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The wait for Madam to appear for breakfast was excruciating.
There was no reason it should be so. They had engaged upon sexual relations as any married couple might. Never mind that somehow Charlotte could tell, which he discerned from the giddy way she was whispering to Ben, which was winding up the children, who demanded to know what the secret was. Never mind that he only made it worse by announcing, “No teasing of Her Grace is permitted,” as it only encouraged the cubs to whine and shriek and insist upon the reasons why they should not tease if they did not know what not to tease about.
This edict included him: to call attention to what had happened between them was, for certain, the way to prevent it from happening again. And he wanted it to happen again. Would it?
The children were still bellowing; he made to scold them anew when Lady Frost entered the kitchen and quelled their racket in an instant. Arthur could discern the difference now, and it was very much that personage who sat down at table. She had set aside the informal dress she had sported while cleaning in favor of a very severe, dark dress with long sleeves and a high neck. Despite its plethora of ribbons banding the sleeves and the hem, it gave her the air of a governess out of a Gothic novel. His warnings against teasing were superfluous as Madam’s cool demeanor put them in their place.
No, not Madam. Madam was, now he considered it, leagues away from Lady Frost.
Speaking of being put in one’s place, her attitude put the last evening’s events in perspective. What if he had thought practice might make perfection? Thank Freya she’d slept through his maundering following the sex act.
It was a sex act. It was not lovemaking.
It wasn’t—not with the awkwardness and the moratorium on kissing.
She wanted a child from him.
She did not want him.
“Tea, Madam?” he asked and gestured to Brosnyn.
“Thank you, Osborn,” she said, and despite her hauteur, she hesitated over his name. Then she blushed. Arthur saw Charlotte’s eyes widen; Ben knocked over the sugar bowl.
“Clumsy claws,” Charlotte scolded, and the children laughed, explosively out of proportion to the situation. They were roundly hushed.
“There are eggs as usual,” Arthur said, “and the blackberry jam you favor.”
“I would enjoy some jam,” Madam replied faintly as she helped herself to a slice of toast from the rack.
He leaped up from his chair and nearly knocked Conlon down in his fervor to get to the sideboard. “Allow me to dish you up a plate. Do you fancy a kipper?” he asked.
“Kipper? I don’t even know her,” Ben whispered to Charlotte, who in turn spewed her tea onto the cloth. One arch look from Madam quelled any potential escalation of hilarity.
Tarben took a huge mouthful of his milky tea.
“Master Humphries.” Madam very carefully set her cup in its saucer. “Whilst it is well of you to wish to emulate your honored mother in many things, this would not be one of them.”
The child swallowed, and Bernadette drew her attention. “Why did you call him Master Humphries?”
“It is the correct address.” Madam spread jam on her toast. “Your brother is Master Humphries, you are Miss Humphries, and your sister is Miss Ursella. I was Miss Fleetwood, and my sister—”
“Your sister?” Arthur asked.
“Was referred to by her given name with miss before it, as you would expect.” She sliced her toast in two. “Mr. Conlon, will you summon Mr. Todd?”
“If I may, Mr. Conlon?” Brosnyn stepped forward. “I believe he is in the steward’s study.”
“Off you get, young shanks,” the butler said and busied himself setting to rights what Arthur had left in a muddle.
Arthur watched the Lowell footman leave and could not deny the man was a natural diplomat. Only yesterday he’d smoothly evaded a direct query as to the provenance of the workmen on the roof, Brosnyn suggesting Arthur ask Todd without explicitly doing so. Those workmen also counted Lowell footmen among their number. Although what footmen were doing wielding hammers he’d like to know, much less the three hale fellows who now took over much of the maid’s work as far as cleaning and fetching and setting fires and beating rugs were concerned.
As the woodwork in the place started to gleam in the sunlight that was now able to cascade through the mended windows, far be it from he to judge who did what, if they went merrily about the business of it.
Quick as a wink Brosnyn returned with Todd in tow.
“Good morning, Mr. Todd.” Beatrice handed Conlon a scrap of paper; he in turn handed it to Brosnyn, who handed it to the prince’s factotum. “This is a notation on the specific skills of the footmen as yet unemployed with a task. I expect they will enjoy assisting in the work being done on the cottages.”
“Never let it be said the Lowell footmen did not enjoy their visit here,” Arthur said.
