“Lady Penwood – that is, Catherine,” Charles said, finally acknowledging her. “The lighting in this corner is most obliging.”
“I am glad it serves you,” she said. Should you have need of anything—”
“A scale, perhaps,” Sophia interjected before she could conclude. “For the weighing of materials.
Catherine smiled and dipped her head respectfully.
“I shall have one brought straightaway,” she said.
She turned to go, mentally noting the request. The door opened again behind her as Harold entered, already mid-discussion with Edmund, who trailed him by several steps.
“The provincial minting practices show remarkable variation,” Harold said. “And yet standardisation occurs more often than not, especially under Hadrian.”
Edmund nodded, but his eyes roved the room, searching. Catherine met his gaze and offered a polite smile. He returned it after a delay, distracted. She could not read his expression—no resentment, yet a flicker that unsettled her. Was it unease? Anxiety? A sudden thought struck her: was he uncomfortable at Penwood Estate? Was she proving to be a bad hostess after all?
Henry arrived a few minutes later with a worn leather folio and several folded maps. He chose the smallest desk near the bookcase and began arranging his materials with great care, murmuring Latin passages under his breath.
Catherine brought him coffee as well.
“Pray do let me know if you should require anything further, Henry,” she said.
“Your kindness is balm enough, my lady,” he said. “This room is a sanctuary.”
She lingered a moment to observe him at work. His notations were precise, the Latin effortlessly fluid. He had no university title or formal distinction, and yet here sat a scholar of rare quality. She supposed that reverends received all kinds of education to be able to minister to all kinds of people. Though she was sure that none were as delighted by scholarly pursuits as Henry Brown clearly was.
As the library filled with the soft murmur of discussion, the rustle of pages, and the clink of porcelain, Catherine stood near the hearth and surveyed the room. Every guest had their place. Every lamp burned steadily. Every mind was engaged.
It seemed that the day had begun well. And though her role was still new, it was not unfamiliar to her. She felt within it something more than service. She felt as though she belonged right where she was, doing precisely what she was doing. She was not merely managing a household—she was curating a symposium.
At the corner table nearest the fireplace, Edmund sat hunched low, his narrow shoulders tense beneath the worn brown of his coat. Documents fanned before him, some of which were official-looking, while others were worn at the creases.
Catherine’s eye caught the glint of an embossed seal on one parchment and the edge of what looked like an authentication ledger, though the way Edmund angled the page suggested a desire for privacy rather than collegial exchange.
She stepped closer.
“Would you care for coffee, Edmund?” she asked softly.
Her intent had been to avoid startling him. But he looked up so abruptly that his spectacles slid down his nose. One hand hovered over his papers, as if to shield them from view.
“Ah. Yes, Catherine,” he said. “Thank you.”
She poured quietly, setting the cup beside his inkstand.
“I hope you have sufficient light there,” she said. “We can draw the curtains further if needed.”
He shook his head.
“This situation suits me,” he replied swiftly, his gaze flickering toward Harold, who stood across the room in earnest discourse with James upon matters of stratigraphy.
Catherine’s smile was slight as she passed on, yet unease touched her. Edmund’s eyes followed not the labour, but the man.
What is he watching for?she wondered.
At the wide desk beneath the north window, Henry bent over a modest tray of local finds: pottery shards, rusted fittings, a small inscribed token. The vicar handled each with deliberate care, turning one piece of blackened iron in his palm.
“Interesting patina,” he said softly. “Not typical of third-century smithing. Perhaps repurposed by a later inhabitant.”
James leaned across from his own map table.
