Page 11 of The Paid Companion

T he following morning Elenora surveyed her bedchamber, her hands on her hips, one toe tapping.

The dark, somber furnishings included an ornately carved wardrobe, a massive, heavily draped bed and a dark, dingy carpet. The wallpaper was from an earlier era when lush, exotic patterns had been the height of fashion. Unfortunately the colors had faded to the point where it was impossible to make out the twining vines and flowers.

The degree of cleanliness in this room was of a piece with what she had seen throughout the mansion. Only a minimum of dusting, sweeping and polishing had been done. There was a thick layer of grime on the frame of the octagonal mirror and on the headboard. The cloudy view through the window was evidence that no one had washed the panes in recent memory.

If she was going to be living here for the next few weeks she would have to do something about the deplorable condition of the household, she decided.

Opening the door, she let herself out into the gloomy hall. She was not looking forward to breakfast. The evening meal the night before had consisted of tasteless stewed chicken, dumplings that could have served as ballast for a ship, vegetables cooked to an unwholesome shade of gray and a boiled suet pudding.

She and Margaret had dined alone together in the somber dining room. Arthur had had the good sense to take himself off to his club. She did not blame him. She would have preferred to dine elsewhere, also.

She descended the stairs, noting the dust that had collected between the balusters, and went in search of the breakfast room. She wandered into two closed, curtained chambers filled with draped furniture before she chanced upon Ned.

“Good morning,” she said. “Will you kindly direct me to the breakfast room?”

Ned looked baffled. “I think it’s somewhere at the end of the hall, ma’am.”

She raised her brows. “You don’t know where the breakfast room is located?”

Ned reddened and started to stammer. “Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, but it hasn’t been used in all the time that I’ve been working here.”

“I see.” She possessed herself in patience. “In that case, where will I find breakfast this morning?”

“In the dining room, ma’am.”

“Very well. Thank you, Ned.”

She went down another passage and walked into the dining room. She was somewhat surprised to see Arthur seated at the end of the very long table.

He glanced up from the newspaper that was open in front of him, frowning slightly as though he did not quite know what to make of her there at that hour.

“Elenora.” He rose to his feet. “Good day to you.”

“Good day to you, sir.”

The door that led to the pantry swung open. Sally appeared looking even more frazzled and anxious than she had the day before. Her forehead glistened with perspiration. Long tendrils of hair had escaped her yellowed cap. She stared at Elenora and wiped her hands on a badly stained apron.

“Ma’am,” she said, making an awkward curtsy. “Didn’t know you would be coming down for breakfast.”

“I noticed,” Elenora said. She nodded meaningfully toward the long table.

The maid rushed to the sideboard and yanked open a drawer.

While the girl set a second place, Elenora crossed the room to examine the dishes that had been provided.

The situation in the kitchen had not improved since the night before. The eggs had congealed. The sausages were an unappetizing color and the potatoes reeked of old grease.

In desperation she selected a couple of slices of limp toast and poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee.

When she turned back to the table, she saw that Sally had set the second place at the opposite end of the table from where Arthur sat.

She waited until the girl had left the room before picking up the napkin and silver. She moved the place setting up the table to a position on Arthur’s right, where she sat down with her limp toast and coffee.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“I trust you slept well last night,” Arthur said eventually.

“Very well, indeed, my lord.” She sampled the coffee. It was not only very cold, it was dreadful. She set the cup down. “Do you mind if I ask if your household staff has been with you for a long time?”

He looked mildly surprised by the question. “Never saw any of them before in my life until I arrived a few days ago.”

“You don’t know any of them?”

He turned the page of his newspaper. “I spend as little time as possible here. In fact, I haven’t used the place at all in the past year. On the rare occasions when I come to London, I prefer to stay at my club.”

“I see.” His lack of interest in the mansion certainly explained a few things, she thought. “Who oversees the servants?”

“My grandfather’s elderly man-of-business takes care of all matters concerning this household. I inherited him together with the mansion, and managing the place is his only remaining task. I do not use him for any other business.” He picked up his cup. “Why do you ask?”

“There are a few housekeeping details that require attention.”

He tasted his coffee and winced. “Yes, I noticed. But I do not have time to deal with them.”

