Page 63 of The Devil and the Heiress
“Will you be expecting Lord Leigh?” Winston asked. Hehad the grace to look her in the face instead of peer behind her at the carriage she knew must be retreating by now.
It was a fair question, but it still caused a pang of longing to sting her chest. “No. Not today.” Nor any other day. She swallowed past the unexpected lump that welled in her throat.
His polite expression didn’t change. “Very good. Please allow me to introduce you to the staff.”
The servants were made up of Winston, a footman, the cook, and a scullery maid. They all seemed very polite if a bit wary to meet her. She couldn’t blame them. Not many brides arrived on their wedding day without a husband to a home that had likely been shut up for years.
“I am very happy to meet you all,” she said after the introductions. “I am certain that we can get along very well together.” The maid and the footman curtsied and bowed before disappearing to the back of the house. To the cook and Winston, she said, “I hope to meet with you both over the next day or two to sort out any needs you might have.”
“What time would you prefer your dinner tonight, milady?” Cook asked.
She paused, never having had the question posed to her before. In all her life, her schedule had always been influenced by someone else’s needs. Dinner had been at the leisure of others. When Mother returned from visiting, when Papa finished his meeting, when Max could work stopping by into his schedule, when August could put her reports aside. The power of this decision was heady. “Please have a tray sent up at eight. I won’t dine in the dining room tonight.” Though maybe she would now that she thought about it. She had her own dining room.
The woman did not blink at the order and gave a curtsy before she scurried off to the kitchen.
Turning to Winston, she said, “I’ll have a tour of the house now before going up to rest.”
“Very good, milady.”
The tour took about a half hour. It was obvious that the main floor had been divested of all its treasures. Although the furniture was mostly intact, it was all very old-fashioned, leading her to believe that the house had not been refurbished except for minor comforts since it had been built some thirty-odd years ago. Much of it was in need of new upholstery. The walls and carpets were uniformly faded, and the wood floors were dull with discolorations in the varnish where more valuable possessions had once stood.
This is what Christian had meant when he had told her that he sold off everything of value. He was so smartly put together in his suits and walking sticks that she had hardly dared to believe that his poor finances had all been true. Max had assured her that his income was enough to support a stylish lifestyle, and the basic upkeep of this grand house, but it fell far short of bearing the strain of Amberley Park and the complete refurbishment needed here. She tried to imagine the boy he had been, dealing with the overwhelming burden of a failing earldom, and her heart hurt.
The only portraits remaining seemed to be family members. She found one that she was certain was his mother. The beautiful woman was very stylishly dressed and appeared to be no more than Violet’s own age at the time. She had light brown hair and the gray eyes that she had bestowed upon her son. Her expression was happy, but she somehow seemed lost.
Later she found two that she was certain were of Christian. One was a small painting of him as a boy of around eight years lounging with a hound by a stream. His face was open and confident, not yet closed off as she had seen him so often before Yorkshire. The other was a more formal portrait, likely done after he had inherited. His shoulders were already wide, but his frame was still wiry, and his expression was glacial and haughty. She imagined this was the boy who had come to Thea seeking vengeance. Thank goodness the woman had shown him a better way.
The final portrait hung near the upstairs landing that led to the bedrooms. A life-size man stood glaring out at her. His hair was the same rich shade as Christian’s, but it was cut much shorter, and his eyes were darker. However, they held the same gleam of wickedness that she had seen in both Christian and Jacob’s eyes, except there was a coldness about them absent from those of his sons. His lips were thinned in a line of haughty disappointment. She imagined it was the look he had given Christian when he’d fallen from that horse. Despite the similarities to her husband, she despised him on sight.
“The late earl,” said Winston respectfully.
“Have it removed to the attic.”
He didn’t reply, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the earl to ascertain if his silence indicated displeasure.
“Immediately,” she added. She would not allow the man to sit as a portent over the house any longer.
“Yes, milady, Thomas and I will see to it.”
She nodded, and he led her to her bedroom. He stopped at the door, politely not stepping over the threshold, so she peeked inside. It was of a good size with perfectly serviceable furniture, but like the rest of the home seemed a bit tired and faded. She was happy to see that the windows overlooked the garden.
“This room adjoins the late earl’s chamber. It is also the only bedchamber fully furnished. Lord Leigh uses it when he sleeps here, but that hasn’t been for some years.” Likely not since Montague Club and the suite of rooms he kept there, she imagined.
Slowly, she took a step into Christian’s room. She could find no sign of him from the dulled damask bedspread to the armoires already filled with her clothing. He was long gone from this place. Before melancholy could set in, she said, “This will do quite well. Thank you, Winston.”
“Will your lady’s maid be arriving soon?” he asked from the doorway.
“No, I’m afraid I’ll need to hire a new one.” Ellen was at Amberley Park now, and Violet didn’t think she could trust her even if she were brought back. That betrayal still stung. She had borrowed Helena’s up until now. “It appears we’ll have to hire several new members of the staff.”
“I expected as much, milady. I shall see it all arranged tomorrow.”
“Thank you, but I would have candidates sent over from Lady Helena March’s charity, the London Home for Young Women.”
His brow creased with disapproval. “The fallen women, milady?” He whispered the wordfallenas if it were a curse he couldn’t speak of but had no choice.
“They are merely women fallen on difficult circumstances. She assures me there are several that have been well trained for the task. They simply are in need of someone to hire them. We could also hire a couple for the rest of the positions.”
“Of course,” he relented, inclining his head. “Certainly, you will wish to retain more footmen as well.”
