Page 55 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
When they headed down the hall with Oliver following behind, Lord Gabriel flashed her a conspiratorial glance. She wasn’t sure what the conspiracy was, but since it seemed to irritate Oliver, she went along.
The incident was only the first in a series that continued throughout the week. Whenever she and Oliver found themselves alone, even for a moment, one of his siblings popped up to offer some entertainment—a stroll in the gardens, a ride into Ealing, a game of loo. With each instance, Oliver grew more annoyed, for no reason that she could see.
Unless . . .
No, that was crazy. If his family’s blatant attempts to separate them irritated him, it was only because he hatedlosing the chance to seduce her. After all, he had offered to make her his mistress. It wasn’t as if he truly cared for her. There was no point in hoping for anything more from him.
Hoping? That was equally absurd. She wasn’t hoping for anything from him—she already had a fiancé.
The trouble was, it was hard to think of Nathan at Halstead Hall. The place’s otherworldly antiquity made every day in it seem like something out of a book. One day she would stumble across a Rembrandt hung carelessly in a boudoir, and another day a rat would scurry across her path. The house was rags and riches all in one.
And the servants! Mercy, they buzzed around her like bees serving the queen of the hive. She couldn’t understand it—there weren’t that many of them. So how was it she was always finding one or two underfoot whenever she carried something, or moved a chair into a patch of light so she could read better, or went to the kitchen for a snack? She didn’t know how the Sharpe family could stand it.
Meanwhile, Oliver’s siblings talked incessantly about the upcoming St. Valentine’s Day ball being held by the Duchess of Foxmoor. The closer it got, the more nervous she became, since Mrs. Plumtree kept speaking of it as the event where Oliver would announce their betrothal. Clearly, she was not backing down as quickly as Oliver had predicted.
So Maria was relieved when, on the day before the ball,a servant informed her that his lordship wished to speak to her in his study. This was her chance to talk to him alone. She hurried there, praying that for once none of his siblings would appear.
As soon as she entered, he closed the door and gestured for her to take a seat. Then he began to pace, clearly uncomfortable. Her heart began to pound. Had he heard from Mr. Pinter? Was there bad news about Nathan?
At last, he stopped behind his desk. “Have my servants displeased you?”
She blinked.Thatwas completely unexpected. “Certainly not.”
“They’re laboring under the impression that they have.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“They say you make up your own bed in the morning.”
“Well, yes, of course.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “And build your own fire in the grate, and fetch your own tea.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
His eyes narrowed. “Had you no servants at home?”
“Certainly.” She tipped up her chin. “We had a coachman and a groom, and two maids to help me and my aunt with the laundry and the cooking.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Ah, I begin to see the problem.”
“I certainly hope you’ll explain it to me, since I don’t see it at all.”
“Servants in England aren’t there to help. They’re there todo.”
“What do you mean?”
He propped one hip on his desk. “Whenever you make your own bed, they assume it’s because you disapprove of how they do it. The same is true for building the fire and fetching tea. They want to serve you, and when you don’t allow them to, they think they’ve failed you.”
“That’s absurd. I’m always telling them I don’t need any help.”
“Precisely. And with those words, you take away their purpose in life, which hurts their pride.”
She winced as she thought of the anxious look Betty always wore. “Surely no one’s ultimate purpose in life is to be a servant.”
“In England, it is.” His voice gentled. “I know it’s hard for you as an American to understand this, but English servants are very proud of what they do, of the family they serve, of how important their positions are within that family. When you deny them the chance to do their duty, you make them feel as if you don’t respect them.”
Heat spread over her cheeks. “Oh, dear. Is that why they’re always underfoot, trying to do things for me?”
