Angelica hadn’t even noticed the door since it was located behind a screen that separated the dressing area and toilette from the rest of the room. Tilting her head, she considered the convenience. “How unusual.” She glanced at Mrs. Essex. “For guestrooms, I mean, to be joined in such a manner. I’m assuming there must be a key, because otherwise it—”
“Of course there is. I have it right here.” Mrs. Essex handed an ornately fashioned brass key to Angelica. “But you’re right. It is unusual.” She inhaled deeply while giving the room a full perusal, then said, “If you must know, this used to be her ladyship’s room. Your mother has the viscount’s former bedchamber.”
“I…see,” Angelica murmured. Another shiver raked the length of her spine, like fingernails scraping her skin. She instinctively glanced over her shoulder, but of course, no one was there.
“The viscount decided to move to the opposite side of the castle a couple of years ago.”
Angelica stared at her. She then glanced at Lucy, whose eyes had grown to the size of saucers. As if reading her mind, Angelica let her gaze wander across the room until it settled on the bed. She swallowed. And then, because she simply had to know, she quietly asked, “Did the late viscountess, um… Did she…”
“No,” Mrs. Essex said. “She did not die in that bed.” Angelica breathed a sigh of relief. The housekeeper smiled, perhaps with reassurance or perhaps with a touch of wistfulness. “She froze to death outside. Beneath that very window.”
Lucy gasped.
A tremor swept through Angelica’s body and she instinctively turned. A gentle movement caught the corner of her eye – the curtain perhaps. A draft could have stirred it, she reasoned. Or there might have been nothing at all except for her own overactive imagination.
“Well, then. I do believe I’ll let you get settled,” Mrs. Essex announced in a cheerful tone. “Please use the bell pull if you need anything else and feel free to explore the downstairs at your leisure. Just be sure to stay out of the east wing. His lordship likes to keep that part of the house private.” She spoke a few extra words to the maid, who appeared to be nearly done with unpacking Angelica’s things. One minute later, both had departed, leaving Angelica alone with Lucy.
“She’s a bit odd, don’t you think?” Lucy asked with a quick backward glance as if to make sure Mrs. Essex wouldn’t suddenly pop up behind her.
“Very,” Angelica murmured. “I can’t imagine the future Lady Sterling wanting to keep her on. She’s far too young and pretty.”
“It all depends on what his lordship is like, I suppose. Perhaps he has kept Mrs. Essex in his employ for intimate reasons.” She gave Angelica a pointed look.
Angelica felt her lips twitch. “You’ve quite a wicked mind for someone who’s so soft spoken.”
“Well, I might not be outgoing, but that doesn’t stop my brain from working. And don’t tell me you haven’t had the same notion.”
Of course she had. Her mother had always been shockingly forthright with her, for, as she liked to say, knowledge was power and ignorance only led to bad choices. So Angelica knew what went on between men and women behind closed doors, and she knew it was common for some men to keep a mistress.
Angelica rolled her eyes at her own wayward thoughts and shook her head. There was obviously a Mr. Essex and shame on her anyway for immediately thinking the worst just because the woman didn’t fit the typical housekeeper mold.
“Come on,” Angelica told Lucy as she grabbed a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’m sure there must be a library. Let’s go find it, shall we?”
They checked with both of their mothers first just to let them know where they were off to. “We’ll order some tea,” Angelica said as they walked down the stairs. She pulled her shawl tighter to ward off the chill creeping up the back of her neck. Good lord, it was only September, yet it felt like the middle of winter. Which was reason enough for her not to marry Lord Sterling. In spite of its grandeur, Colchester Hall was felt a huge mausoleum, and she could not see herself living here.
* * *
Raising a snifter of brandy to his lips, Randolph Benedict Scott Trevarian took a long swallow and savored the hot burn that followed. Inviting six debutantes to his home for the sake of selecting one as his future viscountess had been his idea alone. He had no one to blame for their presence but himself. Yet he’d started to have some serious doubts about the sanity of his decision since their arrival, because now he had to entertain them. At the very least, he should have asked some of his married friends to attend the house party as well, for the sake of balance and, perhaps, moral support.
But he’d had no such brilliant notion until this second and now it was too late. He was alone as host and gentleman with six expectant young ladies and their eager chaperones to contend with. He glanced at the clock. It was almost six thirty. He took another sip of his drink, aware that he ought to go down and greet his guests as they gathered for dinner.
A knock at the door offered a welcome delay.
“Enter!”
Mrs. Essex glided into his study. She was, he’d noted a long time ago when she’d first begun in his employ, exceptionally pretty, although there was something about her – a flawlessness – he found strangely unappealing. Nevertheless, it had surprised him that his wife had hired her, but she’d been confident in his faithfulness and insisted they help the poor woman who’d recently lost her husband.
Now here they were, a widow and widower beneath the same roof. He had no doubt some of the other servants wondered if they’d become lovers. And Randolph was man enough to admit to having considered it on occasion, if only for a fleeting second. For although he knew most men would probably let themselves be tempted by the lovely Mrs. Essex, he wasn’t really attracted to her at all. Never had been. And even if he were, he was not the sort of man who’d ever proposition a servant, no matter how high ranking she might be.
“Since you’re the only gentleman here, I thought you might like to forego the after dinner drink in your study and take tea with the ladies instead,” Mrs. Essex said with a warm and inviting smile. “It will allow you to further your acquaintance with them in a less formal setting.”
“How thoughtful.” Randolph set his glass aside and met her gaze directly. “What is your opinion of them so far?”
“I really can’t say.”
“Can’t or don’t wish to?” He deliberately smiled in an effort to soften her up. “Come now, Mrs. Essex, I’d like to know what you think.”
Mrs. Essex appeared to consider. Randolph glanced at the clock. He really should get going. “None,” she eventually said.
