Page 16 of Felicity Cabot Sells Her Soul
“Not to worry. Annabel is practicing the pianoforte in the music room, and Dorothea is reading in the library. It’s some dreadful Gothic novel, but at least the girl is reading.”
Felicity blew out an aggrieved breath. She could not like Ian’s heavy hand in this, but even she had to admit that they needed more staff than they had. Once classes were back in session after the Christmas holiday had concluded, they would otherwise be so shorthanded that probably she would have found herself preparing meals in addition to all of her other duties. They did rather desperately require the extra staff.
“When you spoke with Mr. Carlisle’s solicitor,” she said, “did he tell you exactly how much money had been set aside for wages?”
“Well,” Nellie said, her brow furrowing as she cast her memory back. “No. I don’t believe he did. Except to specify that I would find it generous indeed. And that we should fill whichever positions have gone vacant just lately. Do you know,” she added reflectively, “he didn’t seem much bothered over the cost of it.”
If he hadn’t been then, he soon would be. Since he had thrust this new role upon her, she would do it to the best of her abilities, and in as much service to the school as she could. Even if—no,especiallyif—she were to drain every last farthing from Ian’s bank account to do so.
∞∞∞
Seven o’clock this evening, and Felicity had arrived looking somewhat less harried and exhausted. Even if she was garbed in another of those wretched black dresses and that same ratty old grey coat, at least she wasn’t drenched to the skin or furiously angry.
But shedidlook alarmingly smug, practically preening with gratification from the moment Butler had shown her into the dining room. She had a story there, tucked into the hints of a smirk that threatened to sneak across her face, full of whichever bits of revenge she’d grasped for today. And she was plainly eager to regale him with it.
At least she would be talking this evening. Ian slipped his watch from his pocket and placed it on the table before him. “Seven on the dot,” he said. “Sit. Dinner is about to be served.”
Felicity selected the chair farthest from him precisely as he had expected she would and dropped into it. A frown briefly creased her brow as she glanced down at the place setting before her, and her gaze slid over the length of the table as she realized it was the only other one upon it apart from his own. Realizing, too, he supposed, that she had once again behaved entirely as he had predicted. The smirk fled in favor of a scowl.
“Wine?” he asked.
“No.” She nudged the empty glass that had been set before her away, and picked up her soup spoon as a footman set a bowl of white soup before her. She frowned again as she tasted it,muttering something beneath her breath.
If she had found fault with it, Ian knew she certainly would have made it plain. But he enjoyed the little pleat of vexation that notched itself between her brows—annoyance, he thought, that she could make no particular complaint as to the quality.
“I was inundated today with prospective employees,” Felicity said as she sipped. “Nellie tells me I have you to thank for that.”
A figure of speech, he assumed, for the snide tone of her voice suggested she had no intention of thanking him whatsoever. “I was under the impression the school was in need of a few more hands.” An understatement to be sure. “How many did you hire?”
“All of them.” And there it was, that smirk unleashed at last. Had they not been in the company of a handful of servants, Ian suspected she might well have kicked her feet in glee and wiggled in her seat like an overexcited puppy.
“All of them,” he said. “Hmm.” The soup was good this evening. In truth it was always good, but there was something to be said for the extra flair that was Felicity’s company for it, even if she was less pleased to be present than she was for the opportunity to needle him.
He was pleased, regardless.
“Allof them,” she reiterated, as if he might have somehow misunderstood. “And I daresay we’ll have the best paid staff in the county. Perhaps even the country.”
Ian swiped his napkin over his mouth until he had managed to quell the half-smile that wanted to linger at the corner of his lips and waved the last of his soup away. “Probably wise,” he said. “A household can find itself in a precarious position if its staff are not well-treated and well-paid, for they will certainly seek better.”
That smirk faded just a shade, just for a moment. But she girded herself once more as a footman set down a salad of leafy greens with a tart dressing. “Of course, your solicitor did tell Nellie that you would be paying for it—and all other expenses the school incurs. I believe she has got it in writing.”
“She has,” he said lightly, and her smirk faded further, edging toward a pout as she stabbed the tines of her fork down upon a sprig of watercress.
“The cost will be…exorbitant,” she said as she chewed. “The school will have the finest of everything. I’ll insist upon it.”
“My solicitor has got a list of merchants,” he said. “Ones which ought to meet with your approval.” And whom he knew already to be honest in theirdealings, providing quality wares and services.
Her smirk faltered in full, her shoulders slumping. “You’re not angry?”
“Do you want me to be angry?”
And there; a flush of heat into her cheeks, her grand plan foiled even before she had conceived of it. “I swear I will spend you into the poorhouse,” she said sourly, and the tines of her fork scraped the plate in her efforts to spear another bite.
“You’re welcome to try.” Ian suppressed a wince at the next scrape of her fork. “Buy yourself a new wardrobe while you’re about it. Yours is woefully out of date.”
“I don’t want your damned money for myself,” she gritted out between the clench of her teeth. “I won’t be grateful for your largesse, or beholden to you, or—or—”
“Have I asked you to be?”
