“What of Lady Edith?” Bryon asked. “Will she not be disappointed in the poor treatment you are giving to Mr. Dandridge?”
With a glance at the doorway, Elinor shared, “If Mr. Dandridge fails to marry by the Twelfth Night, the manor and horse farm will belong to me.”
Bryon’s eyes shone with understanding. “This is a dangerous game you are playing, Miss, but I will support you.”
“Thank you,” Elinor said.
“Now, dare I ask why your aunt has a sheet over her head?” Bryon asked with a smile tugging at his lips.
Elinor shrugged. “I am not quite sure about that, but I am sure she has a reason,” she responded.
Bryon tipped his head. “Very well,” he said. “I will ensure the cottage gets a thorough cleaning at once.”
After the butler departed from the parlor, Elinor headed down the servants’ stairs to see their cook. She arrived in the warm kitchen and watched as Mrs. Beaton hurried about, wiping her hands on an apron that hung around her neck.
“Good morning,” Elinor greeted.
The tall, thin cook stopped what she was doing and smiled. “Guid mornin’ tae ye, Miss,” she said. “What brings ye by the kitchen today?”
“Lady Edith’s great-nephew, Mr. Dandridge, has arrived and is requesting breakfast,” Elinor responded.
Mrs. Beaton lifted her brow. “And ye had tae come doon here yerself tae tell me?” she asked.
Elinor sat down at a round table that the servants used toeat their meals. “I saw no reason to spend additional time with Mr. Dandridge.”
“Why’s that, then?”
An image of the handsome Mr. Dandridge came to her mind. Tall, dark-haired, and with a strong jaw. The way he smiled at her made it evident that he was aware of his good looks and used it to his advantage. But she was not one to fall for a handsome face. She was far too practical for that.
Elinor placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “He is rather cocky for his own good.”
Mrs. Beaton gave her a knowing look. “By the sound of it, Mr. Dandridge must be a rather dashin’ lad, aye.”
“Dashing? No, far from it,” Elinor lied. “He is tolerable, I suppose.”
“Ye cannae fool me, Miss,” Mrs. Beaton said.
Elinor did not want to be having this conversation with anyone. Her heart had been shuttered away, and she saw no reason to ever open herself up to heartache. She had come to the realization that she would most likely become a spinster. Which was fine by her. She didn’t need a man lording over her.
Mrs. Beaton must have taken pity on her because she didn’t press her. Rather, she said, “I will send up a tray tae the dining room for Mr. Dandridge.”
“Thank you,” Elinor responded before rising. “I should be upstairs anyways. I have loads of work to do.”
“Ye work too hard,” Mrs. Beaton said with a knowing look. “Why not slow doon and enjoy life?”
“I will rest when I am able,” Elinor stated.
Mrs. Beaton shook her head. “One day ye’ll heed my advice.”
Just then, her aunt stepped into the kitchen, the sheet draped over her arm. “I have an idea for supper.”
Elinor grinned. “Dare I ask why you had a sheet over year head earlier?”
Cecilia laughed. “I was a ghost.”
“I think that was lost in translation,” Elinor retorted. “Why, pray tell, did you decide to wear a sheet over your head?”
“It was the only thing I came up with, and I do think it worked spectacularly,” Cecilia said. “No sane gentleman would force a madwoman to leave her place of residence.”
