Aware that the two other occupants of the shop were well within earshot, Rosamund spoke in a clear, carrying voice. “Yes, my dear Jacqueline, I’m afraid it will simply have to be London servants. A vast pity, but there is no help for it. Apart from a couple of daily maids I lured from the inn, there is no staff to be had in these parts.”
Fortunately the girl took the lead quickly. “Very true, dear sister,” said Jacqueline. “I think you must be right.”
“I shall have to pay them double wages for coming so far, of course,” said Rosamund. She made a little moue. “I detest the idea of London servants in the country. They are never content, and the locals do not like it.”
“All of those handsome footmen making off with their pretty daughters, I expect,” said Jacqueline, adding her mite.
“Oh, yes! And their odious way of looking down their noses at good, plain country folk,” agreed Rosamund. She sighed. “I daresay I’d be prepared to pay double wages just to have some competent, honest local staff. But there’s nothing for it; I must employ a London agency, no matter how distasteful I might find it. Pendon Place will not run itself.”
With delight, Rosamund heard various gasps and mutters between the haberdasher and the county’s greatest gossip. With any luck, she’d have a fully staffed house by the end of the week.
Rosamund picked up a length of raspberry-colored ribbon and held it flat on her palm. “Isn’t this pretty? Too dark for me, perhaps, but not out of the question for you.” She held the ribbon against Jacqueline’s skin. “Hmm. It would look better if your skin were fair.” She picked up a pale blue one. That brought out her sister-in-law’s eyes and complemented her skin tone better.
“I don’t see that it matters which color I choose,” said Jacqueline, always impatient with what she termed
frippery and folderol
.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” said Rosamund calmly. “It would be far better for you, my dear Jacqueline, to stop fretting and fuming and
apply
yourself to the business. So many things become more enjoyable when you expend some effort on them.”
Jacqueline slumped her shoulders, and her voice took on a tone that was a cross between self-deprecating laughter and a pained whine. “But I
loathe
dancing, Rosie dearest! You have no idea how much I detest it. I am all left feet—like a drunk giraffe, Griffin says. Poor Dearlove tries and tries to teach me, but it’s no use. He tore his hair out the other day. Literally! I shall be solely responsible for turning the poor man bald.”
“That won’t do at all,” said Rosamund. “What a pity my cousin Lydgate isn’t here. He is an excellent dancer and a patient teacher, too.”
She’d written to her family with her news, provoking a flurry of letters in return, filled with underlinings and exclamation points in Cecily’s case and with restrained applause from the Duke of Montford.
Xavier, however, did not write at all.
She had asked them not to visit her until she set the house to rights. She, Jacqueline, and Griffin would no doubt return to London while the major work was carried out.
It could not be soon enough for her. She sighed. Surely Griffin must finish his estate business soon. Jacqueline was as ready for her debut as she was likely to be if she were not to miss the season altogether. Rosamund was eager to see her family again and share her happiness with them. Concern about Xavier’s silence needled at the back of her mind, but she tried her best to ignore it. Most of the time, she succeeded.
Despite Jacqueline’s restive demeanor, Rosamund took her time choosing all manner of laces, silks, ribbons, and floss. She couldn’t imagine what she’d do with them all, as they were vastly inferior in quality to London wares, but that was beside the point.
She spent lavishly in the shop in the hope of ingratiating herself with its owner. As she paid for her purchases with coins, she wished she’d thought to bring Diccon with her to carry her parcels. Instead, she directed Mrs. Thorne to deliver them to Pendon Place.
The way Mrs. Thorne’s round face had shone when Rosamund handed over coins rather than racking up the purchases on account gave Rosamund an idea. She followed that same practice over the next week or so, until she’d amassed all sorts of odd purchases.
“Would you care to explain to me why I now own no fewer than thirty monogrammed handkerchiefs?” Griffin asked.
“A lady in the village embroiders them,” said Rosamund.
“Oh.” He rubbed his chin. Then he shook his head. “No, that makes no sense to me.”
She knew it would anger him if she told him she was trying to restore his standing with the locals, so she said, “An eccentric habit of mine. Why buy three when you can purchase thirty?”
With a kiss on his brow, she left him before he could question her further.
Tomorrow, she was due to interview a legion of potential servants. Hopefully, Griffin would be out of the way while she did so, but she couldn’t help feeling on tenterhooks about it.
She would need to have Griffin’s consent to doubling the wages, of course. It was unfortunate, but necessary, and it wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford it.
Some things were worth a premium, weren’t they?
Somehow, she doubted Griffin would see it that way. However, she’d learned very early in their marriage that she would find him more malleable in the morning when he woke after a night of pleasure with her.
Yes, tomorrow morning it would have to be. For one thing, she did not think she could live in this house a week longer under such conditions. Besides the fact that Peggy and her family were neither skilled nor particularly hardworking, it wasn’t fair to put the burden of a house the size of Pendon Place upon them.
Well, she would do her utmost to make Griffin so sated and happy that he’d deny her nothing. He might not admit it now, but he’d be so much more comfortable in a well-run home. And she would be that much closer to achieving her lifelong dream.
Briefly, she placed a hand over her flat stomach. Yet another reason to seduce Griffin thoroughly and often. She wanted a baby. Her arms ached with longing for a small bundle of soft skin and gummy smiles to call her own.
A grand, well-run house, content workers and tenants, cordial neighbors, and the light and color and diversion of London each spring. Children in the nursery, happy, healthy, and rambunctious. A husband who treated her with the gentleness and respect she demanded and fulfilled her physical needs with a passion and skill she’d never thought to ask for.
All those things were now within her grasp.
If only … oh, if only they were enough.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Griffin couldn’t find Rosamund anywhere. He’d searched all over the bloody inconvenient pile that was his inheritance, without success.
