His eyes sparkled. “You hope to be rid of me?”
Margaret felt her cheeks heat. “Not at all.”
He shrugged easily. “Mr. Lewis did offer me a post in London. He entertains a great deal, I understand. Many distinguished guests.”
“Why did you not accept?”
Monsieur Fournier did not answer for several moments, and she feared she had offended him by prying.
Finally he said, “You know the housekeeper remains at one house—she does not travel for the season. She stays with her maids to keep all ready for the family’s return.”
It was an odd answer. Or was it? “I see...” Margaret murmured. She did see, she thought. Or was beginning to.
He cocked his head, listening almost dreamily as another melody melted through the kitchen door. “That is a Jadin sonata. She plays it well, does she not?”
Nathaniel had remained busier than usual during the last week. He had been obliged to attend a series of commissioners’ meetings about local road repairs and to meet with the vicar to devise plans for relief of the parish poor. Because of his responsibilities at home, he’d sent Hudson to London in his stead to meet with a shipwright to discuss repair estimates. During Hudson’s absence, Nathaniel was busier yet, taking on his steward’s duties as well as his own—overseeing the carpenter and slater repairing the roof and the workmen erecting a new fence.
He had greeted Hudson’s return three days later with relief. Hudson reported that theEcclesiahad suffered no further vandalism, and that he had published the reward Nathaniel offered for the capture of Abel Preston, the so-called Poet Pirate. Finally, Hudson handed him the repair estimates from the shipwright. The figures stole Nathaniel’s breath. So high. Too high. They would have to seek another bid.
Now that Hudson had resumed his normal duties, Nathaniel spent the morning catching up on his own correspondence. In the afternoon, he went upstairs to relax with Helen in the family sitting room over a game of draughts. Helen beat him handily. As usual.
Hudson knocked and entered. Helen, Nathaniel noticed, straightened her already impressive posture. His sister always seemed to stiffen in the new steward’s presence.
“Miss Upchurch. Mr. Upchurch.”
“Hello, Hudson,” Nathaniel said. “Did you need something?”
He hesitated. “Actually, I hoped to have a word withMissUpchurch.”
Helen folded her hands primly in her lap. “Of course, Mr. Hudson. What is it?”
“It is your Miss Nash. Your former lady’s maid, I understand.”
“I know who she is.”
“Of course. I wonder...”
Helen’s expression tightened. “Has something happened to her?” she asked quickly. “Has she taken ill?”
“No, miss, it isn’t that. She seems in good health, relatively speaking. But her cottage, on the other hand, is not.”
“Well, fix it. Is that not part of your responsibility as steward, Mr. Hudson?”
Nathaniel was surprised at his sister’s almost snappish tone.
“That’s just it, miss,” Hudson said. “She refuses to allow me or the estate carpenter inside to make repairs. I only learned about the leaking roof and moldering floors when Mrs. Sackett—”
Helen’s brows furrowed. “Mrs. Sackett?”
“The gardener’s wife. She visited the old woman and was appalled at the condition of the place. She convinced her husband to report it to me.”
“I see.” She pulled a face. “No, I don’t see, actually. What has this to do with me?”
Hudson patiently explained, “When I spoke to Miss Nash, at her door, she said she was never allowed men in her rooms at Fairbourne Hall and doesn’t mean to begin now. She said you would understand and support her decision.”
“Oh dear.”
Hudson fidgeted with the coins in his coat pocket. “You see my predicament.”
