a second place, Elenora crossed the room to examine the dishes that had been provided.

The situation in the kitchen had not improved since the night before. The eggs had congealed. The sausages were an unappetizing color and the potatoes reeked of old grease.

In desperation she selected a couple of slices of limp toast and poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee.

When she turned back to the table, she saw that Sally had set the second place at the opposite end of the table from where Arthur sat.

She waited until the girl had left the room before picking up the napkin and silver. She moved the place setting up the table to a position on Arthur’s right, where she sat down with her limp toast and coffee.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“I trust you slept well last night,” Arthur said eventually.

“Very well, indeed, my lord.” She sampled the coffee. It was not only very cold, it was dreadful. She set the cup down. “Do you mind if I ask if your household staff has been with you for a long time?”

He looked mildly surprised by the question. “Never saw any of them before in my life until I arrived a few days ago.”

“You don’t know any of them?”

He turned the page of his newspaper. “I spend as little time as possible here. In fact, I haven’t used the place at all in the past year. On the rare occasions when I come to London, I prefer to stay at my club.”

“I see.” His lack of interest in the mansion certainly explained a few things, she thought. “Who oversees the servants?”

“My grandfather’s elderly man-of-business takes care of all matters concerning this household. I inherited him together with the mansion, and managing the place is his only remaining task. I do not use him for any other business.” He picked up his cup. “Why do you ask?”

“There are a few housekeeping details that require attention.”

He tasted his coffee and winced. “Yes, I noticed. But I do not have time to deal with them.”

“Of course not,” she said. “I, however, do have some time. Do you have any objection to my making one or two changes in the management of your home?”

“I do not consider it my home.” He shrugged and lowered his cup. “In fact, I am thinking of selling it. But please feel free to make any changes you like while you are here.”

She nibbled at the drooping toast. “I can certainly understand why you would wish to sell. This is a large and expensive residence to maintain.”

“The cost has nothing to do with it.” His eyes hardened. “I simply dislike the place. When I marry, I will require a house in town for occasional use, but I will purchase another residence for that purpose.”

For some reason his comment caused her to lose what little interest she’d had in the toast. Naturally he was contemplating a real marriage, she thought. Why had mention of it depressed her spirits? He had a duty to the title and his family. Furthermore, when he did get around to selecting his countess, he would do what other men in his situation did: He would look for a sheltered young lady just out of the schoolroom, the sort of female he had deemed too delicate and too innocent to be employed as a make-believe fiancée.

St. Merryn’s bride—his real bride—would be a lady with a pristine reputation; one whose family was unsullied by scandal or a connection to trade. She would bring him lands and a fortune, even though he had no need of either, because that was how things were done in his world.

It was time to change the subject, she decided. “Is there any news of interest in the papers?”

“Just the customary gossip and scandal broth.” Disdain ran deep in his voice. “Nothing of importance. What do you have on your schedule for today?”

“Margaret and I plan to go shopping.”

He nodded. “Excellent. I want you to make your appearance in Society as quickly as possible.”

“We should be ready to attend our first party tomorrow evening,” she assured him.

Ibbitts entered the dining room carrying the badly tarnished salver from the front hall. The tray was heaped with a pile of cards and notes.

Arthur looked up. “What have you got there?”

“Another batch of calling cards and an assortment of invitations, m’lord,” Ibbitts said. “What do you wish me to do with them?”

“I will deal with them in the library.”

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