“In the stable. Useless old man. Don’t ken why Mr. Tidemark said not ta turn him out, too. Somethin’ about the marquess’s will.” She snorted. “And I’m expected ta feed him, too. I ain’t no cook, ya know. I cain’t be cookin’ fer ya. I’m the housekeeper. Cooking’s fer cooks.”
Cassie felt any confidence she’d gathered about her slipping away. All she had was bravado, and she’d never been good with that.
“I can cook,” said Gwinnie from beside her.
Mrs. Gallagher sneered as she looked up at Gwinnie. “And who might yous be?” she snarled. “Sum farmer’s chit dressed all fancy like ya be, I’m judgin’.”
Cassie gasped at the insult.
“Milly!” protested Mr. Gallagher.
Gwinnie howled with laughter, nearly doubling over. Cassie looked at her in surprise but felt some of the helpless tension forming in her slip away. Her laughter brought Viscount Lakehurst from the other side of the carriage where he’d been conferring with their coachman, John Norton.
Mr. Gallagher’s jaw dropped, and he instinctively stepped backward at seeing Viscount Lakehurst, and dragged his wife with him.
“What’s going on? What’s the joke?” Lakehurst demanded. “And why are you still standing out here in the cold wind?”
“She called me a fancy dressed farmer’s daughter,” Gwinnie said between laughs, gasping for air to get the words out.
Cassie found herself fighting against a laugh, too. Behind her, she heard the maids giggling.
Lakehurst shrugged out a short, acknowledging laugh. “I’ve been called a farmer a time or two,” he said. He looked at Mr. Gallagher, his eyes narrowing. “You,” he said, his voice dropping into displeasure. “You will escort Lady Darkford and my sister,LadyGuinevere Nowlton, into the castle immediately and see to their every comfort. I am going to the stable to check on the accommodations for the horses. When I return, I expect to see the ladies—and their maids—well attended to.”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Gallagher said, bowing.
“My lord,” corrected Cassie.
She saw Lakehurst turn to her and wink. She smiled back at him.
“My lord,” ground out Mr. Gallagher, bowing again and pulling at his wife’s arm to curtsy. The woman curtsied with ill grace.
“This way, my ladies,” Mr. Gallagher said to Cassie and Gwinnie, gesturing to the door. He hurried to open it before them. “If you will hand me your wraps, there is a fire in the parlor where you may rest. Milly will bring you tea, then we’ll see to your bed chambers,” he said, bowing again.
“And bring brandy, as well,” Cassie instructed. “We could all use the restorative.”
She saw the Gallaghers exchange glances and wondered if the wine cellar had experienced decimation in the last eighteen months. A question for another day.
“Yes, my lady, we will,” assured Mr. Gallagher.
She nodded and led Gwinnie, Rose, and Agnes to the parlor.
“If we might know where the linens are kept, Agnes and I can see to your bed chambers,” Rose said.
“Thank you for the offer, Rose. But you and Agnes need to have a few moments of rest—and a sip of brandy—as well as Lady Guinevere and I.—Plus, I want the Gallaghers to scurry a bit.”
Devoid of holland covers that would typically be placed on furniture in unused rooms, most of the comfortable pieces of furniture were drawn up near the fireplace where a nice fire did blaze.
“I guess we can see where your caretakers spend most of their time,” Gwinnie drily observed.
“Acting as lord and lady of the castle,” Rose sniffed disapprovingly.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Cassie. She sat down at one end of the long sofa. Gwinnie sat on the other end.
Agnes found a tinderbox on the fireplace mantle and lit candles for more light.
“Thank you, Agnes. Now you rest, too.”
“Oh, miss, if ya don’t mind, I should like to stand and walk a bit. Been sittin’ too long.”
