“I’ve often wondered that myself,” Mia said.
Having explored the wonders of the colonnaded entry hall, multiple ornately decorated drawing rooms with brilliantly colored wallpaper covered with fabulous paintings, and the stairway hall, into which multiple marble staircases descended, Jessica asked Mia how she found her way around.
“Better than at first. The middle part of the building is a square. That is where we are now. The west wing has the ballroom, where we just were, on the lowest level and the family suites and rooms above. The nursery is on the highest level of that wing. The other wing has billiard and music rooms on first with guest rooms above,” Mia explained.
Distracted by the conversation, Jessica stepped on Helen’s foot, and Helen let out a yelp. Helen turned a rosy hue with embarrassment and mumbled an apology. Unfortunately, her yelp echoed through the massive stairway hall, quite enchanting Daniel, who couldn’t resist testing the sound.
A few squeaks and a hoot later, Jessica joined him, and Mia saw Fillmore approaching from the far end of the central corridor. Before the butler could get there—or Gideon could quiet the children—the great purple vision that was Lady Tavernash emerged from the chinois drawing room and descended on them.
“What is the meaning of this? How dare these ill-bred urchins upset the peace of my house!” she shouted. “Fillmore! These children are intruders. See that they are removed.”
Gideon opened his mouth to object, but Daniel got there first. “This is my Uncle Phillip’s house,” he insisted.
Oh dear.Mia felt rather than saw servants lurking in alcoves, taking it all in.
“I beg your pardon?” The woman huffed, shaking purple ruffles in all directions. “Who, pray tell, is your uncle?”
“The Duke of Glenmoor,” Helen answered. “And thisishis house. He said we were to visit anytime.”
The Tavernash woman waved that away with a haughty gesture. “The duke is missing. He is unlikely to return. This house will be my son’s and therefore my home. I will thank you to respect it.”
Helen turned to her father, stricken. “Won’t return?”
“Your son can’t have it,” Daniel announced loud enough for all to hear. “Uncle Phillip told me it would be mine one day, but I don’t know if I want it. What will I do with all those drawing rooms?”
Lady Tavernash’s mouth gaped in a most unladylike manner.
Daniel turned to Mia. “Will you show us the dining room now?”
“And the library,” Jessica added.
Mia feared Lady Tavernash would have apoplexy. “Stop right there!” Lady Tavernash shouted. “The duke is gone, and you have no rights here. You”—he aimed a bony finger at Gideon—“are a bastard and an upstart attempting to steal my son’s heritage by any means possible. Where is this brother of yours if indeed he is alive? Rumors of his death are rampant, some believe at your hand. While you and this, this strumpet swan through the halls and—”
“Uncle Phillip is dead?” Jessica howled. She sobbed into her father’s leg.
“I think that is quite enough. You will not terrorize my children with unfounded rumors about a beloved uncle and lies about their father. Insult my wife again and I will have you and your precious son removed from this house. You are well aware I have authority to do so.” Gideon glared at the woman with an unblinking gaze.
“You—She. Fillmore…” The woman glanced around frantically.
Fillmore peered implacably back, a study in calm.
She swallowed. “Fillmore, that little brat claims he can supplant my son. Explain to him that this is impossible.”
Fillmore bowed. “I regret, my lady, that isn’t my place to say.”
Mia turned to the children. “Shall we continue the tour of your uncle’s house with the dining room? Wait until you see the chandeliers.”
“But when can we see the stable, M…that is, Euphie? I want to see the horses,” Jessica said.
“Dining room, library, then stables,” Mia said. “This corridor is very long. Shall we skip?”
And so they did. Lady Tavernash, Fillmore, and Gideon all stared after her.
*
When Gideon electedto take the children on a tour of the estate and piled them all into a landau with Bert driving, Mia reluctantly stayed behind to meet Marshall in the steward’s office. He handed her a packet of receipts, notes, and messages. She picked up pen and paper and made notes while he listed expenses and payments from his prodigious memory. The man had proven to be as talented and effective as she’d anticipated.
Mrs. Demming, the cook, joined them. Marshall shrugged and ran a hand over the back of his head. “I thought she might as well give you the kitchen finances directly. Mrs. Millbrook will bring the weekly dairy numbers tomorrow.” With a dip of his head, he bid them goodbye.
