“Good.” He grinned back. “Now I suggest we do a quick look around, make sure that we do indeed have enough guest rooms and that there may actually be sufficient bedding for them. Things like that.”
“You have an excellently practical turn of mind, sir,” she agreed. “Oh.” She blinked as a thought evidently stopped her in her tracks. “What are we to call each other? I cannot call you Mr. DeVoreaux, and I refuse to be Mistress Selkirk. Both reveal a lot more than we wish.”
He thought about that as he rose and collected the tea cups. “Hmm. You have a valid point. Let me think.”
She crossed the room and absently pumped water into the sink, adding hot from the kettle and washing the china, passing it to him for drying. The natural moves entranced him once again and he fought to keep his thoughts where they needed to be, not on the soft ivory skin at the back of her neck.
“I think we should keep it as simple as we can. I shall be Mr. Paul, or Paul to whoever is senior amongst the guests. You shall be Mrs. Harry.”
“Mr. Paul and Mrs. Harry.” She rolled the names over her tongue. “You know, I like that.” She grinned. “Our own private jest.”
“Indeed,” he winked at her. “Just try not to snort every time someone says ‘ask the butler. They know everything.’”
“And they will, won’t they? I wish I had a guinea for every time someone has said that within my hearing,” she choked on a laugh. “It’s so terrible and such a burden to butlers everywhere.”
“And yet we soldier on.” He gave his best dramatic sigh as he hung up the dishcloth. “Right then, Mrs. Harry. Time to do our residential surveillance, and then see if there’s a wagon or something we can drive in to Pineneedle Drift.”
“We’d better make sure we canfindPineneedle Drift, Mr. Paul,” added Harriet.
“There is that.”
*~~*~~*
As the sun set, Harriet stood straight and groaned, her hand at the bottom of her spine, as she realized she’d put in a harder day physically than she had in quite some time.
However, the guest rooms were ready in that they were clean and the beds made with fresh linen. Apparently Bella earned her keep, since there were no signs of mouse depredation in the sheets—a blessing indeed. Four had adjoining rooms for a valet or a maid, which reduced the cleaning chores on the top floor where the servants slept. She’d made beds and dusted. That would have to do.
The servants’ quarters were also mostly prepared. There was one large one that she’d urged Paul to take, since had they been genuine servants, there would have been a definite pecking order to follow. And Paul, as butler, got first peck. She took the one next to him, slightly smaller, but ideal for her needs.
Since it was a hunting box not a permanent residence, she didn’t need a formal office, but could use any of the smaller rooms below stairs. They would ordinarily contain seamstresses, provide sitting rooms for maids to the most senior of guests and others who needed a modicum of privacy.
There was now food in the pantry; sufficient to last close to a week, depending upon the number and appetite of the guests, and on the morrow Mrs. Chester was arriving to take up the position of cook. She had two daughters who would be coming with her, and they all lived near enough that they could go home if they chose, or take a couple of the servants’ rooms.
Once Paul had mentioned the possibility of work at the Inchworthy hunting box, he’d had plenty of applicants to choose from. Paying jobs, it seemed, were as scarce in this area as they were everywhere else, so there would be footmen and a couple of maids filling out the complement of servants.
Harriet felt much more at ease as she finished her kitchen chores, and set out a little saucer of milk for Belle. “Here you go, sweet kitty.” Invisible only moments before, the cat appeared, sniffed the saucer with interest, and then settled down, front paws neatly together, and lapped happily on the treat.
“That’s for keeping this place free of rodents. Thank you.” Harriet watched the liquid disappear.
Bella’s whiskers twitched as she licked the plate clean, gave Harriet a glance, then yawned and took herself off.
“That’s gratitude for you,” said Paul from the door, making Harriet jump and gasp.
“I didn’t know you were there,” she exclaimed. “Please cough or something next time?”
“Sorry,” he said, looking anything but apologetic. “But it was a charming scene.A Lady and her Cat in the Kitchen. I can see the portrait now, over the fireplace. Gainsborough perhaps. Or Leighton…”
She snorted. “All nonsense and I shall hear no more of it. You may have tea, and perhaps even one of those scones you desired. Or you may take yourself off to bed.”
“Not without securing the house.” He neared her. “Have you forgotten I’m the butler here, Mrs. Harry? I must check all the doors and windows prior to retiring.”
“Must you?” She blinked up at him.
“Of course. It’s in the Butler’s Handbook.”
She let a little grin curve her lips. “First or second edition?”
His roar of laughter echoed through the quiet house. Then he walked to her, seized her by the waist and lifted her clean off her feet. “You, young lady, are a great deal too quick for your own good.”
