Page 83 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“In case you were uneasy, Miss Glow, I informed the staff that you and Monsooer are to marry.” This explained Gregory’s attitude, as he was anticipating a new master. “They are all very happy for you.”

“Thank you, Elspeth.” Gloriana took her place at the table. She took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. Why was she so overwrought? She should be happy and at peace and at ease and . . .

Elspeth left to bring the toast and coffee, and Philippe sat next to Gloriana, taking her hand. “You are anxious, but do not be. All will be well.”

Fine for him to say, but he was about to commit a crime, and meanwhile . . . “I’m just not accustomed to . . . this. To you and me.” She took another deep breath. “It will take a little time.”

Philippe took a plate and served her eggs and sausage. “It is indeed strange to be in such harmony with one another. Perhaps we should dispute a little—to become more comfortable.”

“Never,” Gloriana said. “I couldn’t bear another dispute with you.”

He laughed. “Not just a tiny one, so you will feel more at ease?” He cut a corner off the cheese and tasted it. “Tsk. One day we shall go to France and eat real cheese.”

“This is excellent Lancashire cheese from my brother’s estate!” she retorted.

He chuckled. “Voilà, our first dispute.” He served them both some of the sharp, crumbly cheese. “I like your Elspeth. She has your interests at heart.”

“Yes, I shall miss her very much,” Gloriana said.

He helped himself to sausage and egg. “Why should you miss her?”

“Because she is my dearest friend, and she’s going to leave me.”

He took a forkful of eggs. “Why? She seems devoted to you.”

“Yes, but she intends to wed Mr. Turner. The reward for helping us get the Book of Hours means he can quit Lord Hythwick’s employ, and he will have the money to become a tailor or innkeeper or some such. She will be much happier as a wife than as a lady’s maid, so I must be happy for her.” She toyed with her eggs.

Meanwhile, Philippe savored his breakfast as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Tiens, what superb sausage! I must send a message to the cook. Why shouldn’t a lady’s maid also be a wife?"

“It’s not usual,” she said. “I expect that’s mostly because marriage means children, and caring for them would prevent her from doing her work. But I would keep Elspeth anyway if I could.” But what was the use of wishing? She took a bite of the sausage. It was one of Cook’s homemade special sausages, not the rather bland sort from the butcher. She shouldn’t read anything into that—Cook couldn’t have known ahead of time that she would make breakfast for the future master of the house—but somehow it cheered her anyway.

“Do not worry about that, either. All will be well.”

Exasperated, she almost snapped at him, but Elspeth came into the room again, shut the door, then poured coffee for them all and took a seat at the table.

“You’re not eating?” Philippe asked.

“No, sir, I broke my fast two hours ago,” Elspeth scoffed. “I don’t lie abed of a morning.”

“That may change after you marry your Mr. Turner,” he said.

She colored. “He’s not a slug-a-bed either,” she retorted and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir. I spoke without thinking.”

Gloriana laughed. “Elspeth is accustomed to speaking her mind with me.”

“I am glad to see she has no difficulty doing the same with me,” Philippe said. “That means we shall get along well.”

An emotion, which Gloriana wished might be sadness but which she couldn’t identify, flitted across the maid’s face. Gloriana waited for her to say that she wouldn’t be staying with them long, but evidently Elspeth thought it wasn’t the right moment, for she merely said, “Might we get on with the planning, sir? For I’d best be getting back to work soon, or the other servants will wonder.”

“And I’d best be on my way,” Philippe said as he outlined the plan.

~ ~ ~

At three o’clock in the afternoon, Gloriana and Elspeth pottered about in the nursery on the road to Islington. The location was Gloriana’s idea—a place on the road to the north where respectable ladies might choose to shop but were unlikely to meet their friends and acquaintances. They were followed about by an obsequious little man asking questions about the garden she had no intention of planting. She did her best to imitate her sister-in-law, who had managed to take over direction of the rose garden at Garrison House without upsetting the head gardener. Not that Gloriana cared about upsetting this particular person, although maybe she should—he was only doing his job, after all. The other customers at the moment consisted of laborers fetching baskets of cut flowers to sell in Town, so lesser clerks were able to deal with them.

It occurred to her that she might make actual use of the nursery, so at least the obsequious man wouldn’t have wasted his time. “Setting my house in Town aside, perhaps you could advise me about another project,” she said, and went on to describe the school in Islington, the tiny garden in front and the larger one behind, the necessity of planting a few herbs as well as flowers, the hope of instilling in the boys a respect for growing things, and so on.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the arrival of a coach and four with the crest of Freddy Barnham’s father on the door. Shades covered the windows, but hopefully it contained three passengers—two actors bearing a superficial resemblance to Freddy and Marianne, the third being Freddy himself. She turned to watch it pass—no, Freddy was on the box with the coachman. He spread his hands in the obvious question—Is she here?—to which Gloriana shook her head. The coach rolled on and disappeared around a corner.