Chapter Sixteen
The carriage pulledinto the driveway at Owltree Cottage where Sally waited on the porch. Montsimon assisted Althea down while Ben brought in the luggage.
“This is Lord Montsimon, Sally.”
The maid curtseyed. “How do you do, my lord.”
Montsimon smiled. “Good afternoon, Sally.”
“Please tell Mrs. Peebles we’ve arrived,” Althea said.
“She is shopping in the village, my lady.”
“Mrs. Peebles is my housekeeper,” Althea explained to Montsimon while Sally assisted her out of her redingote and hat, and Montsimon divested himself of his greatcoat.
Althea led the way into the salon. “Sally, please tell Cook to prepare tea, sandwiches, and cake, if there’s any.”
“Yes, my lady. She’s been at the oven since your message arrived. There’s gingerbread and seed cake, and for dinner, pease-soup, fricasseed pigeon, with chocolate pudding for dessert.”
“Sounds very tasty,” Montsimon said with an appreciative smile.
Althea was suddenly aware of the how big he was wandering about her small salon. “I trust she’s made enough for a gentleman’s appetite. I shall go and speak to her shortly.”
“The roof is leaking again, my lady.”
“Where is the leak this time, Sally?
“The smaller bedchamber, right over the bed. I had it moved, and I’m airing the mattress.
Unfortunately, it looks like it will rain again tonight.”
“The thatch will need to be repaired.”
“Yes, my lady. I sent the stable boy to fetch Tom to fix it, but he’s hurt his leg, so it will have to wait awhile.”
“Poor Tom. I trust it isn’t serious.” Althea narrowed her eyes at Montsimon who nodded sympathetically.
“And we found Jet wandering the gardens again this morning.” The maid shrugged. “I checked the windows before I retired. The one overlooking the rose garden was open again. I don’t know how that cat manages it.”
“Nor do I.” Althea drew in an uneasy breath.
“Was anything disturbed or damaged, Sally?” Montsimon asked.
The maid’s eyes widened. “No, my lord.”
The culprit under discussion stalked into the room. With a loud purr, he rubbed against Althea’s legs. “Naughty puss.” She swept him up, his fur soft against her cheek as her eyes scanned the room. All seemed in perfect order.
“So this is Jet.” The cat’s purr deepened as Montsimon stroked him. “He’s quite a size.”
“He’s too fat,” Althea said. “I fear he dines on all manner of wildlife.”
“He prefers mice,” Sally said. “Brings them into the house and places them at my feet.”
“Sally, you are the first here to learn of my marriage to Lord Montsimon.” As her body tensed at the lie, Jet leapt from her arms.
“Oh, my felicitations, my lady!” Sally cried. “And to you, my lord. That’s just grand, that is.”
“Thank you, Sally,” Montsimon said. He sat in a wing chair, spreading out his long legs.
