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"A discerning nose, Your Grace," the cook replied, wiping her hands upon her apron before crossing to the spit where a joint of meat turned slowly over the embers. She carved a thin slice from the edge, offering it on the tip of her knife. "This evening's roast. How do you find the seasoning?"

Adelaide accepted the sample. The roast was tender, expertly seasoned, and rich in flavor.

"It is exceptional."

"You are far too kind, Your Grace," the cook beamed. "His Grace has been away from England so long that we worried he had forgotten proper table fare, but a duchess recognizes good preparation."

Adelaide offered a polite smile. Before she could answer, a calm voice spoke from the entrance behind her.

"Your Grace, might I request a brief word?"

Mrs. Rutherford stood at the threshold of the kitchen, her hands folded over her apron in her usual professional posture, though a watchful warmth lingered in her eyes.

"Of course, Mrs. Rutherford."

The housekeeper guided her into the quiet hallway beyond the kitchen, where the air was cooler, and the routine movements of the staff proceeded in quiet order.

"I trust Your Grace finds your chambers comfortable?" Mrs. Rutherford inquired. "The linens were freshly changed yesterday, and the draperies thoroughly aired. Is there anything further you require?"

"Everything has been prepared beautifully, thank you." Adelaide paused. "Though I confess the bedchamber felt rather drafty last night. The hearth may require inspection."

Mrs. Rutherford's formal composure wavered slightly, her hands clasping tightly at her waist.

"Drafty," she repeated softly. "Your Grace, I offer my sincere apologies. The fire in that grate remained unlit for years, as His Grace never occupied those apartments previously." She checked her tone before continuing. "I shall inspect the hearth and order the bed-warmers prepared immediately. The chimney flue may require clearing, for I will not have it said that the Duchess of Ravensmere was left to shiver in her own home."

"That is quite unnecessary⁠—"

"It is entirely necessary, Your Grace," Mrs. Rutherford corrected firmly, reassuming her professional bearing. "And while we are addressing domestic matters, would Your Grace care to review the quarterly household accounts? I have managed the ledgers independently since His Grace's return, but if you should wish to review expenses or provisioning⁠—"

"I should be delighted." The words escaped Adelaide faster than intended, prompting Mrs. Rutherford to look up in surprise at her enthusiasm. Adelaide softened her tone. "That is to say, I would welcome the opportunity to review them. I managed the estate accounts at Ashwood for years, and it would be a relief to return to familiar work."

Mrs. Rutherford studied her for a moment before the rigid line of her shoulders relaxed, her professional distance giving way to genuine approval.

"If Your Grace will follow me to the housekeeper's parlor, then."

The parlor was a neat, quiet room off the main passage, its walls lined with shelves of bound account books. Mrs. Rutherford placed the current ledger upon the table and opened it to the current quarter.

Adelaide sat down and took up the quill Mrs. Rutherford offered. For the next two hours, she immersed herself in a task she had quietly missed since leaving Kent.

The figures were well-maintained; Mrs. Rutherford had managed the household expenses with strict efficiency. Yet Adelaide's experienced eye quickly noted minor details—areas where provisioning costs could be adjusted and suppliers streamlined to transform a well-run house into an exceptionally efficient one.

"Your Grace is remarkably thorough," Mrs. Rutherford observed as Adelaide cross-referenced a provisioner's bill against previous quarterly totals.

"Years of practice," Adelaide set down her pen. "My aunt held little interest in estate administration, so the management of Ashwood fell to me by necessity. I discovered I held a natural aptitude for the work."

"A fortunate turn of events for Ravensmere House, Your Grace."

Adelaide looked up from the ledger, meeting Mrs. Rutherford's warm and respectful expression.

"Thank you, Mrs. Rutherford."

They worked together in comfortable silence until the afternoon light began to fade through the window. Closing the ledger, Adelaide flexed her stiff fingers and made her way upstairs to the drawing room.

Mr. Danvers stood waiting near the entry hall in his usual posture, holding a heavy silver tray laden with a substantial stack of formal correspondence.

"Your Grace," he bowed politely. "The afternoon post has arrived."

Adelaide approached the tray and selected the topmost envelope—heavy cream paper bearing an elegant script addressed to the Duchess of Ravensmere, sealed with unbroken red wax.