“Of course not,” she said. “I, however, do have some time. Do you have any objection to my making one or two changes in the management of your home?”

“I do not consider it my home.” He shrugged and lowered his cup. “In fact, I am thinking of selling it. But please feel free to make any changes you like while you are here.”

She nibbled at the drooping toast. “I can certainly understand why you would wish to sell. This is a large and expensive residence to maintain.”

“The cost has nothing to do with it.” His eyes hardened. “I simply dislike the place. When I marry, I will require a house in town for occasional use, but I will purchase another residence for that purpose.”

For some reason his comment caused her to lose what little interest she’d had in the toast. Naturally he was contemplating a real marriage, she thought. Why had mention of it depressed her spirits? He had a duty to the title and his family. Furthermore, when he did get around to selecting his countess, he would do what other men in his situation did: He would look for a sheltered young lady just out of the schoolroom, the sort of female he had deemed too delicate and too innocent to be employed as a make-believe fiancée.

St. Merryn’s bride—his real bride—would be a lady with a pristine reputation; one whose family was unsullied by scandal or a connection to trade. She would bring him lands and a fortune, even though he had no need of either, because that was how things were done in his world.

It was time to change the subject, she decided. “Is there any news of interest in the papers?”

“Just the customary gossip and scandal broth.” Disdain ran deep in his voice. “Nothing of importance. What do you have on your schedule for today?”

“Margaret and I plan to go shopping.”

He nodded. “Excellent. I want you to make your appearance in Society as quickly as possible.”

“We should be ready to attend our first party tomorrow evening,” she assured him.

Ibbitts entered the dining room carrying the badly tarnished salver from the front hall. The tray was heaped with a pile of cards and notes.

Arthur looked up. “What have you got there?”

“Another batch of calling cards and an assortment of invitations, m’lord,” Ibbitts said. “What do you wish me to do with them?”

“I will deal with them in the library.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Arthur crumpled his napkin and got to his feet.

“You will excuse me, my dear,” he said. “I must be off. Later today I will let you have the list of social affairs that you are to attend this week.”

“Yes, Arthur,” she murmured in her most dutiful tones. She would not take his my dear seriously, she told herself. The endearment was solely for Ibbitts’s benefit.

To her astonishment, he leaned down and kissed her; not on her cheek but directly on her mouth. It was a very brief, very possessive kiss; the sort of kiss a man bestowed upon a real fiancée.

Who would have guessed that Arthur was such an excellent actor? she mused, a bit dazed.

She was so rattled by the unexpected display of fraudulent affection that she could not speak for a moment. By the time she recovered, Arthur had left the dining room. She heard the muffled ring of the heels of his elegantly polished Hessians out in the hall.

“Will there be anything else, madam?” Ibbitts asked in a tone that suggested strongly that there could not possibly be anything of the sort.

“As a matter of fact, there is something else.” Elenora dropped her napkin on the table. “Please bring me the household accounts for the past two quarters.”

Ibbitts stared, uncomprehending, for several seconds. Then his cheeks turned a dull red. His mouth worked a few times before he managed to speak.

“I beg your pardon, madam?”

“I think that I made myself quite clear, Ibbitts.”

“The old earl’s man-of-affairs keeps the household accounts, ma’am. I do not have them. I merely keep a tally of the expenses and give the information to Mr. Ormesby.”

“I see. In that case, perhaps you can answer some questions for me.”

“What questions, ma’am?” Ibbitts asked warily.

“Where is the cook?”

“She quit her post a few months ago, ma’am. Haven’t been able to replace her. But Sally seems to be working out well in the kitchen.”

“Sally is, indeed, working very hard, but she is not cut out to be a cook.”

“I hope to hire a new cook from an agency soon,” Ibbitts muttered.

“Do you, indeed?” Elenora got to her feet and started toward the kitchen door.

“Where are you going, ma’am?” Ibbitts demanded.

“To consult with Sally about kitchen matters. Meanwhile, I suggest that you direct your efforts toward securing a new cook and another maid. Oh, yes, and we will require a couple of gardeners as well.”

Ibbitts’s eyes darkened with anger but he said nothing. Elenora felt a cold chill between her shoulder blades when she turned her back on him to enter the kitchen.