Page 46 of West End Earl
Mrs. Hodges, a cheerfully efficient woman Cal claimed managed the house with the force of a velvet-covered hammer, met Phee in the kitchen. “Well, you’re just a scrap of a thing, aren’t you?” she said. “Let’s get you something to eat before you settle into your room. I can’t imagine you ate anything decent on the road.”
Actually, the breakfast at the inn that morning had been fantastic. Nevertheless, at the offer of food, her stomach growled, letting loose a gurgle at least three other people in the room heard, judging by their smirks. “That would be welcome, thank you.”
A short time later, Mrs. Hodges led her down the hall, the keys of her chatelaine clinking with each step.
“His lordship sent instructions. This will be your room.” She opened a door.
Phee’s eyes went wide, taking in everything. “This is beautiful,” she said. An understatement. Light-green toile wallpaper acted as a backdrop to the finely carved furniture. A mint-green velvet canopy covered the bed and contrasted with the crisp white linen counterpane. The idea of keeping anything larger than a cravat white made her shudder. A vase of fresh flowers sat beside the bed, and another graced the small table next to a delicate chair near the fireplace. It was by far the loveliest room she’d ever seen, and she was terrified to touch anything for fear of smudging, breaking, or otherwise marring the perfection of it all.
Mrs. Hodges rocked on her heels with a satisfied smile. “Isn’t it, though? You’re the first to stay in it since Lord Carlyle has owned the property. You must be a close friend to warrant a room in the family wing.” She shot Phee a speculative look.
“I will thank his lordship for the great honor.” What else should she say? Cal, being Cal, wanted to be kind but hadn’t considered how it would look belowstairs. It was the footmen-in-full-livery-in-Shoreditch situation all over again.
“Well,” Mrs. Hodges said. “Get yourself settled. When you’re ready, ask someone to bring you to the yellow drawing room. I’ll meet you there to go over details about this house party.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hodges.”
The door closed behind the housekeeper, and Phee let the trunk fall with a thud. A door on the wall stood open to a separate dressing room complete with delicate furniture painted white with gilded details. This was a lady’s room. A pair of armoires stood ready to hold luxurious gowns, silky petticoats, and satin slippers. With a slightly manic giggle, Phee dragged her tiny traveling trunk into the dressing room and plopped it unceremoniously on the floor.
“Utterly ridiculous,” she muttered.
Unpacking would take all of three minutes, so she’d do it later. Instead, she washed with clean water from the ceramic pitcher on the washstand and dabbed on the sandalwood scent Cal had given her. Every time she held the tiny bottle, it made her smile.
As expected, the staff helped her find the yellow drawing room. Mrs. Hodges had the situation under control and only needed Phee to add insight as to the specific people invited and pass along snippets of gossip that might be helpful in accommodating their distinct personalities and needs. Mrs. Hodges made notes in a small diary in her lap.
“I know it’s a lot of extra people underfoot, but his lordship tried to keep the guest list small,” Phee said.
“We’ve handled worse under shorter notice. Thank you, Mr. Hardwick. I notice one couple missing from the list. Viscount and Viscountess Amesbury. Are we expecting them?”
“Alas, no. Duties at Woodrest keep them from joining us. They asked me to send their regards to you and the staff.”
“They’re kind to think of us. Now, would you prefer to dine at country hours or London hours this evening?”
The housekeeper meant well, but she’d shoved food at Phee not an hour before. “I’ll dine in my room, if you don’t mind. Something simple like bread and cheese. I don’t want to be a bother to the staff, so country hours are fine.”
Mrs. Hodges rose, tucking the small notebook into an apron pocket. “Very good. I’ll notify the kitchen.”
And just like that, Phee had nothing to do.
Idleness would never be her friend. Sitting and letting her mind wander made her twitchy. Maybe learning to relax was exactly what she needed.
Lakeview, if nothing else, should be safe. No one knew she’d come here. There weren’t letters to answer or projects to keep her busy. An enormous yawn overtook her face, stealing a breath or two. Sleeping at the inn hadn’t been restful. Every noise and creak from the giant timber beams of the ceiling had put her on alert. Perhaps a nap might be in order. Goodness, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d napped. How decadent.
Back in her room, she eyed the giant bed like a child examining a sweet treat. She could practically feel the soft bedding surrounding her already. Stripping down to only her shirt, Phee folded her clothes neatly on a chair and set aside her smalls to launder.
Removing the binding from her breasts made her sigh in relief. Although she didn’t have large enough breasts to warrant a tight wrap, the skin around her ribs and under her arms would still show red streaks.
Phee drew the curtains closed, blocking out the sun.
If she were a proper lady, like the ones this bedchamber had been designed for, she’d eat when hungry, sleep when tired, and never worry for her life again. Two out of three luxuries wasn’t a bad ratio. The blanket settled around her like a hug, and the pillow cradled her head perfectly. Sleep claimed her within moments, and she didn’t stir until Cal’s mouth attempted to wake her. Then everything went to hell.
Chapter Fifteen
The carriage containing Cal’s trunks and Kingston was far behind him, but Cal had been too eager to keep pace with it. Last night he’d dozed long enough to greet the dawn, then set out for Lakeview. Murphy, his gray gelding, lived for long distances and had been more than happy to travel beyond the well-manicured parks near Mayfair.
He and Phee would have two weeks to themselves before Emma arrived—weeks in which his sister would be living in their father’s household, much to her dismay. Asking the marquess to be responsible for anyone other than himself might be begging for trouble, but the manwastheir father. Expecting him to parent his own child shouldn’t be out of the question. Eastly now knew about the need to keep Emma from Roxbury, but only with broad strokes of information. No father wanted to hear about his daughter bumping fun bits with inappropriate men.
Eastly had tried to steer the conversation to Rosehurst and his daughter, but Cal held firm with the initial delay tactic of waiting on theWilhelmina.
