Page 23 of A Housekeeper for the Earl of Drinkwater
The butler smiled knowingly.
“Did you not say the same thing about getting an interview, Miss Serena?” he asked slyly.
Serena giggled.
Whitton shooed her off to her room to begin gathering her belongings, while he set off to make the travel arrangements to Bedfordshire. Once that was done, he returned and started on the difficult job of packing up all her father’s old records in the study.
Serena first put aside the papers from the solicitor that she’d left on the desk, however, which contained a letter from Mr. Tate saying that an inventory of the items in the house to be sold must be compiled before the public auction—the very thought of which left her wracked with humiliation and despair.
The solicitor had also written asking whether she had decided upon his proposal of marriage. She had immediately written back, making the excuse that she was not ready to make such a decision in her grief. Truthfully, she hated him because he was slowly destroying the memories of the happy life she had known. And she could not help wondering if she could really trust him.
As she began putting her things into her trunk, she realised that she was, indeed, penniless. Except, that was, for the money Evelyn had refused to take. She had more jewellery, though, which she planned to keep hidden from Mr. Tate, to sell if she ever needed to. Thinking of how her life had come to that point was enough to send her into tears once more.
Only her upcoming interview for the housekeeper’s position gave her any hope for the future. If she were successful, she also planned to compensate Evelyn and Whitton properly from her earnings. And employment would save her from marrying Mr. Tate. That returned the smile to her face as she continued her packing.
Chapter Ten
For the rest of the evening, Edward poured over documents in his father’s study. It was difficult to tell precisely when everything went to pot financially, as there were records going back as far as two years prior. Everything was in a mess because the papers and ledgers had been scattered all over the study floor, and some were ruined by having had paraffin poured all over them, making them largely illegible.
Still, Edward refused to lose hope. He could not wallow in his grief, and certainly not in self-pity. He felt under strain and afraid, and the hole left in his soul by the loss of almost all of his family was gut-wrenching. But there were people who still lived, though just barely, by the looks of it, and they needed his help. His sadness would have to keep.
The following day, Edward awoke thinking of his mother. As he dressed, he recalled a dream from his childhood, when she was tending to one of the many scrapes he’d sustained as a young boy. He shoved the thought aside; his mother needed him now, as he had needed her then, and he would do whatever was necessary to help her. If that was, she could be helped.
He bumped into Clarke as soon as he left his chambers. The butler bowed, giving him a warm smile.
“Good morning, my lord,” he said. “Would you like some breakfast?”
Edward thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“Perhaps I will take an early lunch a little later,” he said. “For now, I would like to see Mother.”
Clarke nodded, bowing again and silently taking his leave. Edward braced himself, then went down the hall and to his mother’s bedchambers.
Emily often left the door open so his mother was not disturbed by people entering the room while she was resting, which was every hour of every day and night.
However, much to Edward’s surprise, the countess’s eyes were open. And when he entered the room, she turned her head toward him. Then, she smiled.
“Mother,” Edward said, hurrying over to her. “There you are, Mother. Heavens, I was sure I had lost you forever. Tell me, how are you feeling?”
The countess lifted a hand weakly, as though in search of his. He grasped it, watching her expectantly, waiting to see what she would say. But she only shook her head faintly and looked up at him with loving but questioning eyes.She still won’t talk,he thought, swallowing a wave of emotion.
“I am here, Mother,” he said. “You needn’t worry about anything anymore. I am here, and I will take care of everything.”
The countess seemed to be listening to what he was saying, and, by the look in her eyes, he believed she could hear him. But still, she said nothing. She just looked up at him with love and adoration in her eyes.
“It is all right, Mother,” he said, giving her the most reassuring smile he could muster. “You do not have to speak if you do not want to. But will you try to eat something for me?”
The countess’s head twitched and, though she did not quite shake it, he took it to mean she wouldn’t eat, or could not. Then, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
Disheartened, Edward slipped out of the room and back down the stairs. He meant to seek out either Clarke or Emily to speak with them about his mother.
Fortunately, as he was on his way down the stairs, Emily was coming up, carrying a tray of food that they both knew the countess would not eat. He stopped her, giving her an apologetic smile.
“I would like you to send for the physician for Mother, once you have tried to get her to eat again,” he told her.
Emily looked relieved, and Edward admonished himself again for not having arranged it sooner.
“Yes, Lord Drinkwater,” she said.
