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“Of course, I have yet to familiarize myself with the house.” Madam set her knife and fork down delicately. “I intend to do so, top to bottom, and suspect there is much to be seen to.”
“A lick of cloth to master the cobwebs and it is done.” The servants gaped at him in disbelief; Madam sailed on as if he had not spoken.
“Once I have gone through,” she continued, “I will determine if revising the use and function of several rooms is in the best interest of the household. There is none to say nay.”
“Is there not?” As deeply as he revered Shakespeare, teasing Madam was more diverting than watching a wire dancer traverse the Pit in Haymarket.
“I shall do everything in my power to return Arcadia to its former glory.” A palpable thrill ran through Arthur’s being at her words. “It is my duty. I am the lady of this house.” Madam rose and swept out of the room.
***
Oh goodness, she hadsweptout of the kitchen. Swept, like a girl in a novel, a spirited debutante—who it had to be said often fell foul of the villain of the piece but was always rescued by the hero. She used to sweep out of the schoolroom to amuse Ellie and ruin it by running back in to tickle her to pieces. Beatrice wanted to giggle like the girl she had once been, who had confidence in the future.
That confidence had taken a knock, and bottomless coffers had not restored it, but now she might revive two birds with one fortune.
She continued to sweep down the hall with no notion of where she was headed until she saw the prince’s factotum lurking in a doorway.
“Mr. Todd.” He cricked his head, exposing his neck. “I have given thought as to how we may make use of your presence here.” She had no idea where his talents lay, but he had a bright, clever look about him. “Let us begin by assessing the breadth of the duke’s holdings.”
“I believe this was the study of the former steward. I took a moment to acquaint myself with its contents.” Mr. Todd gestured her in.
Yes, this was very much the study of a steward. The room was small, and bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The absence of dust proved it was well tended, but despite its spotlessness, there was an air of neglect to it.
Mr. Todd turned to a highboy composed of wide, shallow drawers and opened them one by one until he withdrew a sheet of paper. He laid it on the desk. It was a beautifully rendered plan of Arcadia, the situation of the house, the lands beyond, and the River Wey that ran to the north. Close to the main building were a kitchen garden, a rose walk, a stable yard, and a variety of outbuildings as well as a fair number of cottages; beyond those, a road with an arrow marked it as the way to Arcadia Demesne, which she supposed was the home village. At some distance behind the house was a circular clearing of some sort, with four paths radiating from it like the spokes of a wheel. It was not labeled.
Beatrice ran a finger round the circle of it. “What is this?”
Mr. Todd hesitated. “It is a gathering place for the…family. It has not been in use for some time.”
“Does it require attention?” It certainly had hers, mere strokes of a pen though it may be.
“It does.”
“Then it shall have it,” she decided. “Well done, Mr. Todd. You have made short work in familiarizing yourself with this place. It is no surprise you came to His Highness’s attention.”
“I am one of many, ma’am,” he demurred. “I did as I was bid and nothing more.”
Did you?she thought. “I applaud your initiative and assume His Highness would agree with me.” He crooked his head again, which she took as a signal he would not elaborate.
Onward, then. Beatrice pointed to the depictions of the small holdings. “Would these be the abodes of tenants?”
“I can say with confidence they would not be tenants as such but members of the…” He trailed off.
“Members of, Mr. Todd?” Beatrice pressed and then remembered the law.
“I do not have permission to use the proper term designating the Alpha species of this place, ma’am,” he said. “But these would have been the homes of the members of the group who reside here.”
“Will the use of clan suffice?” Mr. Todd nodded and shrugged and grimaced. “I shall refer to it as such until I learn otherwise. Now. As you may know, I have the disbursement of my own funds.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Todd nodded. “His Highness alluded to this fact.”
Beatrice reached for the quill and ink on the desk along with the handy sheaf of foolscap. Dipping the pen in the ink, she dashed out a few lines, precise in their instruction. A decision made under duress was one in need of revision; she would nurture the potential she saw in Arcadia to its fullest, and that would require funds. “This is the direction of my man of business.” She blew on the ink and folded the paper. “I require someone to act as an emissary between his offices in London and Arcadia. I would entrust this role to you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The man looked eager and gratified as he slipped the paper into his pocket.
“I have £10,000 a year.” It was an impressive sum, especially to one accustomed to the depleted royal treasury—if Mr. Todd’s expression was anything to go by. “I will authorize a steady flow to support the renovations we will require. Please begin with a thorough investigation of such domiciles as the Osborn clan inhabited and what repairs are necessary.”
“Very good, ma’am.” He replaced the map in the drawer and, if Beatrice was correct, looked around the study with longing before she led the way back into the corridor.
