the house. If you haven’t come to seduce my husband then you’d be far better off leaving. Today. We can do very well without a housekeeper, and you’ll be generously compensated.”
“Your ladyship mistakes the matter,” Bryony said. “His lordship has no interest in me, or, in fact, any of the staff. I came here looking for nothing but a job, and trust me, I am eminently qualified to handle your household.”
“I don’t like you.” The words were flat, unequivocal, and Bryony wanted nothing more than to return the sentiment.
“I’m sorry, your ladyship. I’ll do my best to keep out of your way. If you would just sign the papers approving the menus then I’ll leave you…”
Lady Kilmartyn took the papers in her thin, bejeweled hand, and slowly, methodically ripped them in two. She dropped them on the floor and then looked Bryony full in the face, wincing dramatically as she took in the scars. “I do believe these menus are unacceptable. Make up new ones. And I want you to do it, not Mrs. Harkins. I recognize her semiliterate scrawl. In fact, Mrs. Greaves, I want you to make up complete menus for the next three weeks, so I have something to choose from. Assuming, of course, you stay that long.”
Bryony didn’t blink. This woman was her enemy, and she had no idea why. She did, however, have enough sense not to react. “Of course, Lady Kilmartyn.”
“You’re not wanted here,” the woman added in a low, scathing voice. “The sooner you realize it the better.”
The animosity was bewildering, and Bryony broke the cardinal rule of servitude. She asked a question. “Why do you dislike me, Lady Kilmartyn?”
The woman was momentarily taken aback. “Because my husband likes you. He never would have interfered if he wasn’t attracted to you. He wants to bring his affairs into my house and I won’t have it.”
“Lady Kilmartyn, have you taken a close look at me?” Bryony knew she had, of course, but she seemed to have forgotten one essential fact. “Why would any gentleman, in particular a gentleman who could presumably have anyone he wanted, be interested in the likes of me? You’re worried for nothing.” It was too familiar of her, but she was at a loss.
“You think he could have anyone he wants? Because he’s so handsome, so charming, so wickedly appealing? I knew you wanted him—I could see it in your eyes the moment you looked at him.” The woman’s voice was rising, moving toward hysteria, and the maid rushed over, flashing a furious glance at Bryony.
“Now, now, my lady, don’t let that one disturb you,” she murmured soothingly. “She will be gone soon enough, and you will have nothing to worry about.”
Bryony desperately wanted to point out she had nothing to worry about now, but Hortense glared at her, and she decided retreat was her best course. “If your ladyship will excuse me…” she began.
But Cecily Bruton’s voice rose to a scream. “Get out, get out, get out,” she shrieked, as Hortense put her skinny arms around her and began to soothe her in French.
Bryony decamped.
She made her way back to the kitchen, slowly enough, giving herself time to consider the unpleasant interview. Clearly she was going to have to deal with Kilmartyn after all.
Mrs. Harkins looked up hopefully when Bryony returned to the kitchen, but one look at her face and her empty hands told her what she needed to know. She sighed. “Should have gone to the master first,” she said.
“I had decided as much myself,” she said composedly, ignoring her apprehension. “When did he last approve the menus?”
“Not for weeks, Mrs. Greaves. Bertie will take his tray up and he can tell you when his lordship might be ready to see you.”
“It won’t be for a while,” Bryony said caustically. “And I have errands to do.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He was quite the worse for drink last night. He barely made it into his rooms. Tell me, is that a common occurrence in this
“Your ladyship mistakes the matter,” Bryony said. “His lordship has no interest in me, or, in fact, any of the staff. I came here looking for nothing but a job, and trust me, I am eminently qualified to handle your household.”
“I don’t like you.” The words were flat, unequivocal, and Bryony wanted nothing more than to return the sentiment.
“I’m sorry, your ladyship. I’ll do my best to keep out of your way. If you would just sign the papers approving the menus then I’ll leave you…”
Lady Kilmartyn took the papers in her thin, bejeweled hand, and slowly, methodically ripped them in two. She dropped them on the floor and then looked Bryony full in the face, wincing dramatically as she took in the scars. “I do believe these menus are unacceptable. Make up new ones. And I want you to do it, not Mrs. Harkins. I recognize her semiliterate scrawl. In fact, Mrs. Greaves, I want you to make up complete menus for the next three weeks, so I have something to choose from. Assuming, of course, you stay that long.”
Bryony didn’t blink. This woman was her enemy, and she had no idea why. She did, however, have enough sense not to react. “Of course, Lady Kilmartyn.”
“You’re not wanted here,” the woman added in a low, scathing voice. “The sooner you realize it the better.”
The animosity was bewildering, and Bryony broke the cardinal rule of servitude. She asked a question. “Why do you dislike me, Lady Kilmartyn?”
The woman was momentarily taken aback. “Because my husband likes you. He never would have interfered if he wasn’t attracted to you. He wants to bring his affairs into my house and I won’t have it.”
“Lady Kilmartyn, have you taken a close look at me?” Bryony knew she had, of course, but she seemed to have forgotten one essential fact. “Why would any gentleman, in particular a gentleman who could presumably have anyone he wanted, be interested in the likes of me? You’re worried for nothing.” It was too familiar of her, but she was at a loss.
“You think he could have anyone he wants? Because he’s so handsome, so charming, so wickedly appealing? I knew you wanted him—I could see it in your eyes the moment you looked at him.” The woman’s voice was rising, moving toward hysteria, and the maid rushed over, flashing a furious glance at Bryony.
“Now, now, my lady, don’t let that one disturb you,” she murmured soothingly. “She will be gone soon enough, and you will have nothing to worry about.”
Bryony desperately wanted to point out she had nothing to worry about now, but Hortense glared at her, and she decided retreat was her best course. “If your ladyship will excuse me…” she began.
But Cecily Bruton’s voice rose to a scream. “Get out, get out, get out,” she shrieked, as Hortense put her skinny arms around her and began to soothe her in French.
Bryony decamped.
She made her way back to the kitchen, slowly enough, giving herself time to consider the unpleasant interview. Clearly she was going to have to deal with Kilmartyn after all.
Mrs. Harkins looked up hopefully when Bryony returned to the kitchen, but one look at her face and her empty hands told her what she needed to know. She sighed. “Should have gone to the master first,” she said.
“I had decided as much myself,” she said composedly, ignoring her apprehension. “When did he last approve the menus?”
“Not for weeks, Mrs. Greaves. Bertie will take his tray up and he can tell you when his lordship might be ready to see you.”
“It won’t be for a while,” Bryony said caustically. “And I have errands to do.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He was quite the worse for drink last night. He barely made it into his rooms. Tell me, is that a common occurrence in this
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