“I was fortunate to be given a copy ofSense and Sensibility. It’s by an unknown author. I should like to read more of theirs.”
“I’ve read it and another novel by that author. A splendid writer,” Olivia said, “I shall bring the other one with me next time.”
“You will?” Mary enveloped her in a warm, lavender-scented hug. “It is something to look forward to. The books certainly but your company, especially.”
Olivia smiled, pleased to have a friend when she’d lost so many after her father died. “I’m looking forward to our discussions.” Someone to share books with was a delight. Most of the staff could do little more than sign their names, and few others had time to enjoy the pastime.
Olivia left, feeling sympathetic toward Mary. One of Lady Lowry’s housemaids had hidden her pregnancy as long as she could but was quite ill before they found out and sent her home. The girl had said she would be unwelcome at home, and Olivia had worried about what might have happened to her.
Redcliffe had left Graves’s field when Olivia drove along the lane. She arrived back at the house, determined to begin as the earl requested and prepare the rooms for his guests. She was never one to put off what she could do today and felt sure if she left all the six bedchambers for tomorrow, it would prey on her mind.
Olivia took Polly with her to the guest wing. She stopped on the first-floor landing. Here were the earl’s and countess’s suites. She had been in Redcliffe’s, having supervised the cleaning and daily stripping of the sheets and towels, but never the countess’s.
Halfway down the hall, Olivia opened a door and stepped inside.
Polly gasped in awe at the dainty, gilt-legged French chairs, the ornate fireplace, and the massive oil paintings. She tiptoed across the dense carpet to gaze up at the sky-blue velvet bed curtains spilling from a golden coronet just below the ceiling.
Olivia waited at the door. “Come, Polly. We have work awaiting us.”
“Can we just have a peep into the dressing room, Miss Jenner?”
Olivia smiled. “It should be empty.”
In the countess’s boudoir, a full-length, gilt-edged mirror stood beside a pair of wardrobes. Olivia opened the doors. Expensive perfume wafted out from the countess’s fine clothing. Breathtaking silks, damasks, velvets, and furs folded or on hooks, some in cloth bags. Arranged on shelves was a vast array of dainty footwear: shoes, slippers, half-boots, and riding boots. All exquisitely made. Dozens of hatboxes occupied the shelves above. Polly opened a large hatbox with French writing on it. She removed a wide-brimmed hat of the finest straw decorated with curling ostrich feathers.
“This is so beautiful.” Polly put it on her head and pulled the sheer veil over her face. She sneezed.
“Do put it back, Polly,” Olivia scolded, tempted to try the hat on herself. Wondering if some of these materials might go toward making cushions and seat covers, she sorted through the gowns, examining a wide-skirted, gold silk damask gown in the style of the last century, which had yards of material, and another—a turquoise velvet evening gown, also voluminous and quite breathtaking. Corsets, silk stockings, and negligees still filled the drawers, and nightwear she could see her hand through, folded among lavender sachets.
How stylish Countess Redcliffe must have been. Olivia found it difficult to imagine her here with the old earl. She must have been far too elegant for the country. As she died many years before the earl, Olivia knew little about her, but she wanted to find her portrait in the long gallery, sure that she was beautiful.
“We might make these into something useful,” she said to Polly. But she would need to discuss it first with Redcliffe. It was not a priority, for none of his guests would occupy this suite. At least, not until he married.
A door on the far wall opened onto a charmingly furnished sitting room, with another door that must lead to the earl’s bedchamber.
They moved on to the guest chambers, Polly carrying her box of furniture polish and brushes. As they tackled the rooms, airing mattresses and rolling up rugs, Olivia wondered if the future Lady Redcliffe could be among the guests the earl planned to invite.
At the end of the long day, she sank onto her bed, long-unused muscles aching. She’d never had to perform a housemaid’s tasks while at Lady Lowry’s. How taxing the work was. But she and Polly had achieved a good deal today, which pleased her. She was confident she could fulfill Redcliffe’s orders in time. Four of the guest bedchambers were ready, which only required fresh linens, towels, and the special touches of fresh flowers, biscuits, and perfumed soaps. Tomorrow, they would prepare two more.
She yawned and turned over on the narrow bed. Redcliffe, stripped to the waist, his smooth skin gleaming with sweat, entered her mind. Warmth spread through her. His future countess would be lucky indeed to welcome him into that sumptuous bedchamber.
Olivia rolled over again. She intended to leave Redcliffe’s employ before he married, and so set some time aside in her busy day to continue her search through the steward’s records. But the urgency which had driven her for so long seemed to have lessened.
Olivia groaned. Was it this old house, or the master, which fascinated her?
Of course, she knew the answer, and while it sent a thrill rushing through her, it gave her little pleasure to admit it. With a huff of exasperation at her folly, she closed her eyes and willed sleep.
Something woke her. A door or a window opening or closing, she wasn’t sure. Now wide awake, Olivia sat up in bed. She lit her candle and glanced at her watch. It was past two. Slipping from the bed, she pulled aside the curtains. A sliver of moon sent a silvery glow over the roof. Movement on the second floor of the guest wing caught her eye. Candlelight flashed in a window. As she watched, the glow vanished from sight. Who would be in the guest bedchambers in the middle of the night?
Whoever it was appeared to have gone.
She was about to return to bed when the light appeared again in another window.
Ignoring the urgings of her common sense to go back into bed, she shrugged on her dressing gown and donned her slippers. With her candle held high, she left the room. The corridor was black as pitch beyond the arc of candlelight. She made her cautious way toward the stairs, careful not to disturb the maids as she passed their rooms. Her first inclination was to wake Sam, but the men’s sleeping quarters were at the far end of the corridor behind a locked door. While she possessed the keys to all the rooms, she could hardly venture into the area in her night attire. She would wake half the staff, and they might misconstrue her reasons for being there.
Olivia made her way to the main staircase and began down. A faint light shone below. She grasped the banister and peered into the dark. A man emerged, half in shadow. He crossed the floor below her, lighting his way with a candle. Might the restless soul be the earl? Whoever it was must have come from Redcliffe’s suite, for only the earl’s and the countess’s were there.
He would have seen her candlelight. It must be Redcliffe. He might think she was up to no good. She shouldn’t be wandering about in this part of the house, and certainly not in the middle of the night. Olivia preferred he didn’t see her and moved away, intending to hurry back to her room.
