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She tried to remember the names of each room and failed whilst the housekeeper urged her upstairs. A great dome structure covered the huge hallway, leading to mottled glass that allowed the daylight to illuminate the columns and marbled flooring. Ivy shut her mouth and hastened after Mrs. Bradford when she heard a faint tut.
After traversing a long hallway, the housekeeper deposited her firmly at her bedrooms with a nod to the maid awaiting her there and a brief introduction and an order to meet in the housekeeper’s room to discuss the running of the house.
Ivy watched the woman march away. Quite who was whose mistress, she wasn’t certain.
The maid caught her eye and smiled. “She was housekeeper to the Blenheim. I think she thinks that makes her God.”
“She is certainly...something...”
Ivy only hoped they muddled along well enough. The housekeeper could make life difficult indeed if they could not work together, and Ivy wasn’t certain how easy it would be to stand up to the woman. It was certainly not something she was well-practiced at.
“She doesn’t like me because I’m new,” Miss Baxter explained. “Thinks I shouldn’t be a lady’s maid.”
“Oh?”
“I was a kitchen maid at my last house but apparently no one else wanted the job.” She gestured up and down herself and grinned. “So you are stuck with me!”
Ivy allowed herself a smile in return. Around her own age, Muriel Baxter had rosy cheeks and soft eyes belied by a sharp jawline and coal black hair. She was really quite beautiful and about the first person to have any warmth in her eyes at all. Thank goodness, she was to be her lady’s maid.
“I think I am quite happy to be stuck with you.”
When she stepped fully into the bedroom, she gasped. Vases upon vases of roses were scattered about the room. Every available space was occupied by them in many of the shades she’d spotted in the garden. There was even a picture of a vase of flowers upon the wall, the slightly faded patch of wallpaper behind it indicating it hadn’t always been hung there.
“His lordship sent word to have roses put in here. As many as possible apparently.” Muriel shut the bedroom door. “How we are to get you dressed with all this, I do not know.”
Ivy couldn’t help but laugh. “It is a little excessive.”
“But very sweet do you not think?”
“It is sweet,” she admitted.
“You must really love roses.” Muriel poured some water into the washbowl.
“As much as the next woman, I should imagine.” She wasn’t certain why Cillian thought she adored roses so much, however, she could not complain about the thoughtful touch.
“Shall we get you changed and clean, my lady?” the maid offered. “I’m sure you are keen to find your feet here. I still get lost, and I’ve been here three weeks.”
“Then we shall find our feet together.”
“I like the sound of that, my lady.”
Ivy tilted her head and eyed the maid. “Why would no one else take this job?”
Muriel shrugged. “Search me. Positions like this don’t come up often but it can’t be any worse than any other big house.”
“No, I suppose not.”
And Ivy hoped not. She was well and truly married to Cillian, whether they had consummated the marriage or not, and somehow, she needed to make this her home.
***
There were many who would doubt Cillian’s decision to put a man like Hajit Shah in charge of the whole house.
Hell, he suspected most of the household thought him mad to give such a job to an Indian ex-soldier.
Shah moved about the estate office with all the grace of a donkey, his limp creating an unevenness to the sound of his footsteps. He motioned for Cillian to sit as he dropped into the seat on the opposite side of the desk with a grunt.
Cillian sat and glanced around the room that adjoined the stable block. From here, Shah could oversee almost everything to do with the estate from the rearing of horses to the grazing of sheep. The butler and housekeeper concentrated on the running of the house but reported regularly to him. Cillian pictured the pair with a smirk, so alike in the way their lives appeared etched into their expressionless faces and wondered how that was going.
