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“His standards are high,” the duke admitted, “and I fear he is let down by all around him. We can only hope to improve.”
Tabitha tutted. “Not too greatly, I hope, as his role requires he transform problems into solutions.”
“I am of a mind with you, Miss Barrington.” A series of turns led them to a green baize door. He opened it for her, and they descended the staircase. “When the pups start to arrive, he will have more than enough to keep him busy. As we all will.”
“That will be a happy day for your pack.”
“It will be. Long awaited and much desired.” They passed the kitchens, and Lowell paused before a door. “We anticipate a happy day when Llewellyn will once again master his lion.”
“You have rather less control over that, unfortunately.” Tabitha wondered how much to say, if this was in the way of being a report. “The more time I spend in his company, the more admiration I have for him. By which I mean”—she was blushing, she could feel it—“he is becoming easier every day in company with others, in ways I did not foresee.”
“It is your company specifically I believe he enjoys. We often met at Court as children, and he was always solitary but mischievous with it. Getting into things no one else did, for example, or finding hiding places no one would have thought of.” The duke’s eyes twinkled.
Tabitha rushed to Llewellyn’s defense. “It was my idea entirely. He did it only for me.”
“Did he?” Lowell rapped twice on the door and opened it for her. “How interesting.” With that, the duke, who had greater knowledge of the depths of the Hall than one would think, slipped behind an unobtrusive door and away.
“Evening, miss.” Mary Mossett curtsied even as she finished off a hem. The underbutler’s pantry had been converted into a sewing room: it was not unlike her healing shed, with its high table and floor-to-ceiling shelves. These would have played host to silverware in need of polishing; now, fabrics in a rainbow of colors filled them.
Mr. Coburn’s opinion notwithstanding, he had made it a useful and productive space. Lowell Hall was keen to adapt to the needs of its residents.
And its visitors. Lady Jemima Coleman unrolled a bolt of immaculate white fabric. “Miss Barrington. How nice to see you.”
“And you. I was hoping my mending was ready, Mary?” She had two pounds for the little maid; perhaps Lady Coleman would act as her go-between.
“Oh yes, miss, I was going to give it to Mr. Barrington, but he was spending extra time with a few of the students, and then I had to do something for Mrs. Birks, and then he was already gone from the Hall.” Mary collected a pile of folded clothing and set it on the large table. Just as she reached for a length of brown paper, one of the footmen, the one Mary had eluded during thecursio,stuck his head in the door.
“Here, Mary,” he began then clocked the presence of the ladies. He bowed and blushed a bit, to Mary’s delight. “How do, my ladies, or lady and miss, or—look, Mary, Mrs. Birks says to come ’round to the laundry and sharpish.”
“Thank you, Leo,” said Lady Coleman. She took the paper from Mary. “Leave this with me, Mary.”
“I meant to do that myself, I did,” the mouse muttered, but went to do the bidding of the housekeeper.
“Miss Mossett has many demands on her time.” In a trice, the lady had their clothes tidily parceled and wrapped with twine.
Tabitha leaned against the table and sorted out a pile of needles. “I have ruffled Mr. Coburn’s feathers by coming to collect the mending.”
This received a sharp look from the lady; Tabitha ought not to have mentioned feathers. “The less said about Mary’s new enterprise, the better. She has the full support of Mrs. Birks, however, so it will not go too badly for her.”
“I am relieved to hear it.”
“Mr. Coburn is as high a stickler as Sally Jersey,” Lady Coleman remarked casually, as if Tabitha had the acquaintance of that influential personage. “He is very concerned that our kind conduct ourselves impeccably.”
“Yes, I am aware of his standards.” If not able to meet them. “I suspect this is in a bid to keep all here safe?”
“Yes. In general, the less attention drawn to our essential selves, the better.”
“They are key to your well-being, are they not?”
“They are.”
“And the harmony between both is paramount.” Would an outsider have a new perspective on this question? “What happens when you are at odds with your essential self?”
Lady Coleman lifted a length of cloth to drape over Tabitha’s shoulder and considered its effect on her complexion. “I vow, this was dyed with you in mind.” The color was a rich, deep orange, which she could not, in a month of Sundays, picture herself wearing. “I insist you allow me to make you something from it. A pelisse, perhaps.”
It seemed the lady did not wish to pursue that topic. “If I do not allow it, will you proceed regardless?”
“I shall.”
