“Her cough is worse,” Mia said. “I’ve asked Mrs. Morrit for elderberry syrup. She says they have none, but the honey she sent helps a bit.”
Kerr frowned down at the patient. “It has only been four days.”
Only?“True. Perhaps things will improve tomorrow.”
“Perhaps.” Kerr did not seem hopeful.
“I promised Selina I would find the ballroom and bring back a description,” Mia said.
“Go. She’ll sleep for a while. Your little stories please her more than those books you read,” Kerr responded.
Fillmore, stone faced and focused, passed the stairs as Mia descended, walking toward the formal entrance. She turned, curious about his mission, and saw a woman festooned in a cloud of feathers and purple ruffles advance on the butler, demanding attention.
Drawn toward the sight in spite of herself, she heard the lady demand to see her son. “…who will put worthless servants in their place as fast as can be.” Her son? This must be Mr. Tavernash’s famous mother. It was almost amusing until Mia remembered they would now have to deal with two of them. She sank against a wall between a column and a potted fern, silently fixated on the drama.
Fillmore sent a phalanx of footmen to alert Mr. Tavernash, gather luggage, order a bath, order tea… “And sandwiches. Make sure the bread isn’t stale,” the vision in purple demanded.
Moments later, the woman cruised by, a man-o’-war at full sail, led by a footman toward the stairs. Mia let out her breath when she passed, relieved to have avoided notice.
She breathed too soon. The woman swung around and pinned her with her gaze. “Is this one of the hussies attempting to snare my Felton? It won’t fly, my girl. You and that other will decamp and soon. I know your type, and the little charade you’re perpetrating will not stand.” She didn’t wait for a response; she simply sailed on by.
Mia, wide-eyed, met Fillmore’s gaze. For a moment, he appeared almost sympathetic. “You best avoid that one if you know what’s good for you,” he said.
Mia nodded. “She’s a sight to see, though.” She thought for a moment how Mrs. Morrit would react to this newcomer. It could prove entertaining. Besides, Woodglen had its central block with the massive public spaces, two wings with parlors and drawing rooms, and by Mia’s estimate, at least fifty bedrooms. In all that space, it ought to be easy to avoid the woman. At least, she hoped so.
For now, she went in search of the ballroom, sketch pad in hand.
*
Looking for Fillmore,Gideon made his way down the central corridor past the ornate public rooms. He had a question about the wine expenses. He’d been told Fillmore was overseeing the settings in the formal dining room, but the old reprobate had not been there. He continued toward the front of the house, peeking into rooms one by one, though he thought it unlikely the butler would oversee the everlasting dusting even of the formal drawing rooms. He found most of them under holland covers, in any case.
He came upon the ballroom where it opened onto the central corridor at right angles before it stretched the length of the lower floor of the east wing. Gideon doubted it had been used in years, but he wouldn’t put it past Fillmore to keep the thing in readiness. He opened the door and walked the ten steps to the balustrade overlooking the main floor. Curved stairs, designed to allow guests to make an impressive entrance, curled down to the right and to the left. The last thing he needed was to climb down and back up just to see if Fillmore hid in one of the alcoves along the wall.
He was about the turn when something caught his eye. Not Fillmore. A young woman sat directly beneath him on the floor, with her legs drawn up under her skirts.
“Miss Selwyn, what on earth are you doing?”
She tipped her head up and grinned. “Sketching the wonders of Woodglen,” she replied. She rose to her feet in one remarkably graceful movement.
Gideon started down the steps, and she met him halfway. “Why would you do that?” he asked.
“For Selina. She longs to see everything.”
“Has she asked you to count the silver?” he asked.
She responded with a musical laugh that vibrated through his heart and stirred his body. “Not yet. She’s content with every morsel I can dribble out about Tavernash—or the heir—as she insists that I call him. I’m going to delight in telling her about his mother.”
“From his description?” he asked.
“Why, Mr. Kendrick, don’t you know? You have another guest. The grand dame herself floated in not an hour ago and has poor Fillmore in a taking.”
“Formidable?”
“Oh yes. She will have the hussies pursuing her darling out of here in short order, and devil take any servant who doesn’t do as they ought.” Miss Selwyn made that pronouncement with good humor and no alarm whatsoever lurking in her eyes.
“God help us!”
“Indeed.” She grinned at him. “What are you doing in the ballroom, Mr. Kendrick?”
