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So he had done what he had to do in order to keep the household accounts in the black: he notified the help that, effective immediately, they would not be paid until a new head of household had arrived. Since he was taking no wage, there was no reason for him to leave. Indeed, it would only help to show his commitment if he were to stay for no pay.
It had been an overstep, he knew, but he hadn't counted on her reaction. Mary seemed, for all the world, to be nearly as combative as anyone he had ever known.
He massaged his knee; it still ached, sometimes, even though he had learned to hide the limp he'd walked with for months after his return to university. He hadn't even brought the cane from his flat in London, and he hadn't needed it once. Now he was beginning to regret it.
All the sitting made it hurt when he did have need to walk, and there was no hostler to prepare a horse for him. The family, it seemed, hadn't felt it worthwhile to purchase a horseless carriage, so on the occasions that he had needed to go into tow
n he had to walk for the better part of an hour.
He rubbed it for a moment, and then ignored the pain and pushed himself up from the chair. He picked up a few of the scraps of paper from the stacks he had carefully separated them into and slipped them into his pocket. Then he steeled himself for a battle that he knew he couldn't win, and set off in search of Mary Geis.
She was sitting in the library. He wasn't sure why, but it surprised him to see that she was keeping to her routine even once the servants were gone. He opened the door and, seeing her inside, waited for her to invite him in.
She didn't. He waited a little longer, and she ignored him. He let out a cough; nothing. He let out a long, deep sigh and stepped through the threshold into the room that she had claimed as her territory. He had already done quite a bit of encroaching on her, and now he would have to do it again.
His only defense was that his work was absolutely vital to the continued prosperity she seemed to so enjoy.
Having stepped inside, he steeled himself against the onslaught that was sure to come, but none did. Instead, she continued to stare intently at the book in her lap. He could smell the perfume she wore, even several meters away, and it was nearly as intoxicating as her beauty. If only, he thought, before he caught himself.
He took another step towards her, and then another, and then he stood at the desk where she sat and loomed over her. He could see that she hadn't turned the page since he had walked through the door, nearly five minutes. As if she were reading his mind, she turned the page slowly.
For a long time, he waited for a response that did not come. He could see a stiffness developing in her shoulders, and he knew that whether she acknowledged him or not, she was nearly as acutely aware of his presence as he was of hers.
"Miss Geis?" His voice was soft, almost tender. It surprised him; he had hoped to maintain his professional tone as long as he could, in spite of her preternatural beauty.
She ignored him, and he repeated her name once more, harder. More like he had hoped to sound initially. Like someone who could not be ignored.
"What do you need, Mr. Poole? Can you not see that I'm busy? Or do you need to dismiss my books, as well?"
Having grown silent, she looked up at him.
"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Ma'am, but—"
"Oh, sorry, are you?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "So you're going to set my house back in order, then?"
"If this is about your help—"
"You had no right, Mr. Poole. You may have been hired by my father; I'll allow that, but you're not in charge of this house, and you're not in charge of me."
"If you want me to re-hire your servants, Miss Geis, I'm afraid I can't do that."
"And if I told you to leave, and allow me to do it for you?"
James inhaled sharply. He couldn't afford to lose this opportunity, he reminded himself.
"I—" He stopped himself and started over. "I have been going over your father's books, Miss, and needed some assistance in deciphering some rather… arcane text. You would have known your father best, and if anyone could make heads or tails of what he's written, then it would be you. I would only need an hour or two of your time—"
"Why on earth would I help you, Mr. Poole? You've done nothing but throw the house into disorder, and you're not even capable of balancing an accounts book?" Mary closed her book and stood up. She had a defiant expression, and James thought that he would like very much to kiss her until it came off. "Don't be absurd, sir. Get out of my way."
7
Mary
Mary took a deep breath. The ruse, it seemed, had finally worked. She'd waited for days for him to find her in there. Then she would just pick some meaningless fight, an excuse for her to stay cloistered in her room without seeming overly suspicious.
What surprised her more was the steward, Poole. He had apparently been doing plenty of work. It seemed strange for a fellow she had assumed was merely there on pretense to spy on, or even kill, her. Perhaps she had misread the situation.
Perhaps, he was just incompetent. He was looking at all the wrong things; the money didn't mean much to her family. They would make it back, in time, she was sure. If they were a little lower on funds than normal, then that was acceptable. After all, there was a war on, and Derby had not been unaffected by it.
