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She decided there and then she was going to stop resenting Nancy, who was only doing her job, after all. And doing it to the best of her ability, for a mistress who had such a temper she’d even thrown a room full of breakables at her groom on her wedding night.
She discovered that getting ready for dinner was not such an ordeal when she was chatting with Nancy rather than glowering at her in resentful silence. That Nancy could be good company when given just a little encouragement.
She even plucked up courage to smile and tell Clare that she would take his lordship’s breath away when Clare hesitated on the point of opening the bedroom door to go down for dinner.
Clare lifted her chin and flung open the door. She had no need to be nervous. So why was her stomach so full of butterflies? Why was she trembling so much she had to reach out and steady herself by using the banister rail as she went down the stairs?
Ponsonby was standing sentinel outside the battered door of the sitting room, so she knew Rawcliffe must be inside. As soon as she reached the hall, Ponsonby opened the door and, since the hallway was so narrow, stepped smartly to one side so that she could get past him.
Rawcliffe was standing by the fireplace, sipping a drink. He eyed her over the rim of his glass as she entered, in such a way that he made her feel as if he was considering having her for dinner, rather than buttered lobster. Which made her turn as pink as one. Which made him smile, in a slow, knowing kind of way that made her feel as if she was standing there stark naked.
Ponsonby cleared his throat. ‘Dinner is ready, should you wish to take your places at table, my lord, my lady.’
‘I suppose we better,’ said Rawcliffe, setting his glass down on the mantelpiece and extending his arm to her, ‘or Pierre would never forgive us. He has, so I believe, been labouring under extremely trying circumstances today.’
He had been talking to his chef? Or talking about his chef? She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps she ought not to be surprised. He seemed to need to know exactly what was going on, in every corner of his dominion. No matter how trivial or insignificant the matter might appear to others.
The dining room was, in keeping with the rest of the cottage, not designed to accommodate two footmen and a butler, as well as tables and chairs. But rather than permitting them to dine informally, by setting all the dishes on the table at once and letting them serve themselves, Ponsonby received each dish at the door, returning emptied ones to the footmen who hovered there.
It really was a bit ridiculous, to have so many servants scurrying up and down the passage to the kitchen, with each remove, so that she and her husband could dine in state, in what amounted to a glorified fisherman’s cottage.
And yet Rawcliffe appeared to think nothing of it.
‘Is the sauce not to your liking?’ he enquired politely, making her realise she had been frowning at the river of cream Ponsonby had just poured over her lobster.
‘I do beg your pardon, my lady,’ said Ponsonby. ‘I shall remove it at once.’
‘No, no need. The sauce smells delicious,’ she said, grabbing hold of her plate with both hands to prevent the solicitous butler from whisking it away. ‘I was just thinking how very much trouble you must have all gone to, to produce such a…lavish meal, in what is only a tiny cottage, after all.’
‘Chef has had to make use of all three kitchens available,’ said Ponsonby gravely.
‘Have you not noticed the amount of running up and down the lane behind the lodgings that has been going on all evening?’ Rawcliffe arched one eyebrow at her as he signalled Ponsonby to bring the sauceboat round to his side of the table.
‘Oh, dear, has there?’ She hadn’t noticed. She’d been far too busy fussing over her clothes and hair, and making friends with Nancy to notice what had been going on outside. ‘It does seem like an awful lot of effort. For just the two of us,’ she finished guiltily.
Ponsonby drew himself up to his full height and seemed to swell to twice his normal size.
‘There is no excuse for lowering our standards of service to his lordship, simply because we do not have the facilities available to us in the town house. His lordship may be taking a holiday, but we,’ he said repressively, ‘are not.’
