On the first floor, she stopped to greet the maids who were dusting and polishing the vases and tables in the hallway.
The maids chimed “Good mornin’, Your Grace,” in unison and bobbed curtsies.
Molly opened a door and ushered her into a parlor, modestly furnished and paneled in dark wood. On one side was a rosewood escritoire and empty shelves. Mullioned windows filled the room with golden light.
“The room on this wing receives the most agreeable light, my lady, and I thought perhaps you might find it suitable for any meeting you might have,” Molly said. “Perhaps you may ask His Grace to make it your personal room?”
“It’s perfect,” she said.
Brightening, Molly said. “I am glad. What would you like for breakfast, please?”
“Something light,” she said. “Tea, toast, preserves, and some fruit. Thank you.”
“I will have it for you soon, Your Grace. Please excuse me,” Molly replied.
Instead of taking a seat, she looked around the room, picturing the shelves filled with books; some educational, some not, herdesk covered with invitations for various balls and soirées, and a cozy blanket thrown over the couch over there.
“Maybe some lighter curtains,” she murmured to herself. “Velvet is too heavy for days.”
She swiped a finger over the shelves and found that they were swept clean. “He makes sure to take care of his house. I love this.”
“Why, thank you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully said from behind her, almost causing Ariadne to jump in fright.
Stifling the reaction, she turned and plastered a smile on her face, “Good morning.” Eyeing the maid—her lady maid now— who held a tray, she nodded to the table, “You may set it down here, thank you.”
Feeling very self-conscious about eating in front of them, she only made her tea. “Can you tell me how the schedule in this house runs? My new husband seems to like a set routine.”
“His Grace does,” Mrs. Tully nodded, then proceeded to tell her the various schedules of Cedric, of his daughter, how the maids cleaned the house, and the set time Cedric went off to the House of Lords.
“His Grace does not attend balls,” the housekeeper said, “And in the ten years I have been here, we have not hosted either, whichwas why it was a surprise when he allowed Lord Moreland to have his ball here.”
Leander is Lord Moreland.
“How far do these schedules go?” Ariadne asked.
“To the meals, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied. “It is the same menu every week for every season. He takes his breakfast precisely at six am: black coffee, two slices of buttered toast, a small bowl of oats porridge, and fruit.”
“Every day?”
“Every day, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied.
Ariadne shook her head slowly. She did not want to believe it, but the few but profound interactions she had with Cedric told her that, in fact, this was true for him.
She asked. “Would you be able to write these schedules for me?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied with a nod.
“And may we start the tour of the house today?” she asked.
“It will be my pleasure, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied. “Would you prefer to have your breakfast first?”
Looking down at the tray, she nodded. “And if you have today’s newspaper, I would like that as well.”
“Already done, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied, nodding to the young maid who scurried out of the room.
Her eyes flittered from the door to the older woman, and she hesitated with her next question. “Were… were you here when His Grace had his first wife?”
“I was, ma’am,” Mrs. Tully nodded.
