“You need not fear for your position on my account,” she reassured the housekeeper weakly, wondering if the other woman was younger than she was.
And wondering just how she had managed to find herself in her current situation. It was most unusual for a housekeeper to be more youthful than the maids over which she presided.
More pieces of Anglesey’s conversation floated to Izzy, offering further distraction.
No more interference, damn you.
I have only wanted the best for you, my lord.
You have only wanted what is best for you…
Dear heavens.The dialogue was certainly growing more heated by the moment. Izzy was reasonably certain Anglesey suspected the widowed countess of somehow attempting to sabotage their wedding. But that begged the twin questions of why and how. Did she view Izzy as a rival for the earl’s affections and attention?
“Or will that be all, my lady?” the housekeeper asked, jolting Izzy from her musings.
It was apparent she had missed a portion of what Mrs. Measly/Beasley had said. But she had no wish to remain here in the great hall with the anxious housekeeper while her future husband had a row with his brother’s widow.
“That will be all,” she said. “Thank you, missus… Thank you.”
“It is Mrs. Beasley, madam,” the housekeeper informed her gently, before offering a curtsy and swiftly disappearing into a nearby corridor.
Her departure left Izzy standing alone while Anglesey continued his verbal stalemate with the widow. She cleared her throat, disliking the awkward nature of this tableau mightily. She had stepped into mayhem, not yet the mistress of Barlowe Park but nonetheless tasked with seeing to its domestics. Ordinarily, such tasks would have been overseen by a dowager, or lacking that, by the widowed countess herself.
Uncertain, she was in the process of fleeing the great hall herself when Anglesey stopped her.
“Lady Isolde, wait, if you please.”
She stopped. “Of course. I was merely thinking to…”
Grant the two of you some privacy, she had been about to say, but halted herself mid-sentence. They implied an intimacy between Anglesey and the widowed countess she had no wish to acknowledge.
“Nonsense.” Anglesey strode to Izzy’s side, his jaw clenched, expression pained. “Forgive me, my lady. This is not the welcome to Barlowe Park I had envisioned for you.”
Remaining where she had been standing near the intricately carved hearth, the widowed countess watched Izzy with a malevolent glare, her fury nearly palpable. Izzy had never felt more adrift. Where did she belong in this tangle? Should she try to find her place?
Fortunately, her more-than-capable family had dispersed to all ends of the park, trying to do whatever they could to assist in the looming problem of how they were going to achieve suitable sustenance and lodging with such a sparse number of servants to aid them. Mama had gone to the kitchens with Corliss and Criseyde, Ellie and Wycombe were overseeing the opening of guest chambers, Papa was likely somewhere inventing an instrument to aid the butler’s hearing, and her brother Royston had gone to the stables to see what might need to be done there.
No one was about to witness this uncomfortable scene.
“We shall make the best of the situation,” she said with a brightness she did not feel. “I have no wish to intrude upon your conversation. I was just going to join my sister and determine what must be done with the guest quarters.”
“Of course you were not intruding,” Anglesey said easily, his charm returning as some of the lines of anger fled his handsome countenance. “You cannot intrude, my dear. This is to be your home now.”
Izzy did not miss the stiffening of the widowed countess’s shoulders at Anglesey’s words. She could not help but to wonder which of their benefits the words had been spoken for more.
“Thank you,” she said. “I do believe that between us all, and with the aid of Mrs. Beasley, we will be able to restore the household into a semblance of order.”
Anglesey frowned. “You are certain?”
“If you will excuse me, my lord,” the widowed countess interrupted, her voice frigid. “I will retire to my chamber. The journey here has left me tired, and I wish to rest.”
“You will not be staying,” Anglesey told her curtly, scarcely bothering to spare the other woman a glance.
The countess paled. “You cannot truly mean to turn me away with no means of returning to London.”
Anglesey shrugged. “You will find your way, I am sure. You always have, have you not?”
There was an implication in his voice, one Izzy did not understand. She looked from the earl to the widowed countess, wondering just what their shared past held. Wondering if she truly wanted to know.
