“Lord Devereaux!” the housekeeper exclaimed as she swam into view before him. He blinked and her features came into focus, concern in her soft blue eyes.
Concern and pity. The last thing he wanted was pity, especially from awoman.
She reached for his arm, and he snatched it free. Her eyes narrowed, but the compassion in their expression did not waver. If anything, it deepened.
“How about that tea?” she said brightly. “Then you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to since I saw you last.”
Charles nodded.
“I’ve always wanted to visit Italy. I hear Rome is particularly beautiful. But, as they say, there’s nowhere on God’s earth like home, is there? And it gladdens my heart to see you finally come home.”
What foolish nonsense was she speaking?
“Are you well, sir?” John asked.
Charles gestured.I will be once I’m spared the girlish nonsense that women always feel the need to speak when a man returns to his childhood home.
Mrs. Brougham raised her eyebrows, then nodded. “I’ll see to that tea,” she said. “Then perhaps we ought to discuss hiring staff, if you intend to stay.”
A flicker of hope shone in her eyes.
“Have you a wife? A family?”
Charles shook his head.
“A pity,” she said. “You ought to take a wife. You don’t want Jacob inheriting, seeing as he cares not one jot about the place. No sense of duty. But then, that’s to be expected, seeing as—” She broke off, and her smile returned. “Never mind. Now you’ve returned you can find yourself a good English girl. There’s plenty to be found who’d be delighted to be mistress of this place.”
Charles glanced about the hall, taking in the stench of neglect. No girl in possession of her wits would want to be mistress of such a place.
“It would be good to have the house filled with children,” the housekeeper continued. “It’s high time love and laughter returned to the place.”
Since when had love or laughter ever taken residencehere?
Charles signed to John.Now she’s talking rot. Dim-witted, like all women.
John’s cheeks colored. “My master agrees with you, Mrs. Brougham.”
She tilted her head and eyed Charles through her lashes. “Oh, hedoes, does he? Even though he thinks me dim-witted for consideringthat light and laughter could return to this house?”
Devil’s breeches!Surely she didn’t…
“Did you think I’d forget?” the housekeeper said, moving her hands to convey the exact same phrase. “I should be flattered that you consider my nonsense to be girlish, given my advanced years. As to my lack of wits, well—the purpose of my sex, at least among my class, is not to shine a light on our own wits, but to convinced members of your class and sex of your superiority. Of course,myrole is to ensure that you have a comfortable and well-functioning home. To this end, I trust you’ll grant me enough of your time to listen to my recommendations for hiring a full complement of staff.”
She smiled then curtseyed to convey her subservience, but why did Charles feel as if he were an errant boy being chastised by his nursemaid?
Forgive me,he signed to the housekeeper, and she patted his arm.
“When you were a boy, I forgave you anything, including when you stole a basket of eggs from the kitchen and threw them out of the upper-floor window to see if they’d bounce. Mr. Phelps wanted to thrash you, if you recall, but I convinced him that an inquiring mind was to be nurtured rather than beaten into submission.”
She lifted her hand as if to caress his cheek, then withdrew.
“You always were a good-hearted boy, Master Charles,” she said. “Do you recall, afterward, how you stole a dozen roses from the garden and presented them to me to say thank you?”
Charles frowned, and she let out a soft laugh.
“Perhaps you don’t care to recall an act of kindness that, while praised in a boy, is thought to be a weakness in a man. But I’ve never forgotten how sweet-tempered a lad you were, until—”
She broke off, her color deepening, and glanced toward the foot of the stairs. Charles pushed her away and motioned with his hands.
