Yours,
Charles.
Not the most effusive of notes. Gallant suitors were supposed to shower the objects of their affection with professions of love and clever rhyming couplets.
But Olivia’s husband was not a man to make gushing speeches—or any speech at all. A lengthy note filled with superlatives, a sonnet, oreven a lavish gift of jewelry would have lacked sincerity. A husband who thought little of his wife would placate her with fine words and expensive gifts. Instead, Charles had written a short note, sincere in its brevity, and sent a gift that recalled the day he tended to her ankle with such gentleness that belied his brutish appearance and large, powerful hands.
After Olivia finished her breakfast, she rang the bell. The young footman appeared.
“Oh, Colin, I hope I didn’t interrupt your breakfast.”
“No, ma’am. I’m a fast eater. My ma always said that my brothers would starve if they didn’t beat me to the table of a morning, and I’m partial to a bit of bacon. Mrs. Groves let me have five rashers! I’d have taken six, except Mr. Reynolds…”
“Except Mr. Reynolds what?” a stern voice said.
“Oh, lawks!” The footman winced, his face going as red as fire.
“What did I tell you about gossip, young man?” The butler stood in the doorway. “Lady Devereaux is not to be disrespected.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Reynolds,” Olivia said. “I was just asking Colin whether he’d enjoyed his breakfast.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The young footman bowed, then began clearing the table, stacking plates onto a tray.
“Which reminds me,” the butler said, “I must ask Mrs. Groves to order another side of bacon from the village as I suspect our supply will diminish somewhat rapidly from today.” His mouth curled into a smile, and he winked at Olivia. “No doubt Lady Devereaux summoned you to discuss the matter.”
“Oh, beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Reynolds, I didn’t mean—”
“I believe Mr. Reynolds is teasing you, Colin,” Olivia said. “But I was wondering if you could send for Mr. Carlton if he’s free this morning. I’d like him to join me for tea.”
The butler arched a dark brow. “It’s not the done thing to take tea with the steward.”
“But it is the done thing to discuss a matter concerning the estate expenditure with him, is it not?”
The butler’s smile disappeared. “Very well, I shall send for him. I believe he’s in the estate office and can attend to you directly. Do you wish him to bring the ledgers?”
“Would you recommend that he does?”
“Without knowing the purpose of your demands, I’m not in a position to say.”
“Then he may bring them,” Olivia said, rising.
What had caused the disapproval in his eyes? He’d almost acted as if he liked her earlier. When they’d taken tea yesterday, Nicola described the butler as “a pompous cockroach who thinks himself better than most,” but until today, he’d given Olivia no reason to believe he looked down on her.
Perhaps the estate finances were not a woman’s province—at least, not for a woman of questionable birth.
Would she ever be able to fit in here—prove herself worthy to be Countess Devereaux?
*
Though still asthreadbare and shabby as the day she’d first entered it, at least the morning room had lost the stench of damp. A fire burned brightly, casting a soft orange glow about the room, giving it a warm, welcoming appearance—in contrast to the dull gray of the landscape outside that was overshadowed by a thick black cloud.
Olivia sighed, her breath misting on the windowpane. Then she traced the outline of a flower on the glass, peering through the marks toward the gardens, where a solitary man poked at the weeds. He was but a lone soldier attempting to hold back the tide. With each weed he pulled from the ground, doubtless another ten sprouted elsewhere.
There was a knock and she startled, then wiped the window withher sleeve and turned to see the butler enter with a smartly dressed man carrying a large leather-bound book, jet-black hair graying at the temples.
“Lady Devereaux, we have yet to be introduced. I am…”
“Mr. Carlton, the steward, yes,” she said. “I appreciate your attending me at such short notice.” She motioned to the butler. “Thank you, Mr. Reynolds, you may leave us.”
