Chapter Two
Paul woke early to a chilly room and a warm cloak. It was barely light, but there were matters to attend to, including stoking up the fire. Which he did, under the scrutiny of the dark grey cat tucked into Harriet’s knees.
Apparently his actions met with approval, since their feline companion yawned, stretched, jumped down and rubbed itself around his ankles.
“My pleasure,” he grinned, daring a brief rub of his new friend’s ears.
Reassured that Harriet would be warm when she awoke, Paul left the room, wrapping his cloak securely around him. The rest of the rooms were icy, so he headed for the kitchen, knowing that was top priority. As was a trip to the outhouse…another exercise in withstanding cold temperatures.
However, the sun rose with a weak attempt at a shine through thin clouds, and the horses were munching on the hay in their stalls, as snug as possible, given the circumstances.
Having lived on his own for a surprisingly long period of time, when adding up all the years of travelling abroad by himself, he had no trouble getting the stove hot and a kettle on, before a delightfully rumpled Harriet peered around the door.
“Now I’m embarrassed.” She wrinkled her nose. “I should’ve done all this first.”
“Well, yes,” agreed Paul. “But I’m not in a position to fire you for dereliction of duty, so put out a couple of cups and we’ll have tea while we organize our day.” A strangled sort of exclamation greeted his statement, but when he looked up, she’d vanished back around the door. “Women,” he said to the cat. “They’ll confuse the hell out of you. Take my advice and stay away from ‘em.”
“She’s a girl.” Harriet was back, hair tidied and lace cap neatly on her head.
Paul regarded the smug-looking feline with a wry twist of his lips. “See what I mean?”
“I decided to call her Belle. She reminds me of a girl I knew when I was young. A bit on the snooty side but willing to be friends, as long as it was on her terms. And well-padded too. Belle must know where the choicest mice lurk.” She poured tea. “So whatisour plan for the day?”
Watching her, Paul realized that whatever plans he’d made had vanished from his brain. She appeared so relaxed and accepting of their admittedly bizarre situation, and had named a strange cat after a school friend.
He was heading for deep waters with this one, he knew. But instead of the usual frisson of hesitation that preceded his running in the opposite direction, he found himself adjusting his breeches and getting ready to dive in.
And wasn’tthatan unsettling notion?
“Well?” She glanced over her cup at him. “I think we should see to stocking the larder…”
Recalled to his duties, he nodded. “Yes. If you would be so kind as to make a preliminary list, I can see to that a bit later this morning.” He frowned. “I wish we knew how many guests to expect.”
Harriet took a breath. “We should be logical about this, I suppose.” She put down her tea and raised a hand, marking off her thoughts with each finger. “There have to be at least ten bedrooms upstairs, and probably half a dozen dressing rooms as well. So stocking for ten people would be a good idea. I can’t see a party of twenty arriving without a great deal more preparation than the two of us.”
“Good point. But as many as ten, d’you think?”
“Some guests might bring…er…companions?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Ah, yes.” He immediately grasped her implication.
“Then there’s the servants. We will have to provide for those as well.”
“Oh God.” He stared at her. “Can you cook?”
She rolled her eyes. “I can do the basics for the two of us, but we will have to hire a cook as soon as possible. I couldn’t begin to think of providing food for a large dinner party.”
Paul blinked. “Er…”
She shook her head. “I will take care of that. And I think it would be best if I were to present myself as the housekeeper, rather than a simple upstairs maid.” She glanced at him. “I’ve kept house on more than one occasion. I’m better equipped for that than for emptying chamber pots.”
Paul paled. “That would probably be better all around,” he agreed. “With that in mind, I’m going to be the butler. Which eliminates the entire chamber pot issue from my elevated perspective.” He shrugged. “I doubt there will be difficulties in awarding ourselves with promotions. It’s not as if we’re receiving wages, after all.”
Harriet let a tiny giggle escape. “If only these people knew how high class a butler they were obtaining.”
“I’m sure Mr. Inchworthy would be suitably impressed,” intoned Paul, giving her his best butler-impression.
She laughed and clapped her hands. “Perfect.”
