There were touches of color—a cream and gold vase on a plinth and some paintings—but they served to emphasize the pallor of the rest. It was an elegant space—Kitty could see that—but oddly unwelcoming. In one corner a long-case clock, also white, ticked ponderous seconds.
She smelled... nothing. The parsonage held hints of polish and potpourri, and probably of dog, cat, and children, and whatever was cooking in the kitchen. She’d not noticed, because homes always harbored smells. Did marble absorb them?
A fire would definitely have warmed the space in all means of the word, but there wasn’t one. However, the air wasn’t cold because an extraordinary Dutch stove gave out heat. She’d seen such a thing only once before, and that had been smaller than this ornate tower of white ceramic. It must have been six feet high and nearly as wide. Kitty could feel the warmth from where she stood.
“What an excellent device,” she said, grasping something she could honestly praise.
“My predecessor made a number of improvements. Come and meet the Quillers.”
The gray-haired butler and housekeeper were both in black and, as she’d been warned, hostile. Both acted and spoke appropriately, but she had no doubt they saw an interloper. Kitty was surprised they were able to show their feelings to the new mistress of the house. Foolish of them—unless they thought she’d run off like the last one.
Mrs. Quiller introduced the senior servants, and then all were dismissed to their duties. There was no sign of the dowager or Isabella, and that was just as well. This hall had galleries on the right and left of the upper floor, which made the entrance hall like a theater stage; anything said here could be heard by many. If there were to be explosions, Kitty preferred they happen in private.
“Thank you, Mrs. Quiller,” Braydon said. “I’ll take my wife upstairs.”
Kitty shot him a look. Did that mean “to bed”? She’d assumed they’d wait until night, but what did she know ofsuch things? Her wedding day with Marcus had taken such a toll on him that it had been days before they’d been able to consummate their marriage. Then it had happened in the evening, with the sun still up and birdsong and conversation heard through an open window. Summer versus winter.
Not a good thought.
Chapter 14
Braydon led her toward the stairs. Kitty picked up Sillikin and began the climb, saying quietly, “So much marble.”
“Unwise in Britain, yes. The first viscount saw too much of Italy. Be thankful for the stove and that the upper floors are wood and sometimes carpeted.”
They turned right at the top of the stairs and right again along one gallery. Kitty glanced across the open space and thought she saw a flicker of dark movement on the other side of the house. When she looked more closely, no one was visible, but that had probably been Isabella.
Would the girl continue the claim of a betrothal? Perhaps even that she’d been jilted? It would come to nothing in the end, but could be unpleasant.
There were white-painted doors to her left. Braydon opened the first. “Your boudoir, Lady Dauntry.”
She entered, relieved to be offstage, but then shocked by a strident burst of color. The walls were papered in a pink flower print, and a green and brown carpet covered most of the floor. The curtains and hangings were an odd shade of green that didn’t go well with either, and the upholstered chairs and a chaise were yellow.
“No one’s used these rooms for some time,” Braydon said.
That didn’t explain the colors, unless some had changed over time. But she said, “It’s a pleasant size. Not too large to be cozy, especially with that fire.” She put down Sillikin, then discarded her muff and walked toward the hearth, even though she wasn’t cold. “After the snow palace, it’s a relief.”
“Snow that never thaws,” he said. “Your rooms have been cleaned but otherwise unchanged. You must alter or arrange them as you wish. The same applies to the whole house, of course.”
She wandered over to inspect a lovely table with a marquetry chessboard on the top. “Do you think the errant lady played?”
“I’ve no idea. I’ve hardly thought of her at all.” He came and opened a drawer. “Two packs of well-worn cards imply she enjoyed them, at least.” Another drawer contained fish-shaped counters, and a third, chess pieces.
“Surely they must have played games here in happier times,” Kitty said. “There must have been happy times.” But what if they’d married as strangers and never come to enjoy each other’s company? Was the unpleasant decor a violent protest against cruel fate? Would her fate be similar? “How would you feel if I had the walls in the hall painted a warmer color?”
“Relief,” he said, “but I advise you to pick your battles, especially on the first day.”
“He thinks I’m impetuous,” Kitty murmured to Sillikin, then winced. She must break herself of that habit.
He politely ignored her eccentricity. “Your dressing room is next door.”
Kitty went through the adjoining door into a smaller room, but that was by excellent design, as this was also a bathroom. The bath sat in the center, crowned with a rail from which hung curtains to keep off the draft. With a fireburning, as now, there’d be no shivering through a hasty bath.
“Delightful!” she said, and meant it.
“There’s a boiler in the basement, so hot water is always available. A stirrup pump brings water to my bath, but there was no Lady Dauntry when the system was installed, so buckets will be needed from there to here.”
“The dowager and Isabella have the piped water?”
