“And what of the servant rotations? With so many guests, some shifts may need extending.”
“I have already adjusted the assignments,” Mrs Thornberry replied. “The maids will attend to rooms in the mornings, and additional footmen will be placed in the drawing rooms each evening.”
“That should suffice,” Catherine said with a small nod. “Only ensure they do not overextend themselves. I would rather the shifts be redistributed than have them exhausted before the week concludes.”
The housekeeper regarded her with quiet approval.
“You think ahead, my lady. The staff will appreciate such consideration.”
Catherine blushed at the praise.
“They are the foundation of this household,” she said simply. “If they are not cared for, neither are we.”
When their discussion concluded, Mrs Thornberry closed the ledger.
“You have done more than many ladies in your position would attempt,” she said. “Trust yourself, my lady. I have every confidence that Penwood is in good hands.”
Catherine smiled.
“Thank you, Mrs Thornberry,” she said warmly. “That encouragement means a great deal.”
The housekeeper curtsied and departed, leaving Catherine alone at the table with her papers. For a long moment, she sat in silence, listening to the muted rustle of activity from deeper within the house.
These men will judge Marcus partly based on his choice of wife, she thought. She looked at her neat columns of planning and supply lists. If she could not impress them with family connections or polished charm, she would do so through competence. If they sought substance, they would find it.
She rose and made her way to the north wing to inspect the guest chambers for herself. It would not do to rely solely on reports. As she moved from room to room, noting repairs, checking for draughts, and adjusting curtains to admit the mild light, she grew more certain in her task. She would ensure that no detail went unconsidered. Marcus had trusted her with this, and she would not falter.
At the final room, she paused beside the window and looked out across the sloping fields toward the orchard. The grounds lay touched with new colour, alive with the quiet promise of growth. The house itself felt quiet, held in that expectant pause beforecompany arrived. She rested her hand on the sill and allowed herself a moment of reflection.
This is my home now, she thought as she gathered her courage.These are my responsibilities. And I will meet them fully.
***
Marcus leaned over the worktable, one hand braced near a brittle document he had not seen in years, the other marking the chart he had begun years ago but never completed.
Catherine sat across from him, sleeves rolled with pragmatic precision, her hair pinned neatly, though several strands had fallen loose. She was engrossed in sorting fragments from a labelled box, her brows drawn together in focused thought.
“This column seems inconsistent with the others,” she said.
Marcus looked up.
“Which one?” he asked.
She turned the book around and tapped a line halfway down the page.
“This list of coins catalogued from the 1807 dig does not match the classification system you used in the 1809 records,” she said. “Here, you begin organising by imperial reign, but before that, you used reverse iconography.”
He straightened and came around the table.
“I had not noticed,” he said, glancing at the place where she was pointing. “You are quite right. I had not standardised it yet.”
His wife looked up at him, her genuine desire to help shining plainly in her gaze.
“Would you like me to create a concordance for the earlier years to align with the later method?” she asked.
Marcus nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “That would be extremely helpful.”
