Page 26 of Mistress of Misfortune

Chapter 7

With tightly-leashed patience Thorne paced along the edge of the landing as the workmen carefully made their way out of the tower arch. One of them held tucked under his arm a broken, blackened board, which he presented as soon as they reached solid footing.

“Here’s where that wood come from, Colonel,” the carpenter said, showing him the decayed wood. “A strut under the third-floor landing gave way. What fell to the bottom broke off from this. There’s naught holding it up now.”

Thorne took hold of the piece, which felt disagreeably spongy and smelled of mildew. “What caused the support to snap?”

The men looked at each other before the carpenter said, “Likely the rot, sir. The top half of the stairs have begun to sag. Best to keep the servants out of here until we can clear out the punked wood and rebuild the steps.”

He shook his head. “I first need the flooring in the servants’ quarters replaced before the snow arrives. The tower will have to wait.”

So, it had been an accident, Thorne thought as he left the workers to pack up their tools for the day. He went to the kitchen to inform his men, who had gathered there for their evening meal, that they would have to use the center staircase until repairs could be made. It was then that he noticed his steward’s chair at the end of the table stood empty.

“Harshad has not returned from his rounds?” Thorne asked.

The cook started to reply, but just then the sound of a carriage came from the drive. “He has now, Master.”

Outside Thorne felt surprised to see his steward helping Miss Branwen out of the carriage. “Lucetta. Is something the matter? How is Meredith?”

“She was still a little unnerved when we arrived at Starling House, but I think after a good night’s rest she will recover,” Lucetta said.

“I am to tell you that she hopes to see you tomorrow night at Lady Hardiwick’s assembly,” his steward told him.

As Thorne watched, Harshad took from the carriage one case, and then another, and a satchel after that. Lucetta removed a large hat box from the seat and added it to the pile.

Thorne regarded the baggage and then the lady. “I thought you were for home.”

“I no longer have one, sir.” She folded her hands in front of her, her expression strained now as she faced him. “My brother cannot offer me his hospitality and remain the Vicar of Renwick, so I have been forced to leave his house. I wonder if I might impose on your generosity again for a room tonight. I should like to speak with you, and I have no money for accommodations elsewhere.”

“You are always welcome to stay.” Thorne asked Harshad to see to the bags she had brought, and escorted her to his study, where he poured them both a brandy.

“Thank you.” Rather than make the usual feminine fuss over spirits she took a sip and settled back in her chair.

She appeared as exhausted as he felt, Thorne thought. “I hope your cousin has not resolved to quit Dredthorne for good.”

“I insisted she stay at home for a day to rest, but I am certain she will return the next.” She tucked her fist under her chin as she gazed at the fireplace for a moment. “I suppose I should explain my own situation to you.”

“Your brother tossed you out, you are without funds, and you need a bed for the night.” He sat down across from her and toasted her with his own drink. “I am not interested in intrigues, so that is all I need know.”

“I appreciate your gentlemanly lack of curiosity, especially with my life yet again in shambles.” Her gaze shifted to his sleeve, which remained pelted with wood splinters. “You desperately need a valet.”

“Soldiers dress themselves,” he informed her drily. “You are stalling. Whatever you wish to say, madam, out with it.”

She plucked at a fold of her skirt. “My brother offered me money before I left, but I refused. He cannot afford to part with it, and I prefer to earn my way. Yet my options have become quite limited.”

That was the genteel way of saying she was flat broke and had no prospects of employment, which Thorne had already guessed.

“I can certainly pay you for serving as Meredith’s chaperone and helping with the books.” He knew of similar arrangements among good families to provide a modest income for poor relations. “Would it not be better for you to attempt to reconcile with the vicar? Or perhaps you could stay with the Starlings.”

“The most practical solution to my dilemma is to find work.” Lucetta cradled her brandy between her palms. “Please understand that I have nothing but admiration for Mr. Naveya. In England, however, a man of his talents does not manage the domestics. When spring comes, your steward will be needed to attend to your financials, the property, any tenants you may wish to lease to, livestock, crops, and so forth.”

“He will have no time to see to the house, then.” The agent had mentioned something about such arrangements, but Thorne had been determined to do things in his own fashion. “I had not thought of it.”

“It is not a criticism. A large estate like this presents many challenges for its master, and you are only just arrived. This is the first time you have had to deal with a house of this size?” When he nodded she tilted her head. “If I may ask, why have you been so determined to keep your staff wholly male?”

“I am a soldier, used to the company of men,” Thorne told her, unwilling to say more than that.

“This is Renwick, not the Army, sir.” She squared her shoulders. “For management of the hall and your staff, and to see to what you need to live comfortably here, you require a proper housekeeper. I propose you hire me to be yours.”