Olivia hesitated. How was she expected to respond? Should she greet each one individually?
Was there nobody to tell her what to do?
The gray-haired woman approached, warmth glowing in her eyes. She cast a frown at Lord Devereaux, then took Olivia’s hands.
“Welcome, my dear,” she said. “What a pretty little thing you are!We’ve all been looking forward to your arrival. It’s about time Master Charles brought a wife home.” She glanced at Olivia’s husband. “You’ve chosen well, sir. Hasn’t he, Jacob?”
The young man at the end of the line nodded, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll say so.”
He cast his gaze over Olivia’s form. The young woman standing beside him scowled and took his hand, but he withdrew it and approached Olivia.
“How did you manage to reel in such a fine catch, brother?”
Brother?
Olivia glanced at her husband. The young man let out a chuckle.
“I doubt he’d have told you about his reprobate of a brother. Ashamed of me, he is.”
“Jacob, that’s enough,” the housekeeper said. “Haven’t you got chores to be getting on with? Those logs won’t chop themselves.”
“He chopped them yesterday,” the young woman said, her gaze still fixed on Olivia, “and he’s every right to—”
“That’s enough of your lip, miss.” The housekeeper nudged the young man. “Well, Jacob, aren’t you going to say how-do-you-do to your brother?”
He let out a snort. “Half-brother,” he said, “as I’m sure Charles would say. That is, if he bothered to speak.”
Devereaux stepped forward, his lips curled into a snarl and his eyes darkened until they were almost black.
“Be off with you now, Jacob,” the housekeeper said. She gestured to the line of servants. “And the rest of you. The master and mistress will be wanting tea before their supper. See to it, will you, Susan?”
One of the maids bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, Mrs. Brougham.” Then the rest of the servants dispersed.
The young woman with Jacob tugged at his sleeve. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “Nicola, this is my brother and his new wife.”He winked at Olivia. “Lady Devereaux, this is Nicola, my…” He hesitated, and the young girl scowled.
“I’m his sweetheart,” she said.
“That’s enough of that, young miss,” the housekeeper said. “Don’t be getting ideas above your station.” She gestured to Olivia. “Come along, my dear, let’s get you inside. You’ll need some tea, and supper’s at eight—if that’s acceptable, Master Charles?”
Devereaux nodded.
“Have you brought your maid, Lady Devereaux?” the housekeeper asked.
“I have no maid, Mrs. Brougham,” Olivia said, her cheeks warming.
The older woman raised her eyebrows. “Oh… Well, I suppose some lady’s maids are unwilling to uproot their lives when their mistresses marry. I can make inquiries tomorrow if you like, and Ethel can see to you in the meantime. I suspect you’ll be wanting to retire straight after supper.”
“Please, don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Brougham. I—”
“It’s no trouble, dear. We can’t have the lady of Penham Park with no maid, can we? I can’t think what Master Charles is about, letting you come here without one!”
Olivia glanced at her husband, whose scowl had deepened. The housekeeper shook her head, then, with a huff, took Olivia’s arm and ushered her inside.
The hallway, though smaller than at Montague’s estate, seemed more cavernous, perhaps because it was devoid of any of the features that turned a mere building into a home. The floor was covered in polished marble stones, which seemed out of place in a room that was otherwise fashioned almost entirely of wood.
Dominating the hallway was a wide staircase, flanked by thick wooden banisters that swept up to form a gallery. Olivia glanced upward to where a chandelier hung from the ceiling. A black ovalstudded with thick candles, suspended by a thick chain, it looked more like an instrument of torture than one of light.
