Page 23 of The Lyon Whisperer
The servants gatheredin the front hall for their arrival. They numbered ten at a glance, not exactly sufficient for the size of the manse and surrounding acreage.
But perhaps she overestimated the needs of the estate.
Her father had always said it was the wife’s purview to manage the household, which included the staff. As he had never remarried, the duty should have fallen to Amelia as his only daughter, but her father had never encouraged her to take on the role.
She had not broached the matter, having concluded he did not trust her with the responsibility.
Now, one by one, the butler, Mr. Oliver, introduced the staff she was to oversee, and Amelia did her best to commit their names to memory, sparing a moment to converse with each in turn.
Chase either already knew their names, or felt Amelia, as his wife, spoke for both of them.
With the introductions made, Mr. Oliver dismissed the staff to return to their duties, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Whitley, stepped forward with an offer to show Amelia to her bedchamber. She assumed her husband would disappear now, into his den, or wherever men went to do their mannish things. Instead, a glance over her shoulder as she and Mrs. Whitley climbed the staircase told her he followed, albeit at a more sedate pace.
That silly butterfly she’d ingested earlier began flapping its wings with abandon.
“Here we are, then, milady,” Mrs. Whitley said, opening Amelia’s antechamber door with a flourish.
The chamber was fresh and bright, with peach-colored velvet covering the armchairs positioned near the grate, ivory-papered walls, and an escritoire painted in pastel scenes. A soft spring breeze fluttered the drapes and carried on it the heady scent of flowers, leading Amelia to suspect her rooms overlooked a flower garden.
“Everything looks quite lovely, Mrs. Whitley. Thank you.”
The housekeeper preened and marched to the connecting door. “Your bedchamber is through here.”
Amelia followed, glancing over her shoulder, expecting Chase to enter any moment. Surely he had made it up the stairs by now.
Then it struck her. He had come upstairs for another purpose and had never intended to join her.
Rather than the relief she ought to have felt, disappointment swamped her. She had rather warmed to the notion he wanted to welcome her into their home, personally.
The bedchamber was nicely appointed in similar colors to the sitting room, and was larger than her chamber in her father’s mansion on Marlborough Street. No surprise there. Her father had several country estates and the chambers in those homes tended toward the expansive, like this one. Sprawling country homes could afford to be generous with the space.
“Your luggage has been seen to, milady. Hopefully you will find everything put away to your liking.”
Amelia assured the woman she would.
She had arrived with one large case. As she’d told Chase earlier, the rest of her clothing andother effectswould arrive soon, care of Alfred and her lady’s maid, Sally.
Mrs. Whitley bustled about the room pointing out what Amelia could clearly see for herself. “Your bed, sitting area, wardrobe…”
She smiled, appreciating the warm gesture of welcome.
“…dressing room, vanity, and, of course, adjoining door.”
Amelia gave her a questioning look at the last. The adjoining door was already opened, and both of them had passed through.
Mrs. Whitley coughed into her hand, pointed out the bell pull should Amelia need anything, and excused herself.
Amelia glanced around at her surroundings. Everything was neat as a pin, but no Sally, no soft wet snouts to nuzzle her, all was new and nothing familiar except the feeling of being alone.
A soft knock sounded. She glanced around in search of the source. It didn’t seem to have emanated from the corridor, but rather…the paneled wall in her bedchamber?
“Hello? Is someone there?”
One of the panels swung inward.
“I trust everything is to your liking?” Chase stood in the opening, hand loosely gripping a door lever, which was attached to the previously hidden door adjoining her bedchamber with…She peeked past his broad shoulders into, she assumed, his bedchamber.
The dark, masculine colors on the walls gave credence to her assumption, as did the presence of only one door lever.
