With a sigh, she ambled along the hallway, peering into room after room, each one decorated in dark, forbidding colors, the faded furnishings frayed at the edges and reeking of damp and dust.
Except, it seemed, the kitchen, which glowed with warmth. Its welcoming air beckoned to Olivia as she descended the stairs to the servants’ domain. Then she heard voices.
“Poor lamb—to eat alone her first night!” a roughened female voice said. “I can’t think what the master’s about. And the appetite of a bird. She hardly touched the pie.”
Olivia froze and caught the handrail, trembling with shame. Her husband’s indifference to her had not gone unnoticed.
“She’s pretty enough, though,” a male voice said. “I can see why he married her. There’ll be a tidy fortune if her brother’s a duke. Don’t look at me like that, Nicola. Can’t a man appreciate a pretty face?”
“Well,Ilike her,” a lighter feminine voice said. “She was ever so civil to me.”
“That doesn’t mean you should prattle away at her,” another voice said. “I hope you’re not going to plague her with your gossip.”
“No, Mrs. Brougham.”
“And as for the rest of you—you oughtn’t gossip about the lass. She’s your mistress, and—”
The voice stopped as Olivia entered the kitchen. Its occupants were gathered around a large wooden table, the housekeeper and butler at either end, eating the remains of the pie. Several pairs of eyes regarded Olivia in silence. Then, at a sharp word from the butler they stood, chairs scraping against the stone floor.
“Lady Devereaux, is there anything the matter?” the housekeeper asked.
“N-no, Mrs. Brougham, I was exploring the house and wanted to see the kitchen.”
“Whatever for, lass?” a plump woman sitting next to the housekeeper asked.
“I like to cook.”
The butler arched a dark brow.
“The cook at my brother’s house let me help her,” Olivia said, her frustration giving her voice a note of petulance. “My brother didn’t mind.”
“Well, I hardly think—” the housekeeper began, but the plumpwoman interrupted.
“Let the lass cook if she wants, Mrs. Brougham. I’ve no objection to having her in my kitchen. Is there anything you need tonight, your ladyship? Some warm milk for when you retire? We’ve no chocolate, but I can send for some from the village in the morning.”
“I’llbring some tomorrow,” the young woman sitting next to Jacob said, fixing her blue gaze on Olivia. The hostility Olivia had first spotted in her expression seemed to have gone. “Jacob and I can show you round the gardens tomorrow if you’d like that. Have you explored the house yet?”
“That’s enough, Nicola,” the housekeeper said. “You’re almost as forward as your sister.” She cast a stern glance toward the young maid who’d served tea.
“I’d like that,” Olivia said. “And I’d like to meet all the tenants.”
“Lord Devereaux should be the one to give you a tour of the estate,” Mrs. Brougham said.
“But my husband is not…” Olivia hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, but perhaps you could show me around the gardens, Miss…?”
“Call me Nicola, Lady Devereaux,” the young woman said with a smile. “Jacob can accompany us, won’t you, Jake?”
A bell tinkled on the wall.
“That’ll be his lordship wanting his brandy,” the butler said. “See to it, Albert, would you?”
The cook let out a snort. “Not hungry enough to eat my pie, yet he’s time for a brandy.”
The butler cast a glance at Olivia, and her heart withered at the sympathy in his eyes. Mumbling, she excused herself and returned to the gloom of the main house. The servants resumed their chatter—doubtless gossiping about their mistress’s lack of propriety.
What might they say if they knew she ranked below them on account of her birth? That would give them plenty to gossip about—the bastard Lady Devereaux.
She flinched as she voiced the words in her mind, then surveyed her surroundings. Now that night had fallen, the whole place was filled with shadows that flickered as she passed each candle on her way to the main staircase. The stairs were fashioned from the same color wood that lined the floors and the walls in every room. Why, then, was the floor of the hallway fashioned from marble—so out of keeping with the rest of the house?
