He was about to argue the point when one of his footmen approached to advise they had finished their assigned cleaning.
Max reached for Harriet’s hand to assist her off the rock. “Our turn. Ready?”
“Looking forward to it,” she said with a lilt of laughter.
He caught the footman’s grin and knew his entire staff was looking forward to the spectacle of him on his knees with scrub brush in hand.
And then he was on his knees, his staff cheering and clapping as he raced Harriet from the altar to the doorway, each taking a side of the chapel while scrubbing their way toward the door.
Harriet handily won because she had done household labor before, no doubt in the convent school.
Max knew how these religious orders kept strict discipline and everyone had to chip in with chores.
He watched her as she set a rhythm to her brush strokes that were as smooth as a swimmer’s strokes. She also knew precisely how much water to spill onto the floor as she scrubbed her way down.
He was making a mess of it, not only finishing last but his trousers were soaked and he’d scraped his knees because he was too impatient to properly set out the mat that was meant to soften the impact of the hard stone floor.
It was worth all his discomfort to see the glow in Harriet’s eyes as she inspected the miraculous end result.
The chapel was spotlessly clean and gleaming as the sun shone through the stained glass windows.
It actually looked like a heavenly place of worship.
“Excellent job, Your Grace,” she said with a satisfied smile.
He never felt prouder.
Was this not ridiculous?
“I’ll join you here for prayers tomorrow morning,” he told Harriet.
Her eyes widened. “You will? Seriously?”
“Yes, why not?” Although…
Dear heaven.
Whatever possessed him to say such a thing? He was not a particularly pious man.
She shook her head and then shrugged her shoulders. “You surprise me, Your Grace.”
He surprised himself, too.
But there was something about being around Harriet that he found uplifting.
She must have sensed his thoughts, especially his reluctance to attend to his guests. As they walked back to the manor house with an entire troupe of household staff armed with buckets, mops, ladders, and cloths, Harriet drew up beside him. “Those young ladies ought to be awake by now. I think it is time you left us and attended to them.”
He nodded, albeit reluctantly.
He wanted to spend the day with Harriet.
“Right, but I had better wash up first. I must smell like a bucket of dirty water.”
Or maybe he would simply take a seat at the breakfast table and see how the ladies responded to his pungent scent.
Harriet eyed him warily. “Don’t you dare.”
He laughed. “What should I not dare?”
