He couldn’t very well ask her to point him in the direction of Miss Birdwell. It would be indiscreet and possibly put her employment at risk.
So, he rummaged through his brain for a reason a reformed wastrel lord would intrude on the servants’ evening meal and seized upon a thought so outlandish it might just be taken for the truth. “As it happens,” he began, in very proper lord speak, “I’m in the process of establishing my own household. Upon my last visit, I was so impressed by the smooth running of Lord Percival’s household, I thought I’d see how it was accomplished below stairs.”
Life had taught him a little barefaced flattery never went amiss.
Except the incredulous lift of every brow in the room communicated he hadn’t quite hit the mark.
The housekeeper nodded as if she were taking his words seriously and not trying to find his angle. “The first thing you’ll do, Lord Rhys, is hire a well-disposed, trustworthy housekeeper, and she will fill out your household with well-disposed, trustworthy servants.”
A smile stretched across his mouth, and he nodded, neither action deeply felt, but both expected in this extraordinary situation he’d put them all in. “Ah, yes, of course.” Dimples flashing, he added a hasty, “Thank you.”
His appreciation was met with a regal nod of the housekeeper’s head. “My pleasure, Lord Rhys.” She half turned and said over her shoulder, “Irwin?”
A tall lad of no more than seventeen years shuffled to his feet, his mouth still working on a bite of mutton.
“Please escort Lord Rhys to the drawing room.” Where he belongs, she left unspoken. To Rhys, she continued, “You will find the family there, as they have finished taking their evening meal.”
Rhys was left with no choice but to be escorted through the east wing of the Duke of Arundel’s manse by the disgruntled Irwin, who couldn’t hide his sulk at having been pulled away from his meal.
It felt like the longest walk in the history of walks. Like, when he arrived at his destination, he would be escorted to the naughty corner to have a long think about what had led him to this outcome.
What had he been thinking?
Being here…in Lord Percival’s residence…uninvited.
He’d lost his bleeding mind.
That was what.
And here he’d thought his plan to grab a word with Miss Birdwell in the kitchen peerless.
He should have sent a note.
But now, intriguingly, he’d stumbled into a mystery—why wasn’t Miss Birdwell taking her evening meal with the other servants, anyway?
Irwin entered the wide doorway of the drawing room and stood aside for Rhys to follow, whereupon the enormity of his mistake collapsed down on him. This wasn’t the drawing room one invited acquaintances into. With its cozy, lived-in feel, this drawing room was for family and close friends. In other words, this drawing room wasn’t for the likes of Lord Rhys Osborne.
“Lord Rhys Osborne,” pronounced Irwin to the room at large, then the servant spun on his heel and exited, presumably to return to the kitchen where he would promptly wolf down the remainder of his evening meal.
Though the room’s occupants were scattered throughout—Bretagne seated in a worn leather wingback reading a newspaper…Lady Percival bent over an embroidery hoop…Miss Bretagne lounging on a sofa, flipping through the stack of correspondence on her lap…Tilly, who was seated at the back of the room behind a large table with several books spread open before her—the surprised lift of their four sets of eyebrows at his uninvited presence were identical.
As Lady Percival’s mouth curved into a smile that would smooth over this no small bit of social awkwardness, Rhys noticed something else about this family drawing room.
Though Christmas Day was yet a fortnight away, some decorating had already begun on the mantle with a profusion of greenery—holly, ivy, and hawthorn—adorned with delicate gold bows and flanked by two large Christmas candles.
Unusual to decorate before Christmas Eve, but Rhys knew down to his bones it would’ve been all Miss Birdwell’s doing.
The woman loved Christmas.
Until a few weeks ago, Rhys had never given a single thought to Christmas beyond the obligatory holiday meal with family, then the Boxing Day rounds to servants and tenants the following day. In truth, he’d always found the latter a chore. Well, wastrel rakes weren’t known for putting others before themselves, were they?
His visit to Hope House had helped alter that view. The joy he’d brought the children with the toys and decorations. The joy he’d brought the women by being at their beck and call.
Tilly had been right to giggle.
It had been funny.
But it had been something else, too—fun.
