“My lady.” His voice sounded rusty and harsh to his ears.
She whirled around to face him, a slight flush creeping up to stain her cheeks. He cleared his throat, but the tightening in his chest seemed to have affected his voice as well.
“St. Ryne?” she queried, a watchful wariness in her voice.
“It appears all the dirt of Larchside has been transferred upon your person.” He managed a slight smirk to cover his confusion.
Elizabeth stepped toward him, a self-mocking smile upon her lips. “It is not to be surprised.”
“How so? Are there not servants to attend to the manor?”
Her smile vanished. “Nay, sir, there are not! These are good village folk, come to help clean this wretched sty, and come more out of curiosity than for coin.”
St. Ryne’s eyes flew to Thomas, poised on the ladder, listening intently to their conversation.
Elizabeth caught his glance and flushed anew.
“Thomas,” she said carefully, drawing herself to her fullest height, her hands placed primly before her. “I fear it is too dark to do more today. We may cause the chandelier to fall if we work in such indifferent light. Will you come tomorrow?”
“Certainly, my lady.” Thomas scampered down the ladder, his inquisitive eyes capering between the Viscountess and Viscount.
“Thank you. Please convey my thanks to the others and ask that they return tomorrow as well, if they please.”
“Yes, my lady.”
St. Ryne and Elizabeth silently watched as he hurried out of the room and painstakingly closed the door softly behind him.
After Thomas left, Elizabeth smiled, recalling her day’s labors. St. Ryne, seeing her secret smile, wished he knew her thoughts and fleetingly regretted she did not smile so for him.
“They worked hard today,” she said softly. She glanced ruefully down at the soiled apron covering her dress. “I could not begin to direct their labors without knowing what must needs be done myself.”
St. Ryne raised an eyebrow. “To judge what must be done requires doing?”
“To judge what will stay and go, to examine long-closed rooms and shut-away items—in short answer, yes.” She rounded on him, tiring of the smirks and innuendos she perceived. He would not again get the best of her in a verbal duel. “Lest you would desire to live in a sty or stable. If that is the case, I can in good conscience recommend the stable. I haven’t sent anyone to clean there.”
“Pray, don’t.”
“Why ever not?”
“In truth, I am debating the merits of removing the structure entirely and building anew.”
“Ah, I comprehend the matter,” she said, nodding sagely. “The best for one’s horse, forsake the rest. Or am I to remove there when it is completed? No, forgive me, my tongue runs away with me. I am not a mount you choose to ride.”
Appalled at her words, Elizabeth turned hastily from St. Ryne, missing entirely that gentleman’s wide-eyed surprise and delight. His bride’s words bespoken an agitation of spirit and perhaps chagrin as well. He was not ill-pleased. It would appear Petruchio’s formula drew merit.
In a flurry of embarrassment, Elizabeth opened the dining room doors and hurried down the hall to the library where she had assigned Mrs. Atheridge to work. St. Ryne followed at her heels.
“Mrs. Atheridge!” she called out in a cracking, flustered voice. “Mrs. Atheridge, have the villagers all left?”
“Yes, my lady,” she grudgingly acknowledged.
“Will they return tomorrow?”
“Yes, though you should have relayed that request through me, not through that snip of a lad!”
“Mrs. Atheridge,” Elizabeth began quellingly.
St. Ryne laid a hand upon her arm. “She was in conference with me and it was expeditiously done. As we lack proper retainers, form, my dear Mrs. Atheridge, bears no form.”
