Page 13 of An Amiable Foe
“I am afraid that is out of the question, Miss Edgewood. I will not be able to spare a single servant. I do not have enough of them as it is.”
She stopped in her tracks behind him, and he heard her utter, “How very generous,” under her breath before she followed him over the threshold.
He suffered a blow to his conscience, but really, he could not go back on his decision. She must know how to hire servants more easily than he. And he simply could not do without the help of each one the castle currently had on hand.
CHAPTERSEVEN
At the end of a long day spent moving, Marianne settled by the fire next to Miss Fife in the sitting room of Brindale’s cottage with a teapot and two cups of tea. The holland covers had been removed from the chairs in the room, and some bread and other goods Mrs. Malford had thought to pack for her were spread before them on the low table. She was more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life.
Mr. Osborne had not backtracked on his selfish and astonishing refusal to send Marianne her most valuable asset—a maid—and Sarah left her with regret. However, he did spare Charlie, plus Marcus and Neville to bring the rest of the furniture in cart loads. In what revealed her extreme naïveté about how easy it would be to set up house for herself, she had not even given any thought to the sleeping arrangements. The beds and furniture were in place, but the existing tick mattresses were not designed for comfort.
After his earlier miserly display, Mr. Osborne had surprised her by sending Miss Fife’s and her own mattresses, and a variety of other useful things such as candles and tablecloths that could be spared. Marianne had thought only of the items which reminded her of her parents, and which she held dear.
“I don’t see how we shall get along with no maid,” Miss Fife grumbled again for the fourth time. “Never in my life did I think to be brought to such low circumstances.”
Marianne sipped her tea and offered no response. From the little she had been able to understand from her uncle’s brief mentions of her companion’s background and the few words she could get from the woman herself, Miss Fife was a distant and impoverished member of the family. She had never displayed any gratitude at being given a situation, and such an undemanding one at that.
How easily Miss Fife might have won Marianne’s affection at that tender age when she had lost everyone she held dear. Instead, she focused on correction and what she termed her “duty,” of which she neglected the most important part, which was to train Marianne in how to go on in society. But Miss Fife insisted only that she show no unwomanly display of temper—or even personality. If it had not been for Marianne’s memory of her gentle mother and playful father, Miss Fife might have succeeded in crushing her completely.
Hiding her personal anxiety about how well they would do without Sarah, Marianne replied, “Nonsense. Have I not been running the castle single-handedly? I have assisted Mrs. Malford plenty of times in the kitchen and will have no problem reproducing those efforts here. I dress myself with regularity, as do you. I’m sure I shall learn how to wash our clothes just as easily as I have learned these other things until I can hire someone reliable.”
Marianne bit into her buttered bread and ignored the fluttering in her breast that reminded her she had not overly paid attention when Mrs. Malford was preparing sweets. She had mainly been occupied with eating them. And she had never assisted her in preparing a more substantial dish. She had gone for the cook’s company.
“It has been a long day, and I’m going to bed. I am sure everything will look more promising tomorrow.”
Marianne stood and went over to the tall windows, unfolding the wooden shutters and clasping them shut. The noise resounded through the nearly empty room. She would learn to love this place. At the very least, it was hers.
She could only suppose her uncle’s illness had been too quick for him to be able to send her any explanation of why he chose this path for her. Why he hadn’t given her the castle itself, when he knew how much it mattered to her—why he’d given it to a stranger instead. She would never have those answers, but she was young and could manage what life had handed her.
With the possible exception of much more time spent in Miss Fife’s company.
Her companion stood as well and took one of the candles, leaving Marianne to finish the task of closing up. It seemed she would have absolutely no assistance from Miss Fife, despite there being an absence of hired help. It was a daunting task to envision the next couple of days doing everything alone, but she would hire a maid as soon as she could. She would also, upon reaching her twenty-first birthday and gaining her independence, seek out a new companion who would be more agreeable than the one whose presence she had endured for the last ten years.
The next morning, Marianne woke up aching in places she had not even been aware of, but the sun streaming into the room did make her feel more cheerful. It would be impossible to hang her parents’ portraits without help, but she set about making the cottage comfortable and trying her hand in the kitchen before the day was well underway.
She had just finished pulling her burned first attempt at almond cakes out of the brick oven tucked on one side of the kitchen fireplace when there was a knock on the door. The blackened lumps on the pan were puffy on one side and flat on the other, and she stared at them in dismay, wondering how the addition of five minutes could have wreaked such havoc on her culinary efforts.
The knock came again, but she didn’t bother to move. Either Miss Fife would answer the door, or the person would go away. In any event, it was most likely Mr. Osborne, and she had no desire to see him. She began spooning dough for a second batch of cakes, and as soon as the pan was full, placed those in the enclosed brick oven. This time she would watch the pan carefully and would not allow them to burn.
A knock at the window of the kitchen brought her attention from her discouraging first attempt at baking. “Marianne. It’s me. Open up.” She could see the top of Robert’s head from where he stood, and she opened the window.
“Go around to the front door, and I will let you in.”
Cheered at the thought of seeing a familiar face, she hurried over to the front door, crossing the drawing room where Miss Fife slept. She had woken up with the complaint that the bed was not what she was used to, despite the fact that it was her same mattress. Marianne opened the door, and Robert grinned at her, stepping inside.
“So you have your own place now. Thought I’d come and take a look. I had thought to come yesterday, but I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Far from being in the way, your presence yesterday would have helped,” she said frankly. “I only had the servants’ help for the move, and not even all of them. Mr. Osborne has refused to let me keep Sarah.”
She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. She did not like to spread bad reports of somebody behind his back. It was not good practice, and it was notherpractice.
Robert reacted much as she could have expected. “Refused! I shall have a word with him. You must have a maid, at the very least.”
Marianne was shaking her head. “I beg you to leave it be. I may not agree with Mr. Osborne, who was only thinking of his own needs, but Brindale must have servants, too. If you really want to be of use, find me another maid who might serve the purpose.”
“What is that awful smell?” Robert pointed at the evidence of her poor attempt at baking and laughed. “Oh, my word, Mary. Is this how you plan to feed yourself? It looks like nothing short of a disaster.”
Marianne pulled herself upright and lifted her chin. Besides his insult, he knew she didn’t like that nickname. “I may not have a great deal of knowledge of baking or cooking—or anything domestic for that matter—but I will learn. Now, what about finding me a maid?”
