Page 20 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
“My lady.”
The voice came from behind her, and she turned at once, causing the candle in her hand to shake. She winced as she felt wax slide toward her knuckles.
A woman stood a few paces back, wearing a dark dress with a plain collar. Her hair was gray and neat, and her hands were tucked tight behind her. Eliza narrowed her eyes and studied the woman even more. She looked to be in her late fifties, and her stance was quiet and firm.
“I knew I heard someone upstairs,” the woman said.
Eliza steadied the candle and found her voice. “Forgive me. I could not sleep. I thought a walk would calm me.”
“The first night can be a trial. Thoughts crowd where rest should be,” the woman said.
Eliza lowered her gaze and nodded. “That is true. I feel I must look and learn. I want to prepare for what this house will ask of me.”
“There is much to learn, my lady. But not in one night,” the woman said, then she looked at Eliza for a moment. “Will you follow me?” she said.
Eliza adjusted her shawl and lifted the candle a little. “Yes.”
They walked together, their steps soft on the rugs. The hallway opened to a landing, and a clock ticked somewhere below. The woman turned into another hallway and pushed open a door.
It was a drawing room, perhaps larger than the ones Eliza was used to. The air still held a trace of smoke even though the fire had sunk low. The chairs along the walls stood in neat groups, and the curtains looked heavy and pale.
“Sit here,” the woman said, drawing one of the chairs near the dim fireplace. “Wait a short while, and I will make you some tea.”
Eliza set her candle on a small table and sat with her shawl pulled close. Her eyes went to the walls at once. Again, the architecture in this part of the room was greatly mesmerizing.
Landscapes in gold frames lined the room, and her eyes steadied on the designs. There was one showing a storm over hills. Another reflected a river with a stone bridge.
She took her eyes off the walls and looked up at the mantel. A stag’s head hung above it, its antlers rising and spreading like bare winter branches. The glass eyes seemed to catch the dim light.
“You are a proud one, are you not?” she whispered. “I bet he caught you, too.”
The door opened again at that moment, and the woman came back with a small tray. A pot and a single cup sat upon it, and Eliza watched the steam rise.
“Here,” the woman said. She set the tray down and poured. “It will help you sleep.”
Eliza took the cup in both hands. The heat soaked into her skin, and the scent was gentle and clean. She sipped and felt warmth move through her.
“Thank you. You are very kind,” she said.
“It is no trouble. It is my place,” the woman said.
Eliza took another sip and let out a breath she had been holding. She looked up and felt color rise to her cheeks. “I never even asked your name.”
The woman’s mouth softened at the corners. “Mrs. Yarrow. I am the housekeeper.”
Eliza straightened a little. “Oh,” she said. “Then we were to meet in the morning.”
“That was the plan,” Mrs. Yarrow said, folding her hands again with quiet care. “We were officially supposed to meet properly tomorrow, but I might as well welcome you to Evermere now.”
Eliza nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Yarrow.”
A brief moment of silence descended until the housekeeper decided to break it, much to Eliza’s relief.
“Pardon me, my lady,” Mrs. Yarrow said, her voice low and even. “But in my experience, there are quite a few reasons why new brides do not get their rest on their wedding night. The biggest reason is often restlessness.”
Eliza’s hands circled her teacup as she sat in the chair and let out a breath. “That is true. I feel restless. I am aware that I should beglad. It is just …” Her voice trailed off, and her words drifted into the darkness.
Mrs. Yarrow folded her hands in front of her. “Let us start from the very beginning, shall we? What troubles you the most?”
