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Four
Cranston really would not do, Kenver thought when he’d left his hat and gloves in his chamber. The woman had a sour disposition, and she always treated him as if he was still five years old and had tracked mud across a priceless carpet. He preferred to avoid her. His mother never noticed Cranston’s ill temper, of course. The maid didn’t show it beforeher. Mama thought of her former maid as a valued old family retainer.
Kenver brightened a little at this thought, even as Sarah’s forlorn look came back to him, a cutting reproach. Perhaps his mother thought Cranston was a sort of…gift. A mark of respect even, assigning Sarah a senior servant. If he explained that a younger attendant would be easier for Sarah to manage, that would make sense surely. It was a logical argument. And it would be easier to speak to Mama without Sarah present. He squared his shoulders and went to look for his mother.
He found both his parents in her sitting room, seated on either side of the fireplace, leaning a little forward. They swiveled and sat back as he walked in, almost as if they’d been plotting mischief. Which was ridiculous, of course. They looked at him without speaking. There was no convenient chair near theirs. Kenver put his hands behind his back and stood before them. “I, ah, wanted to speak to you about Sarah,” he began.
“We can’t pretend to be happy about this match,” snapped his father.
“You pretend to be glad to receive my great-aunt Cora, when I know you are not,” Kenver pointed out. “And there was that fishermen’s delegation about the old dock.”
“Not the same,” declared his father.
“No, Sarah is…”
“We have gone to great lengths to prepare for her,” interrupted his mother. “The north wing is crawling with workmen.”
“Lord knows what it’s going to cost,” complained his father.
Kenver’s mother gave him a speaking glance. Papa hated spending money, and they had sometimes conspired together to promote needed expenditures. It was a sort of game between them. As allies, Kenver thought. “I don’t understand about this damage.” Of course he had looked over the state suite before bringing Sarah home, and he’d seen no sign of it. He tried to envision where the patches of damp had been found.
“Takes an experienced eye to spot these problems,” said his father.
“In thenormalcourse of things, we would have had plenty of time to make ready for your bride,” put in his mother. “Months probably between an engagement and the wedding.”
“Huh,” huffed his father.
They gave Kenver the look that said he’d been foolish, but that of course they would forgive him if he did better in future. It was not unfamiliar. It tended to put Kenver off his stride. “The room where you have put Sarah…” he began. He didn’t know how to point out that its placement was awkward for the wedding night. This was not a topic he could discuss with his parents.
They simply waited for him to go on.
“It is a bit cramped.”
“I put her right across from me,” said his mother. “I thought that a respectful placement.”
“But the rooms on that side of the corridor are much smaller than the front ones.” It was an odd quirk of Poldene’s architecture, and Kenver had never known them to use the rear rank.
“You think I should give up my chamber to her?” asked his mother.
“What?” He hadn’t meant any such thing. It would never have occurred to him. “Of course not, Mama.”
“I should think not indeed,” grumbled his father. “Outrageous suggestion.”
Which he had not made! “But the chamber next to mine, are you certain about the fireplace? I didn’t know it smoked.”
“As you never go in there,” replied his mother with an indulgent smile.
“No, but…”
“So how should you know?”
“Yes, but…it is August.” That seemed a telling point. “We aren’t likely to need fires.”
“With the way the sea mists sweep in?” asked his mother.
“Gets right down into your bones,” his father said with a shiver.
“Surely you would not wish to subject Sarah to that sort of biting damp,” added his mother.
