for long. The room had probably last been decorated fifty years past. The silk wallpaper was a sad, faded salmon, and the rotted silk of the drapes parted beneath her fingers when she laid too rough a hand on them.
" Ooof," huffed Mary, as she came through the door and put down the pair of valises she carried. "Beg pardon, milady, but I couldn't find a footman anywhere, nor the housekeeper yet. Would you like me to unpack these or keep searching?"
"Unpack, I think."
"Right you are, milady." She crossed the floor to the ornate wardrobe and opened it, then sneezed. "It's already full! What shall I do with these?"
Elizabeth surveyed the row of old dresses. "I suppose there is probably a place in the attic for them. Lay them to one side for now, until you can find someone to guide you. I shall search downstairs."
At length she found his study, one more room that was remarkable for being clean. There was a small fire alight in the grate, and the Earl was engrossed in the uppermost of the pile of ledgers that were spread across his desk. He did not look up as she entered.
She came to stand before his desk, and waited. Eventually she reached out and tapped a single finger on the surface of the desk three times. This broke his concentration and now he did look at her, his smoky green eyes dazed and a frown line etched on the pale skin between his brows.
"Miss-Madam. You have arrived."
"As you can see."
"I trust your journey was pleasant."
"It would have been better for your company, no doubt."
"I think that unlikely. I'm in no mood for pleasantries, I fear. I should be the worst of companions. If you like you may busy yourself learning your way around the house. There is a housekeeper, Mrs Harrow, who can guide you about. If you ring the bell over there she will come." He offered her one of his polite smiles, and then his gaze returned to the books before him.
"I would prefer to have you show me."
"I don't have the time." He did not look up.
"Nonetheless, I would prefer it."
Now he did raise his head again. "Miss-Elizabeth. All of us have things we would prefer in life, and few of us get them. I said I don't have time. Please avail yourself of the housekeeper." His gaze was hard now, and impatience colored his tone.
"Is there . . . something I could do to help? If there is so much to do? I am probably not very skilled at whatever you are-"
"No, of course not. I don't expect your assistance. It is I who must force order from chaos. I can do that better without interruptions."
It was a scold, sharp and barely concealed, and shame made her eyes water. "I'm sorry."
"Never mind." He had already dismissed her, and with one hand he picked up a quill and dipped it in a nearby inkpot, then began to write in a firm, slashing hand. For a long moment she watched, mesmerized by the simple movement. Should she apologize again? Would that earn his approval?
The pen scratched away at the paper, loud in the silence. He drove a long-fingered hand deep into his hair and clutched at the roots, and she examined him like he was some exotic creature she had never seen before. Another species, a man, almost a stranger, yet now flesh of her flesh, according to law. He was not so neatly arrayed as usual, his cravat loosened and his hair without pomade.
Mama had said to be obedient, and she herself had made that promise, standing next to him in the church. She must do as she was told. She went to the bellpull and gave it a firm tug, and heard nothing. Should she wait in his study for the answer to her call?
No, it was not possible to stand there and be ignored by him. It gave her a queer ache below her breastbone and at the back of her throat. She edged out through the door into the gloom beyond it, and silently eased it closed. She stood, one with the shadows, unseen and insubstantial. Almost three minutes later there was the sound of brisk footsteps coming closer down the echoing hall, and she drifted towards them. The woman rounded
" Ooof," huffed Mary, as she came through the door and put down the pair of valises she carried. "Beg pardon, milady, but I couldn't find a footman anywhere, nor the housekeeper yet. Would you like me to unpack these or keep searching?"
"Unpack, I think."
"Right you are, milady." She crossed the floor to the ornate wardrobe and opened it, then sneezed. "It's already full! What shall I do with these?"
Elizabeth surveyed the row of old dresses. "I suppose there is probably a place in the attic for them. Lay them to one side for now, until you can find someone to guide you. I shall search downstairs."
At length she found his study, one more room that was remarkable for being clean. There was a small fire alight in the grate, and the Earl was engrossed in the uppermost of the pile of ledgers that were spread across his desk. He did not look up as she entered.
She came to stand before his desk, and waited. Eventually she reached out and tapped a single finger on the surface of the desk three times. This broke his concentration and now he did look at her, his smoky green eyes dazed and a frown line etched on the pale skin between his brows.
"Miss-Madam. You have arrived."
"As you can see."
"I trust your journey was pleasant."
"It would have been better for your company, no doubt."
"I think that unlikely. I'm in no mood for pleasantries, I fear. I should be the worst of companions. If you like you may busy yourself learning your way around the house. There is a housekeeper, Mrs Harrow, who can guide you about. If you ring the bell over there she will come." He offered her one of his polite smiles, and then his gaze returned to the books before him.
"I would prefer to have you show me."
"I don't have the time." He did not look up.
"Nonetheless, I would prefer it."
Now he did raise his head again. "Miss-Elizabeth. All of us have things we would prefer in life, and few of us get them. I said I don't have time. Please avail yourself of the housekeeper." His gaze was hard now, and impatience colored his tone.
"Is there . . . something I could do to help? If there is so much to do? I am probably not very skilled at whatever you are-"
"No, of course not. I don't expect your assistance. It is I who must force order from chaos. I can do that better without interruptions."
It was a scold, sharp and barely concealed, and shame made her eyes water. "I'm sorry."
"Never mind." He had already dismissed her, and with one hand he picked up a quill and dipped it in a nearby inkpot, then began to write in a firm, slashing hand. For a long moment she watched, mesmerized by the simple movement. Should she apologize again? Would that earn his approval?
The pen scratched away at the paper, loud in the silence. He drove a long-fingered hand deep into his hair and clutched at the roots, and she examined him like he was some exotic creature she had never seen before. Another species, a man, almost a stranger, yet now flesh of her flesh, according to law. He was not so neatly arrayed as usual, his cravat loosened and his hair without pomade.
Mama had said to be obedient, and she herself had made that promise, standing next to him in the church. She must do as she was told. She went to the bellpull and gave it a firm tug, and heard nothing. Should she wait in his study for the answer to her call?
No, it was not possible to stand there and be ignored by him. It gave her a queer ache below her breastbone and at the back of her throat. She edged out through the door into the gloom beyond it, and silently eased it closed. She stood, one with the shadows, unseen and insubstantial. Almost three minutes later there was the sound of brisk footsteps coming closer down the echoing hall, and she drifted towards them. The woman rounded
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