She snorted. “I shouldn’t have to remind you I am not exactly a lady.”
He cupped her cheek in his hand. “You could’ve been killed. Didn’t you think about that? What would your family do if you got hurt?”
Before she could respond, a plump, bespectacled woman rushed them, her arms outstretched. Although she wore the same livery as the rest of the servants, the large ring of keys knotted to her belt with a thick rope marked her as a housekeeper.
Leo dropped his hand from her face and ran it through his wet hair. “Yes, Mrs. Banting? What has gone wrong now?”
“It’s the grocer’s bill, milord,” the woman said between gasped breaths. “They’ve sent a beater of a man to collect payment.”
“Then pay the man. What’s the problem?”
The woman clutched her hands together at her waist. “I swear I left payment in the usual place. But it’s disappeared! Oh, milord, I don’t have a clue where the funds have made off to.”
Saffron could not stop herself from interjecting. “Surely, this can wait until morning.”
The housekeeper balled her fists at her sides, opened her mouth, and wailed. There was no other word for it. She sobbed, her head tilted up, mouth wide open.
Saffron gaped, then turned to Leo, surprised at his lack of response. Most other men she knew would have burst into a temper and fired the woman on the spot. No self-respecting lord tolerated such actions from those under his employ. Certainly not from his housekeeper, a position of considerable power within a household.
But Leo only groaned and buried his head in his hands, muttering something about responsibilities. The other servants slunk silently away, as if accustomed to such outbursts, and in short order, it was only the three of them in the cavernous entryway.
The opulence that had blinded Saffron on first seeing the grand estate shattered, and she saw the cracks in the façade. All was not well at the Briarwood estate. She filed that information away for later as a potential opportunity to assist with her search.
“Fine!” Leo shouted over the wailing. “Cease your caterwauling. I will handle it.”
The woman paused, her mouth still agape, her cheeks flushed. “You will?”
He smiled tightly. “Allow me a moment to exchange my clothing, and then I will send Sinclair to the coffers to retrieve the funds you require.” He grabbed Saffron’s shoulders and shoved her toward the housekeeper. “Miss Summersby is our guest. Please see she is comfortable.”
With that, he ran from the room, leaving Saffron standing next to Mrs. Banting while water dripped from her clothes and formed a puddle at their feet.
“Come, madam,” Mrs. Banting said, tugging on her arm. “I will show you to your room.”
Saffron followed the housekeeper up the central staircase and onto the first floor, then down a hallway decorated with red damask wallpaper in a swirling, floral pattern. Her feet made dark footprints in the thick red-and-gold carpeting that shared the same swirling pattern as the wallpaper. Chandeliers hung in even intervals between each set of doors, burning enough oil to supply the Summersby townhouse for a year. Yet despite the lush appointments, there was ample evidence of neglect. Black soot marks on the walls, wear patterns in the carpet, and an acrid odor that suggested the chandeliers had not been cleaned in some time.
So much wealth, and yet such commonplace issues have not been addressed.
The house was as much a mystery as its master.
“Here you are, ma’am,” Mrs. Banting said, stopping at a door and opening it with a key from her keyring. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. I’ll be off to the kitchen to deal with the beater from the grocer now.”
She bustled Saffron inside before departing, leaving her to stare, open-mouthed, at the luxury surrounding her.
The suite was composed of three adjoining rooms. The first bedchamber contained a bed larger than any she’d seen in her life, piled high with blankets and pillows. She punchedone experimentally to confirm it was filled with feathers. Two smaller bedchambers connected through single doors on either side of the room, each with its own color palette and expensive furnishings. It was startlingly like the home in the country she had grown up in, and she had to clear the tears misting her eyes.
We’ll have it back.
Thus determined, she began the laborious process of shrugging off her wet clothes. She had made small progress when a young maid with bright-red hair exploded into the room without knocking, sending the doors banging against the walls. She let out a string of rapid-fire words in a language Saffron didn’t recognize but thought might be Gaelic, then charged her.
“Madam,” the maid said, in a scandalized Scottish accent. “You need not do such work on your own. Mrs. Banting let me know you were in need and assigned me to help. My name is Lily. Don’t mind the doors, they’re always a-slamming here.”
Too tired to argue, Saffron allowed Lily to peel the wet clothing from her body, then shivered while the maid arranged for a large, copper tub and buckets of steaming water to be brought up. The backbreaking work was done by the sturdiest of the manservants, rather than the lowest on the household hierarchy. Seeing that raised her opinions of Leo a notch.
Once the tub was full, she sunk into the frothing, scented water with a sigh of pleasure.
Lily wasted no time pulling up her sleeves and scouring Saffron’s long hair with a brush.
“Oh, madam,” the maid said. “Your hair is beautiful but naught treated well. You must not shampoo dry hair such as this more than once a month. A wash of eggs and oat bran is what you rightly need to make it shine. I have done so since I was a lass.”
