“If you don’t mind,” she said to Mrs. Williams now, “we’ll discuss the menus this afternoon, between two and three.”
Mrs. Williams nodded. She was a woman of few words but excessive energy, a point in her favor as far as Sarah was concerned.
“I am certain you know by now, Mrs. Williams, that I have wed.”
To her credit, the woman didn’t look the least discomfited by that news. She merely stopped what she was doing and turned to face Sarah.
Mrs. Williams always seemed to have the temperament of a well-contented cat, easily set to purring, and rarely annoyed. Her round face was dusted with a permanent rosy blush on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Divots framed her mouth as if directing a watcher’s attention to her pale blue eyes. Those eyes rarely seemed irritated, and for that reason she was looked upon with great fondness by the staff of Chavensworth.
“I had heard, Lady Sarah.”
All in all, there wasn’t much more to be said, was there? She had a husband. He was in residence. Beyond that, what could she possibly say?
“Congratulations, Lady Sarah, on the occasion of your nuptials. Will you be celebrating?”
She blinked at Mrs. Williams for a matter of seconds, long enough that the time seemed absurdly elongated.
“Will I be celebrating?” she repeated stupidly before latching onto an excuse. “No, Mrs. Williams, given my mother’s health, that won’t be appropriate.”
“Very well, Lady Sarah.”
And that, it seemed, was that.
A few minutes later, she left the housekeeper, walking through the kitchen, nodding to Cook and her helpers, past the scullery, and into the area where cleaning supplies were stored.
Every week, she took inventory of this area. Cloths, brushes, and knives for cleaning candlesticks and lamps were kept on the second wooden shelf. A bucket filled with tallow grease scraped from candlestick holders sat on the floor. A set of knives used strictly for lamp trimming rested on the bottom shelf. The tradesmanwho supplied the oil visited Chavensworth every week and aided in teaching the maids how to keep the lamps in perfect order.
On a second set of shelves were the hard whisk brushes made of coconut fiber and used to brush the carpets in the dining and sitting rooms.
He wanted to see her breasts.
Her fingers rested against the raw wood of the shelf as she stared, unseeing, at the stacks of brushes made from goose wings.
This morning he’d been caring and attentive of her mother, and all during that time, she’d thought of what he’d said. He’d imagined her breasts.
She looked down at herself.
Had she laced her corset as tightly as decorum dictated? Had she been as proper as she should? Or had she secretly allowed the lacing to slip between her fingers so that it wasn’t quite as tight as usual?
Nonsense.
The maids would be airing out the Duke’s Suite. The housemaids knew she liked her bed to slope from head to feet, but the cot on which she slept had no feathers. Would they inquire of Douglas? How did he like his mattress shaped? Swelling slightly, perfectly flat, or did he prefer his mattress with a discernible dip in the middle? The housemaids would beat, shake, and turn the mattress to his preference.
Another mystery about her husband.
The maids would dust the rooms, wipe the ledges, polish the mirrors, and sweep the floor. If it was time for it, they would polish the furniture, then dust the wall of gilt cupboards, before scrubbing the floor with a mixture of very little soap and soda so as not to discolor the floorboards.
Would they wonder why she’d not slept with her husband?
For that matter, would they wonder about her husband?
She couldn’t say anything to them at all. She would never divulge anything personal to the servants. Doing so was a breakdown in hierarchy, and Chavensworth ran so smoothly for reason alone. Everyone had his place. Everyone was expected to behave in a certain manner, in a certain way.
Without order, there was chaos, even at Chavensworth.
Thomas escorted him half the way and was dissuaded from accompanying him to the kitchens only after Douglas assured him he was capable of following directions. The underbutler laid out a series of turns that Douglas unerringly followed to the family dining room.
There was no need for defense at Chavensworth—the estate would simply absorb any intruder and cause him to become inexorably lost.
