“Such as?” Worth arched a brow.
“Such as how to put rugs around a lady’s legs,” the housekeeper replied with nary a pause, “which you may be called upon to do if our guests partake of a ride in a coach.”
Worth frowned. “It’s August.”
Mrs. Cotswold nodded. “Some ladies are quite cold even in August.”
“Very well.” Worth sighed. “Anything else?”
“Yes. A great many things. Such as…how not to appear as if you’re listening to your master’s conversations.” She gave them all a tight smile. “Shall we begin?”
CHAPTER THREE
Viscount Clayton’s Country Estate, Devon, August 1814
Frances stepped out of the carriage at Clayton Manor and breathed a sigh of relief. No one else was in the vicinity. She might be able to make it to her rooms without an uncomfortable encounter with Sir Reginald. Albina, their maid, had already been carted away to join the other lady’s maids. Poor Albina was serving as a cook’s helper, a housemaid, and a lady’s maid at this point. The money to pay for a full staff of servants had long ago been gambled away by Papa.
“Lady Winfield,” said Lady Clayton, their beautiful hostess, who stood by the front door to greet them. “I’m so pleased you and your lovely daughter could join us.”
Frances smiled at Lady Clayton and executed a short curtsy for the woman. Lady Clayton was young and lovely and seemed very nice. They’d met during the events of the Season and developed an instant liking.
“We’re both ever so pleased to be here,” Mama replied. “Thank you so much for your kind invitation, Lady Clayton.”
“Wasn’t Lord Winfield able to make it?” Lady Clayton asked, frowning.
Mama winced. “Uh. He had some business to attend to in London, I’m afraid. But we do hope he’ll join us next week.”
They hadn’t employed a footman in an age. Thankfully two footmen from the Clayton residence were busy pulling the trunks from the top of the carriage, while Frances glanced around nervously. The longer they remained out in the open, the greater the chance Sir Reginald might spot them.
To Frances’s immense relief, Lady Clayton soon led them into the manor house’s large, gorgeous foyer. It smelled like lemon wax and Frances marveled at how very clean and well-kept everything looked. In addition to being far smaller, Papa’s country house was dingy these days, ever since they’d had to dismiss most of the servants and sell the artwork and furniture. But there were plenty of servants here at Clayton Manor, including the two footmen who carried their trunks behind them and the formidable-looking housekeeper who stood near the bannister staring at them. Apparently, she’d returned from depositing Albina in the servants’ quarters.
“Mrs. Cotswold will show you to your rooms,” Lady Clayton said, gesturing toward the housekeeper.
“Thank you,” Mama replied. She made to follow the housekeeper, who had already turned toward the grand sweeping staircase, before turning back to Lady Clayton. “Oh, one more thing. Has Sir Reginald Francis arrived yet?” She made it seem as if it were an afterthought, but Frances knew better.
Frances held her breath while Lady Clayton blinked as if perplexed by the question. The poor woman’s brow furrowed next. “Why…” The lady tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. “Why, yes. I do believe Sir Reginald arrived early this morning.”
A wide grin spread across Mama’s face. “Excellent,” she said, eyes sparkling. She gave Frances a knowing grin.
Trying to keep her expression perfectly blank, Frances expelled her breath and lifted her skirts. If Sir Reginald was already here, she’d best ascend to the safety of her bedchamber as quickly as possible.
She darted across the foyer, nearly tackling one of the poor footmen who was headed toward the back of the house with her trunk. No doubt he was on his way to the servant’s staircase. “Please,” she said in a loud whisper to the man. “Please won’t you bring the trunk directly up?” She nodded hastily toward the staircase in the foyer.
The footman’s face was obscured by the trunk hoisted on his shoulder, but he quickly turned his frame toward the double-sided staircase and said, “As you wish, my lady.”
Frances nearly wept with relief. She was being entirely inappropriate, of course, but at the moment, she couldn’t summon a care. She should also wait for her mother and the housekeeper, but instead, she plowed ahead of the footmen. She pointed up the staircase in front of them. “This way?” she asked as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence for a guest to ask for directions from footmen.
“Yes, milady,” the footman who carried her trunk replied in a voice that sounded as if he were slightly amused. When Frances reached the first landing, she tried to wait for the footman to join her, but her anxiety got the better of her and she continued on up. The poor man was carrying a fortnight’s worth of her clothing and unmentionables on his shoulder, she could hardly blame him for not being as speedy as she was. “I’ll just…meet you at the top of the staircase,” she blurted, grabbing her skirts and practically running up the final set of stairs. Once she reached the top, she glanced around in a panic. The hall was unconscionably long and filled with what seemed like dozens of closed doors that all looked alike. Terribly inconvenient.
“To the right?” she called in a voice that cracked as the footman steadfastly made his way up the steps behind her. Below Mama was still talking to Lady Clayton. Oh, what was keeping her? No doubt more prying questions about Sir Reginald.
“To the left, Miss,” the footman responded. She still couldn’t see his face, but Frances was once again aware of a bit of humor in the young man’s tone. She did not stop to dwell upon it, however. Instead, she dutifully raced off toward the left. She’d made her way halfway down the hall when she realized that for all she knew, she’dpassedher room.
“The end of the hall,” came the footman’s helpful voice. He’d made it to the second floor quite promptly for someone weighed down by such a heavy trunk.
The second footman was having a much worse time of it. He was still struggling up the staircase with Mother’s trunk. Frances glanced toward him and winced. Mama did tend to hideously overpack.
Turning back to face the hallway, Frances continued her flight all the way to the end of the space, before stopping to wait for the footman. She had no choice. She had no idea which room was hers. She stood near the window, tapping her foot and biting her lip.
