Page 26 of A Housekeeper for the Earl of Drinkwater
She also wondered if the family could actually afford to pay her. Would she end up homeless and penniless anyway, after working for an earl who kept her on only for a few weeks unpaid?
As the driver of the dogcart pulled up, jumped down, and helped her alight, she prayed the condition of the estate reflected something other than poverty. Perhaps it was owned by an eccentric family who had neglected their home in favour of other property or pastimes.
Or maybe absence, illness, or death in the family had left the mansion in such a shambles. Whatever the explanation, the condition of the place gave her pause for thought.
The driver lifted down her trunk, and she gratefully tipped him a shilling for his trouble. He was driving off when Serena was startled by a sudden noise and whirled around to face the house once more.
“Good day, Miss,” said a masculine voice barely audible above the creaking of the front door as it opened. “You must be Miss Serena White.”
Serena could not help gasping at the sound; she looked at the man who had greeted her from the doorway. She presumed him to be the butler; he was tall, dressed in rusty black, and his eyes were kind, but his careworn face and posture of defeat seemed to reflect the condition of the ruined mansion. She curtseyed, struggling to keep her concern and fear from showing on her face.
“Yes, I am,” she said, trying her best to smile.
The man smiled kindly and bowed to her.
“I am Lord Drinkwater’s butler,” he said. “You may call me Mr. Clarke.”
Serena smiled more genuinely this time, as the warmth of the butler’s tone was quite reassuring. Still, she reminded herself to treat him with the utmost respect. After all, she was not the mistress of this home.
“I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Clarke,” she said.
He grinned at her, which lit up his somewhat weary face.
“Likewise, Miss White,” he said, gesturing for her to enter. “Please, do come in.”
Serena nodded, stepping carefully inside the mansion. Her heart sank when she saw that the inside appeared just as neglected as the outside. There seemed to be piles of broken furniture in the process of being cleared away in the hallway, and the walls were stained and grimy in places. Obviously, some sort of clear-up was going on. When Mr. Clarke saw her look of astonishment, he turned to her and grimaced sheepishly.
“Watch out for broken crystals,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him along the outer edge of the room. “The chandelier had quite a spill, and we are still trying to clean it up.”
Serena nodded uncomfortably, trying to be inconspicuous as she glanced upward. She’d hoped the butler had been exaggerating, but, indeed, she could see only a broken, rusty chain dangling from the ruined section of ceiling where the large fixture had clearly once hung.
She looked to him for an explanation, but he kept his gaze carefully forward. She had so many questions, but it did not take her long to realize that they likely would not be answered until she was hired. If she was hired, that was.
Rather, as they made their way through the manor, Serena opened her mind, as she had outside. Though the mansion was clearly in awful shape now, its buried and neglected beauty was still evident, if one looked hard enough.
The structural integrity of the place seemed undamaged, and the surviving furnishings she could see she thought could likely be revived with lots of scrubbing, polishing, and plenty of tender loving care. Serena knew she had more than enough ofthatto give to the ailing manor, which struck her as being rather like a noble old dowager gone to seed.
She suddenly decided she liked the house and warmed to the thought of bringing it back to life. Now all she needed was the chance to prove she was ready, able, and willing to undertake the task.
When Mr. Clarke stopped abruptly before an open door, Serena, who had been intent on taking in her surroundings, nearly bumped into him, blushing as she stepped back.
“Forgive me,” she said, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
“Not at all, Miss White,” he said, giving her another kind smile. Then, his voice dropped, and his eyes grew sad. “I understand this must be quite a shock for you. We only hope it will not frighten you away.”
Serena looked at him, wondering who he meant by “we.”But she realised Mr. Clarke was gesturing for her to enter the room with the open door, and she quickly obeyed. And when she laid eyes on the man whom, even before introductions, she knew was her would-be employer, her heart skipped a beat, and all her thoughts came to an abrupt stop.
He was tall and broad shouldered, with a strong build that implied he was used to intense manual work of some kind. His black hair was tied neatly back, but a rogue strand hung down into his tanned face.
“Miss White has arrived, Lord Drinkwater,” he said. “Miss White, this is Lord Edward Taylor, Earl of Drinkwater.”
Serena curtseyed, but she did so unthinkingly, without taking her eyes off the earl. She could not, even if she had wanted to; there was no desire within her to look away.
And that desire only intensified as he rose from his chair and gave her a broad smile, stepping around the time-worn desk to greet her. She could see then that his eyes were a deep green, and warmer and kinder than many she had seen. But there was great sadness in them, as well, and her heart squeezed.
“Miss White,” the earl said in a fine baritone, bowing to her formally. But instead of motioning for her to enter and returning to his seat, he came closer, putting a gentle hand on her arm. “Please, come in, and make yourself comfortable.”
She shivered at his touch, though it was fleeting, and she could not be sure it had been real. She complied, tiptoeing around the scattered debris on the floor, careful to not make the mess any worse.
