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Would he kiss her again, trousers and all?
Mary was braiding her hair. “I do be wondering why the Quality bind their hair up like a baby in swaddling. Yours should be flinging about your shoulders like the goddess you are.”
“Goddess? Hardly,” Felicity said. “But thank you, Mary, you are too kind.”
“Oh, no, missus,” Mary cried. “You do be only the image of the mate—eh, the lady that was promised and sought and, er, wedded by Romulus himself. Or was it Remus? Either. Both are the princes of the tale that tells the story of, uh, how…people be falling in love.” She used the lace to tie off the braid and dashed to tidy the bedclothes.
“Were they not brothers in a Roman myth? My classical education is virtually nonexistent. But then, so few women in thetonhave any education at all.”
“Wellllll.” Mary paused. “They were brothers, but I’m thinking it’s maybe not the same tale as most heard.” She plumped the last pillow and set it just so on the counterpane.
“Has it anything to do with that feast of yours?” Had she landed in a den of paganism, so near to the Sussex border?
“Wellllll,” Mary repeated, edging toward the door. “I suppose you’ll know soon enough, as we’re coming on to the full moon.”
“I’ve never encountered a household so concerned with lunar matters.”
“Ye’ve seen nothing yet, Your Grace,” Mary muttered and hastened out of the room.
Choosing not to wait for another of the duke’s numberless footmen to fetch her, Felicity descended. Sitting was nothing like to walking, nay,striding, in trousers. A part of her was hoping she’d meet the duke in the corridor, in her men’s clothing, even though he’d forbidden she wear them and would no doubt turn up cross. If he became infuriated enough, could she soothe the savage, er, beast, not with music but with a kiss? In fact, she entertained anew a notion that had taken root sometime before the dawn: she was ruined in name, therefore why should she not be ruined in fact and deed? If she and the duke were to kiss again, who was to say it might not go further?
Mr. Coburn was at his usual place at the foot of the stairs. Only by the infinitesimal fluttering of his extraordinary hair did he betray a reaction to her costume.
“Your Grace,” he said, and Felicity sighed. “I hope your morning meal was to your liking?”
“Very much so, Mr. Coburn,” she replied. “My compliments to the chef. Although I perceive that he is no friend of yours.”
Mr. Coburn quivered so with outrage, the skin beneath his chin wobbled. “I would not like to complain,” he said—and then did so. “Monsieur Louveteau has a Continental approach to the meals belowstairs. He is far too egalitarian and refuses to prepare victuals that differ for the upper servants and the lower and expects us all to dine as one. It is not in order, Your Grace, not in order by a long chalk.”
“I see.” Compromise would seem to be the sticking place of this household. “I cannot think of a solution at this moment, but I shall think on it.” Would she? Why would she? The machinations belowstairs, abovestairs, or on any stairs in Lowell Hall were none of her concern. “Both of you give exemplary service, and each of you is the king of your own domain. I comprehend the challenge and ask that you leave it with me.” It seemed she was making it her concern.
This decision was underscored by the gratitude glowing in the butler’s eyes. “I cannot convey my gratitude more sincerely, Your Grace, I cannot.” He bowed and inevitably contorted his neck.
“Oh, madam.” Mrs. Birks hurried into the foyer. “I do be begging your pardon for coming upon you on your way out, but I had no end of this and that all morning. Here be the menu for this evening, if you would approve it.”
Felicity took the card and nodded at the artichoke terrine and the haricot hollandaise. “Still rather a lot of meat,” she commented, “but the additions are perfect; do thank the chef for me. I did have a query that may fall in your and Mr. Coburn’s domains? The…disposition of the furniture in the drawing room we used last night. There are several chairs that are unsuited for use in such a room, and I suspect that His Grace would be the last person to notice.” It was not the fault of the staff that the furnishings had gone awry.
“He would at that, madam.” Mrs. Birks laughed and laughed. And Mr. Coburn joined in. It was rather farcical, that a man of such masculinity would worry about where spindle-backed chairs belonged in a house.
“I shall see to removing the offending appointments from the Bassett Room,” Mr. Coburn said. “May I impose upon you to resolve any issues that may occur during the adjustment of the room?” They both looked at her, hope shining in their eyes.
“You may,” she promised, confusing herself no end. She hesitated. “And His Grace? Is he about this morning? As I intend to visit his stables, I thought he might like to accompany me, or…?”
The retainers exchanged a glance, and Mrs. Birks said, “He’s attending to estate matters and will be doing for the guts of the day, ma’am.”
“Ah, of course. A busy, busy man.” Felicity tugged on her waistcoat. “I’ll be off then, if you would be so kind as to direct me.”
“He has left you a token, to occupy your time.” Mr. Coburn hopped over to a panel in the wall that revealed a shallow cupboard. “With his compliments.”
They beamed as she opened the satchel he’d handed her to reveal a sketchbook and pencils. Her heart pounded with excitement and joy, and the two exchanged a delighted glance.
“How thoughtful.” She was certain her calm voice did not betray her rioting emotions. “I look forward to thanking the duke when next we meet.”
“I will leave Mrs. Birks to take you through the Hall at some stage,” said Mr. Coburn, “but if I may conduct a brief tour of the grounds on the way to the stables? It would be my honor.”
The sounds of a busy household followed them through a sitting room and out a set of French doors, one pair of the many that ran the length of at least half the house. An equally long terrace gave out onto a series of shallow steps leading to a parterre, which was not unusual, except that this one was. The hedge she’d seen from the staterooms was indeed a concealment device, for the land it hid was untamed in the extreme.
Oh, there was the usual kitchen garden and rose arbor, but any attempt to create a manicured, meticulously designed park had been abandoned, had it been attempted in the first instance. Shrubbery sprung up willy-nilly, there was not a decorative flower bed in sight, the wood marched toward the house as opposed to receding away from it, and all the paths as far as she could see disappeared into tangled groves. There was one clear path, and onto this she was lead.
