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“Yes, thank you.” Belinda was sure the news wasn’t welcome.
“You’ll want to speak to the chef about the menu for next week’s dinner party,” the other woman said, coming to a stop. “And the housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, is looking for direction as to how you wish your work space organized. I believe a number of social invitations are awaiting your response.”
Having stopped, too, Belinda pasted a smile on her face. “I am looking forward to meeting with Mrs. Brown tomorrow.”
“Excellent.”
“I’ll speak with the chef.”
“You are unused to how we run things at Halstead Hall.”
It was hard to argue with the facts. “Yes, I would say so.”
“An important realization.”
“One of many, I hope.”
With that, the dowager marchioness sailed on, and the two of them passed each other like two ships with canons manned but holding most of their fire—at least for now.
Belinda sighed. She wondered how many such skirmishes she was destined to have.
As if fate laughed, she descended the stairs and ran into Sophie.
The other woman looked uneasy. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.”
“I just arrived. I came to Halstead for the weekend to pick up some of my things, and I plan to leave tomorrow.”
Colin’s sister stopped as if out of breath—and as if belatedly realizing that her words could be construed to mean that she was gathering up her belongings and clearing out now that Belinda was living in the house.
What could she say in response, Belinda thought, that could not also be misconstrued? Take your time? Let me know if I may be of help?
She sensed that Sophie didn’t bear her as much hostility as her mother but, rather, was finding the whole situation awkward and strange.
Belinda could hardly blame her. She and Colin’s sister were contemporaries, but they’d never had any real interaction. Public events such as Royal Ascot and Wimbledon were big enough to lend themselves to selective socializing by Granvilles and Wentworths alike.
Belinda opened her mouth and voiced the first passably sensible thought that occurred to her. “I’ve yet to discover an art room in the house.”
“There isn’t one,” Sophie said.
“Didn’t you ever have one?” Belinda asked curiously. “With your profession…”
“I did most of my work outside the house and then took many of my things with me when I moved into a London flat. Mother didn’t approve of graphic des—”
Sophie cut herself off.
Belinda was glad she wasn’t the only person or thing that Colin’s mother frowned upon. “Perhaps I’ll create a room, then. I’m sure the youngest Granville cousins would appreciate it, and the staff must have children and grandchildren who would.”
Seemingly despite herself, Sophie showed a spark of interest.
Belinda felt surprisingly heartened at the positive sign. She and Colin’s sister were both in artistic professions, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Colin’s sister had an appreciation for nineteenth-and twentieth-century artwork. Maybe the next two years wouldn’t be as bad as she’d feared.
“Sophie?”
The dowager marchioness’s voice sounded from above them, and Sophie shot Belinda a rueful look before heading up the stairs.
Belinda continued on to the dining room.
