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Marion smiled at Mrs Bolton, who nodded curtly, pleased with her pragmatism. She turned to Cook, one of her other favourite people in the household.
“What do you think, Cook?”
“I could make pheasant pies,” Cook said in the middle of kneading bread on the floured table. “The Master loves them. Are you partial yourself, Milady?”
“I am,” Marion smiled. Cook had been trying to discern all of Marion’s favourite foods and meals since the moment she had arrived at the house. Cook often used her lady’s maid, Loretta as a culinary spy to report back on what breakfasts were best received or whether coffee or tea was preferred. Marion was not used to such specific attentions, but she appreciated them all the same.
“Pheasant pie sounds delicious. Perhaps we could serve it for lunch the day the Earl and Countess of Brixton visit?” Marion suggested.
“Hmmm.” Cook slapped the dough and pressed it thoughtfully. “With some cold pork and jam, and some broad beans from the garden. That should make a fair luncheon.”
“The pork is for tomorrow night,” Mrs Bolton clarified, writing things down in her small notebook to keep track. “When the Dowager Countess is due to come for dinner.”
“Of course.”
Marion kept her face expressionless, but her heart squeezed tight at the idea of Simon’s mother coming to have dinner with them. It was inevitable, of course, that the Dowager Countess would want to get the full measure of Marion. That was only to be expected, but it didn’t mean Marion was looking forward to it in the slightest.
“And roast pork is the Dowager Countess’s favourite, is it not?” Marion asked.
“It is, My Lady.” Cook nodded. He had been working at Reading Estate for thirty years and knew the appetites and preferences of every Burfield relation who had ever passed through it.
“And for dessert I have sugared plums with brandy sauce, another favourite of milady’s.”
“Perfect.” Marion nodded. “I hear from the Sarl that she is also partial to sugared almonds. We shall serve them with brandy.”
“Of course, Milady.” Cook nodded efficiently and turned the dough on his table. Marion could feel that he was in a hurry to get his bread in the oven. “It shall all be as you wish.”
“Thank you, Cook.” Marion turned to Mrs Bolton. “Mrs Bolton, let us go upstairs and discuss the other arrangements surrounding the Dowager Countess’s visit.”
Marion walked back upstairs with her housekeeper and they entered the formal dining room. Marion couldn’t help taking a quick breath when she took in the long, impressive mahogany table at which they would sit tomorrow night. She steadied her breath and concentrated her mind on what needed to be done. She would never be able to erase the circumstances of her birth that would never endear her to her new mother-in-law, but she could control every aspect of their dinner together and ensure that she was proven to be completely competent in her role as mistress of the house.
“The tablecloth?” Marion said, stepping up to the table.
“We have the lace, which is used for fine dining with guests, and the linen with blue flowers that the Dowager Countess bought the late countess,” Mrs Bolton said, pointing between the two table cloths laid out as examples.
“Let us have the linen,” Marion said, trying not to look at it. The mention of Simon’s last wife bothered her, and she wished that she could demand that any remnant of her was scrubbed from the household entirely, but she knew that was only mean-spirited of her. It did her no good to be resentful or competitive with the woman he still clearly loved so dearly. So dearly he could not bring himself to even kiss her without his eyes filling with obvious regret.
“I am sure that the Dowager Countess would like that,” Marion said, trying to move her thoughts along. “And the candles?”
“We have finest beeswax tapers for the table,” Mrs Bolton said, gesturing to them in the holders. “Tallow for the sideboard.”
“Let us have beeswax throughout.”
Marion couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that she could make the decision to have expensive beeswax candles at her dinner table with the flick of her finger, but Mrs Bolton nodded curtly and snapped her finger to the maid.
“Now the dinner service.” Mrs Bolton moved them slowly down the table. “We have the gilt edges, purchased by the late countess, and then the Dutch blue china that has been with the estate for forty years.”
Marion stared at the beautiful blue and white painted patterns, unable to stop herself from wondering how much these beautiful dinner sets were worth. And now they belonged to her.
“Let us have the blue,” Marion said. The Dowager Countess would probably enjoy seeing the dinner set she had lived with and enjoyed when she was mistress of Reading Estate.
“Yes, My Lady,” Mrs Bolton said, and then added nonchalantly. “It was the Dowager Countess’s favourite service, too.”
Marion appreciated how much Mrs Bolton noticed with her discreet eyes, and how carefully and gently she reassured Marion that she was on the right path. Before Marion could answer, the door behind them opened and Simon put his head around it. Marion’s heart jolted.
“Excuse me, My Lord.”Mrs Bolton immediately curtsied and excused herself from the room along with the maid. Marion was not sure she would ever get used to this—the way that servants trickled away from her and Simon as if they were water breaking over stones.
“Good morning, My Lord,” Marion said. Simon stepped into the room, looking at the different items laid out on the table.