He often toyed with the idea of leaving Cornwall altogether and setting up residence on his Lincolnshire estate, but of course, that wasn’t possible. Though he hated his grandfather and everything the old man stood for, duty was bred into Griffin’s bones. Pendon Place had been his family’s principal seat for centuries. He would not be the one to break with tradition. There was the estate to be run, and besides, he was stubborn enough to stay despite the swell of public opinion against him.
Music floating down the corridor alerted him to Rosamund’s possible whereabouts. The old music room. Lord, he hadn’t visited there in years.
Rosamund must have had the pianoforte tuned because the waltz she conjured from the instrument was pitch-perfect. Griffin loved music, but as neither he nor his siblings could play well and no one invited him anywhere, he’d not heard the pianoforte for a very long time.
Perhaps the last time was when his mother had played and sang for them when their nurse brought them down from the nursery for tea. An ache formed in his chest as it always did at the thought of her.
How foreign and tragic he would have thought it then to be without music for years on end. But at that time, he could not conceive of being without his mama, either.
Pushing those thoughts away, he stepped into the music room.
And caught sight of Jacks in a man’s embrace.
“What the Hell are you doing with your hands on my sister?” he roared.
The music stopped. Jacks and Maddox turned their heads to stare.
Maddox lifted a brow. “Getting my feet trodden on, mostly. If you object, I’d be more than happy to hand the task over to you.”
“I wish you would,” said Jacks, dropping her hand from his shoulder with a huff. “Griffin wouldn’t complain half as much.” She tilted her head to survey her waltzing partner. “You’re as cross as crabs today, Tony. What the Devil is wrong with you?”
“Not the Devil, Jacqueline, please.” Unhurriedly, Rosamund got up from the pianoforte stool and came toward Griffin, holding out her hand. “My dear, your ire is unnecessary. My presence makes it all entirely proper. Your sister
must
master various patterns of dancing before she has her season. If she doesn’t learn now, only imagine how excruciating it will be for her in a ballroom.”
“Only imagine how excruciating for her poor partners’ feet,” murmured Maddox. He turned his attention to Griffin. “What is this nonsense about a season, Tregarth? Trying to steal a march on me, hmm?”
“I don’t need to take you at a disadvantage, Maddox,” said Griffin. “Your chances are absolute zero, in any case.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Jacks demanded.
Maddox glanced at her. “I’ll explain it to you another time.”
“There isn’t going to be another time,” Griffin said through gritted teeth. “Stay away from her.”
“Or what?” said Maddox coolly. “You’ll throw me off a cliff?”
Jacks gasped. A shocked silence fell over the room.
“Mr. Maddox, that was uncalled for,” said Rosamund quietly. “I think you ought to leave us.”
Was it his imagination or did Maddox’s arrogance dim a little in the face of Rosamund’s reproach?
“Tony!” Jacks said in a low, trembling voice. “Did you mean that? Do you mean to imply that
Griffin
…” She choked and sent an imploring glance Griffin’s way.
Ever so slightly, Griffin shook his head at her.
Maddox held Griffin’s eyes for a long moment. Then he said, “No, of course I do not. Do you think I’d darken his door if I thought that of him? Allbright was my cousin, after all.” Stiffly, he added, “I beg your pardon, Tregarth.”
Tears started to his sister’s eyes. She cast a stricken look at Maddox. Griffin could not bear to see his gangly, cheerful sister seem so small and unhappy. He’d hoped that period of their lives was over, and now here was Maddox stirring the coals.
It would never be over, he realized now, not if she stayed in Cornwall. He needed to get Jacks away from here if she were to have any kind of normality to her life.
He addressed Maddox. “You heard my lady. Get out of here. Now.”
“Griffin,” said Rosamund in a placating tone. She fluttered a graceful hand toward Maddox. “Mr. Maddox apologized. Let us not alienate the few friends we do have.”
Fury and fear twisted inside him. He knew he sounded unreasonable to her, but he had to get Maddox away from Jacks.
“I accept your apology,” he told Maddox. “But I repeat what I said: Stay the Hell away from my sister!”
Jacks was crying in earnest now. “You can’t stop me seeing Tony! He’s my best—my only friend!”
“We are leaving for London tomorrow, so you’ll have no opportunity to see him in any event,” Griffin ground out. Lord, didn’t she see the dangers? Why should he have to spell it out to her?
Maddox went to her and with one finger, tilted her chin. “There, now,” he said softly, but with a dangerous note in his voice. “All this unpleasantness has made you cry, and you know that is not allowed.”
He took out his handkerchief and carefully wiped the tears away.
Griffin would have objected to this if he hadn’t seen a look on Maddox’s face that … Oh, the Devil! This was getting more complicated than he could stand!
He glanced at Rosamund and saw surprise and consternation in her expression. She must have seen that fleeting, tender look, too.
“Well, it seems that is settled,” said Rosamund. “Mr. Maddox, if you’ll excuse us, there is much to do if we are to leave here at once.”
“Of course.” With a bow and a half smile for Jacks, he took his leave.
Jacks stared at Griffin with accusing eyes. “Why would you treat him so?” she demanded. “He is a friend, not one of those county people who shunned us when we were in trouble but now beat down our door because you’ve married a well-connected heiress. He was loyal to us from beginning to end!”
“Witness his earlier remark,” said Griffin.
“He didn’t mean that, and you know it,” she said. “Griffin, it has been hard enough here after Mr. Allbright. Why would you take away the one true friend I have left?”
Because he wants more than friendship, you innocent little goose. Because it is dangerous for you to be with him.
Griffin folded his arms. “If you don’t know the answer to that question, you’re a fool.”