Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) by Rosemary Morris Page B

to call on Lady Castleton again.
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Dominic looked across the breakfast table at Gwenifer, who handed him a cup of steaming coffee. “Thank you.” He put it down next to his plate. “Do you know of a lady who needs a nurse for her children?”
    Gwenifer tucked a glossy black curl into place beneath her lace cap tied under her chin with silk ribbons. “Ah, that is why Mrs Cooper and her daughter came to see you. I don’t blame Bessie Cooper for not wishing to continue her employment in the Earl of Pennington’s household.”
    “How did you find out?” Dominic asked, irritated because he prided himself on his discretion.
    “Oh, gossip with reference to her arrest and release travelled fast.” She spread butter on her toast. “Coddled eggs? I ordered them because I know you like them.”
    “Thank you.” He served himself. “You write and receive letters from many friends, surely one of them needs a nursemaid or knows of someone who does.”
    “I shall enquire. If there is a situation available, but Bessie will need a reference.
    “Dominic, that is enough about Bessie Cooper. Have you decided whether or not you wish to redecorate the drawing room?”
    He looked across the table spread with a linen cloth on which set with an array of silver and fine porcelain given to him by his mother. What would Lady Castleton think of the old fashioned furniture and shabby carpet, left behind by the previous incumbent?
    “I sent for some pattern books.” Gwenifer confessed. “There are two wallpapers I particularly like for the drawing room, one with a beautiful Indian pattern, another with a Chinese design, both of which are fashionable.”
    He shook his head. “Those will not do for a rectory. Can you imagine my parishioner’s reaction to elephants and turbans, not to mention pagan temples, or pagodas and Chinese figures? Can you visualise my saintly bishop’s dismay if word of them reached him?” He spread his hands wide in mock despair. “I might be defrocked.”
    Gwenifer rested her elbows on the table, and cupped her chin in her hands. “I doubt it would come to that.”
    He laughed. “So do I.”
    “Perhaps white and gold striped wallpaper, white paint, gold satin curtains, new furniture and pier glasses to reflect alabaster ornaments. It would be the height of good taste and elegance,” Gwenifer suggested.
    In spite of his sister’s enthusiasm, which pleased him, Dominic considered pier glasses and alabaster ornaments would be too ornate for a rectory.
    Although Gwenifer no longer dressed in either black for full mourning, or the subdued colours of half mourning, he knew she still grieved over her husband’s death. He also understood it was exacerbated because she did not have a child. The more she had to occupy herself, the better it would be. “Yesterday, I meant it when I said you are mistress of my house. You may redecorate the drawing room in any style you please, provided it will neither offend anyone in the parish nor arouse jealousy. A clergyman must tread a careful path.”
    “Make sure you don’t trip over your sanctified feet when you walk along it.” Gwenifer’s laughter bubbled out of her.
    “Sanctified?” he asked, somewhat aggravated. “Do you think I am pompous and stuffy?”
    “Only a little.” She laughed at him. “I forbid you to frown over the suggestion of pier glasses. Don’t worry, everything shall be suitable for a country rectory.”
    Dominic smiled in response to her enthusiasm. One day, he hoped she would put her grief aside, re-marry and furnish her own home. If their parents approved of her choice of husband, he was sure Papa would provide a generous dowry. For the time being, it was fortunate he could afford to improve the rectory.
    He looked around the breakfast parlour at the old-fashioned, dark wood panelling, an equally dark parquet floor and shabby, forest green velvet curtains. He could not imagine elegant Lady Castleton, to whom his