gazed round the lavishly furnished mansion, noting the freshly cut flowers on the table in the entry, the gleam of the inlaid parquet floors. At first glance, the interior of the house looked clean, the Hepplewhite tables glistening, the hearths cleaned of coal dust, but on closer inspection, she had discovered a number of things amiss.
The silver badly needed polishing, none of the guest rooms had been freshened in weeks, and the chimneys needed sweeping. The rugs were due for a very thorough beating and the draperies desperately needed to be aired.
She would see it done, she told herself. Somehow she would win the servants’ cooperation.
“I haven’t done the rooms in the west wing,” Claire said from her place on the stairs. “Shall I go up and sweep in there?”
Tory didn’t really want her to. Lord Brant’s room was in that part of the house and she had vowed to keep her sister as far away from the earl as she possibly could.
“Why don’t you go down to the butler’s pantry and help Miss Honeycutt finish polishing that lovely Sheffield silver?”
“All right, but—”
“My room could certainly use a bit of sweeping,” the earl drawled from where he stood on the staircase just above Claire, his unusual golden eyes running over her sister’s suddenly flushed features.
Claire dropped into a curtsey, momentarily lost her balance and almost tumbled down the stairs. Fortunately, the earl reached out and caught her arm, helping her regain her footing.
“Take it easy, love. You needn’t kill yourself trying to get there.”
More color stained Claire’s already rosy cheeks. “Forgive me, my lord. Sometimes I—I’m a little clumsy. I shall see to it right away.” Claire raced back up the stairs, passing the earl, causing him to turn and watch her climb upward. His lion’s gaze followed her until she disappeared, then he turned and fixed his attention on Tory.
“I trust you’re settling into your new position.”
“Yes, my lord. Everything is going along quite well.” That was a lie, of course. The servants barely acknowledged her existence and she wasn’t sure how much work she could actually get them to do.
“Good. Let me know if there is anything you need.” He turned and started climbing upward, heightening Tory’s worry about his intentions toward Claire.
“My lord?”
He paused near the top of the landing. “Yes?”
“There are…I have a couple of items I should like to discuss.”
“Perhaps a little later.” He took the last several steps, started striding toward his room.
“They are rather important,” Tory called after him, beginning to follow him up. “Perhaps you might break away for just a few moments.”
Brant stopped and turned. He studied her for several long moments and something told her he knew exactly what she was about.
A faint smile curved his lips. “That important, are they? I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”
Cord shook his head, his amused smile still in place as he reached the doorway of his suite. She was quite remarkable, this new housekeeper of his. Cheeky little thing and far too perceptive for his liking. The door stood open. His gaze slid across the room to the ethereal creature in the mobcap pushing the broom with light, rapid strokes, piling up the tiny bit of dust that was all she could find on the carefully polished oak floor.
She was lovely in the extreme. And unlike her slightly impertinent sister, completely in awe and even a little afraid of him. He wondered what he could do to put her at ease.
He started into the room, then stopped as he realized she hadn’t noticed his presence, which allowed him the pleasure of watching her. The broom continued its movements, then stilled as Claire stopped to study the little silver music box on his writing desk in the corner. Lifting the lid, she stood transfixed as the notes of a Beethoven lullaby spilled out.
She began to sway, the broom moving side to side as if it were her dancing partner, her lilting voice softly humming along with the tune in the box. Cord watched her lithe, graceful movements, but instead of being captivated as he had been that first day, he found himself frowning.
As lovely as she was, watching her was like peering into a fairy’s private kingdom, like watching a child at play. Cord didn’t like the notion.
She saw him just then, jumped and slammed the lid closed on the box. “I—I’m sorry, my lord. It—it was just so lovely. I opened it and the music poured out and, well…1I hope you aren’t angry.”
“No,” he said with a faint shake of his head, “I’m not angry.”
“My lord?” At the sharp tone of Victoria Temple’s voice, his eyebrows went up and he swung his attention in her direction. He found himself inwardly smiling at the fierce look on her face.
“What is it now, Mrs. Temple? I thought I told you I’d be down in fifteen minutes.”
She smoothed her features into a bland expression. “Quite so, my lord, but I was bringing up this load of freshly washed laundry and I thought I would save you the trouble of walking all the way back downstairs.”
She held up the laundry as proof of why she had come and he caught a whiff of starch and soap and a hint of something feminine. “Yes, well, that was extremely thoughtful of you.”
And fairly creative. She was a protective little thing, and no doubt. But then he had known that from the start.
With a last glance at Claire, whose face, even drained of color, still held an ethereal beauty unlike anything he’d ever seen, Cord closed the door, leaving the girl to her work. He followed Victoria Temple down the hall, then paused beneath a gilt sconce on the wall.
“All right, Mrs. Temple, these very important questions you have…what are they?” He imagined she’d had time to think of something in the moments she had feared for her sister’s safety. He found himself intrigued to discover what she might have come up with.
“To begin, there is the issue of the silver. I assume you wish to keep it polished at all times.”
He nodded very seriously. “By all means. What would happen if a guest arrived and the tea service were not up to snuff?”
“Exactly, my lord.” She glanced over his shoulder toward the room in which her sister still worked, Claire’s humming faintly audible through the door. “And there are the guest rooms to consider.”
“The guest rooms?”
“They are desperately in need of airing…if that meets with your approval, of course.”
He bit back an urge to laugh and instead kept the serious expression on his face. “Airing…Of course. I should have thought of that myself.”
“Then I have your permission?”
“Absolutely.” As if Victoria Temple needed his permission for anything she might wish to do. “Why, should a guest catch the scent of less-than-clean air in any of the bedchambers, the humiliation would be unbearable.”
“And the chimneys. It’s important that—”
“Do with the chimneys whatever you wish, Mrs. Temple. Keeping the house clean is extremely important. That is the reason I hired someone as obviously capable as you. Now, if you will excuse me…”
She opened her mouth, probably thinking he meant to return to where Claire continued to work, then snapped it closed when she saw he was heading, instead, downstairs. Chuckling to himself, he made his way toward his study. Behind him he could hear her sigh of relief.
Cord just smiled. He wasn’t sure what to make of either of the two young women, but one thing was certain. His life hadn’t been dull since the moment