Page 35 of Counting on a Countess
“What’s going on?” Tamsyn whispered.
Concerned, she followed Nessa down the hallway and into a small alcove.
After checking to make certain no one was within listening distance, Nessa spoke quietly but quickly. “I didn’t want to tell you yesterday because it was your wedding day and such.”
Tamsyn put her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “Tell me what is happening.”
“Got a letter.” Nessa pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “There’s a problem.” She handed the missive to Tamsyn, who read it with a sinking heart.
There was, indeed, a problem. Due to her uncle’s decision to sell Chei Owr at some point in the near future, the villagers had gotten panicky. They had elected Fred Wren, one of the village men, to bring the latest shipment of smuggled goods closer to London in advance of Tamsyn finding a buyer. Fred had found shelter for the merchandise at a cousin’s barn halfway between Newcombe and London. But the cousin had grown nervous and declared that Fred had to take the contraband and leave within the next few days. Yet Fred didn’t know where to go. While he dithered, several hundred pounds’ worth of brandy and lace languished in a barn because there was nowhere to store it in London. So he’d written to Nessa in a terror.
“We’ve got no buyer to trek out to the barn to inspect it, and bloody Fred is worried that without anywhere to put the stuff in town,” Nessa said apprehensively, “he’s stuck.”
“I’ll have to find a place to warehouse everything,” Tamsyn replied, feeling an odd comfort stealing through her. She had been ripped from one world to be forced into another—from touring her sumptuous new home with Kit into a colder reality, where starvation and danger lurked. But this was a world she knew, and knew well. It was far more familiar to her than navigating marriage. “It’s been damned difficult trying to find a buyer here, let alone somewhere to store the goods.”
Nessa wrung her hands and made small fretting noises while Tamsyn tried to work out a solution.
“There must besomeplacethat will suit our needs,” she muttered to herself. “Somewhere large enough, but close at hand so that we can ensure the goods’ safety.”
Her whole body snapped to attention.
“How much of this house have you seen, Nessa?” she demanded.
The other woman shrugged. “Not much. The butler, Mr. Stockton, he showed me where I’ll sleep and also the room where the servants take their meals.”
“Take me to Mr. Stockton.”
With a puzzled frown, Nessa led Tamsyn down the stairs to the ground floor, before they descended a narrower set of stairs leading to the kitchen. Curious servants watched, likely surprised that the mistress would deign to visit the working part of the house. The kitchen was already bustling with preparations for tonight’s dinner, but Tamsyn didn’t have time to introduce herself to the cook.
“This here is Mr. Stockton’s office,” Nessa said, pointing to a door standing ajar.
Tamsyn approached and knocked. She entered when the butler called for her to do so.
“If you’re wanting tomorrow night off, John,” Mr. Stockton said, bent over a ledger on his desk, “the answer’s still no.”
Tamsyn cleared her throat, and the moment the butler glanced up, he shot to his feet.
“My lady,” he exclaimed. “Your presence here is an unexpected pleasure. I am Stockton, the butler.” He bowed.
Damn. He seemed terribly principled. That wouldn’t work in her favor.
“My apologies for disturbing you,” Tamsyn said with as much warmth as she could muster. “It’s not my habit to stalk my employees to their dens.”
“No need to apologize, my lady. I am at your disposal, as is the rest of the staff. Shall I fetch Mrs. Hoskins, the housekeeper? You will have much to discuss with her, I imagine.”
“Perhaps later,” Tamsyn said hastily. “I have a request of you.”
“Anything at all, my lady,” the butler answered.
“Could you tell me if there’s a storage room here in the house?”
If her request was an unusual one, Mr. Stockton was too well trained to show it. “We have a sizable space here belowstairs where we keep spare furniture and other items not in current use.”
“I would like to see it.”
“Please, follow me.” Mr. Stockton led Tamsyn and Nessa from his office and into the hallway. With a key, he unlocked a door, pushed it open, then stepped inside.
Tamsyn and Nessa followed. It was, as the butler stated, a goodly sized room that contained several tall-backed chairs, a demilune table, and a few pictures covered with protective fabric. Most of the low-ceilinged chamber stood empty.
