“As am I,” Bethany murmured. “Perhaps more than is natural, according to my sister.” Bethany met the housekeeper’s stare and knew in an instant that they were going to get along.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, My Lady, there’s no such thing as too much organization.”
When the housekeeper had acquainted Bethany with the belowstairs procedures, she then graciously extended an offer of a tour of the upstairs chambers, regalingHer Ladyshipwith the history of design and past notable guests who’d stayed in various rooms.
The majority of bedchambers featured normal doors and elegant, yet understated décor.
“Most of the manor’s interior was implemented by his lordship’s grandmother.” Bethany had wondered about this. “His Lordship’s mother’s taste tends to be considerably more… flamboyant.”
Bethany nodded. “It’s important that the lady of the house make it her own, even in small ways.”
“Indeed, it is, My Lady,” Mrs. Maples agreed.
The sound of a door slamming at the opposite end of the corridor cut into the affinity building between mistress and employee, and Mrs. Maples sent Bethany an apologetic glance. Doris, one of the younger housemaids whose name Bethany had been reminded of earlier that afternoon, half-ran, half-walked toward them wearing a concerned frown.
She dropped into a hasty curtsey and then turned to the housekeeper. “She’s done it again. But this time she’s locked the doors.”
Doris had approached them from Bethany’s chamber—fromthe baroness’s chamber.
“Lady Chaswick?” Bethany nodded toward the jib door where thumping sounds echoed from within.
Mrs. Finch stepped out, closed the door behind her, and sighed. “I’m so sorry, My Lady. I’m afraid that His Lordship’s mother hasn’t exactly… taken to her new quarters.”
This didn’t really come as a surprise to Bethany.
More rumbling vibrated from inside, almost as though the occupant was moving a large piece of furniture.
Mrs. Maples grimaced. “She’s extraordinarily strong when she wishes to be.”
“You said ‘this time?’ Was she distraught over the move before?” Poor Christine!
The two servants caught one another’s eyes, and then Doris answered, wincing. “She was, My Lady. While you were visiting your sister. But we managed to, er, convince her to vacate before you returned. I’m so very sorry we haven’t been able to convince her...”
“But you’ve done nothing wrong.” Bethany certainly wasn’t angry. If anything, guilt pricked at her. She ought to have realized Christine might not take well to abandoning a chamber she’d occupied for decades. It had been the woman’s sanctuary, a place for a safe retreat. “This is easily remedied.” She held up one finger. “Allow me a few minutes with Her Ladyship and then, if all goes according to my plan, we’ll have some work to do.”
Rather than bother trying to enter through the locked door, which Bethany suspected might have a small wardrobe or a chair blocking it from opening, she located the entrance to the master suite and entered through there.
Chase’s suite.
Of course, it was empty. She’d heard nothing of his return but that didn’t soften her pang of disappointment.
Ignoring the massive bed, as well as the memories spent with him in it, Bethany passed into the anteroom and opened the door to her chamber with no difficulties whatsoever.
Christine sat huddled on the large upholstered chair wearing a Georgian-style gown and a petulant expression.
Upon seeing Bethany, her mother-in-law pursed her lips and sat up straight.
“Hello, dear. Isn’t that a pretty gown?” She tilted her head with a smile. “You’re welcome to send your maid to retrieve your other belongings. I don’t mean to be unyielding, but the Gold Room isn’t going to work for me. I’m confident my son will understand. He’s rather tolerant that way.”
“So…” Bethany began tentatively. “You wish to move back into these chambers?”
“Yes, dear. I made a valiant attempt at settling elsewhere but nothing works there. The windows are in the wrong place. The carpeting is the wrong thickness, and the colors are far too subdued. I’m afraid that I won’t be giving up this chamber after all.”
Chase steppedinto the foyer of Byrde House and immediately experienced the familiar awareness that his household had fallen into an uproar. Normally he’d assume it had to do with his mother. But when he’d left earlier, he’d not been on good terms with his wife.
A banging overhead,where the baroness’s suite was located, had him shooting a questioning glance toward Mr. Ingles, who was rushing down the stairs to man his station.
“You’ve no hat or gloves, My Lord?”
