The viscount watched the troupe leave from the window. Without looking at her he shook his head. “I wondered if you had, madame.”
He turned his attention back to her. When he gestured her to the chair Marguerite understood that the interview had not ended after all. The viscount did not sit. He walked behind the desk and stood with his arms folded. “How did you understand what the marquis wanted?”
Marguerite settled in her chair, her nervousness fading. Bien, she thought, this I can answer so much more easily than more detailed questions about housekeeping. “Mr. Osgood suffered an apoplexy...”
“A moment, Madame. Who is Mr. Osgood?”
Precisely how many details did he want? “Bien, my lord, I believe I told you that the woman I called my aunt married a surgeon. Miss Morton, my aunt, brought me to England and raised me here. When she became Mrs. Osgood I went to live with them and they are the couple that I mentioned earlier. I kept house for them and then for Mr. Osgood after his wife died.”
Marguerite stopped abruptly. The viscount sank into the chair, no doubt exhausted by the effort of following the convolutions of her childhood. She wished for the hundredth time that she could think of some efficient explanation for the chaos of her life. “Am I telling you more than you wish to know?”
“Yes.” he answered with an accompanying nod. “And I listen only because I hope I have a personal stake in your monologue. Continue.”
“My lord, I am sorry for the boredom, but this next is important. Please do listen.” She could almost admire his ability to insult and decided not to take it to heart. Besides, two could play at this.
He gave her a slow nod and she continued.
“Mr. Osgood had his seizure three years ago and I spent these last few years with him, caring for him and praying for a complete recovery. I truly thought it would happen. He recovered his speech, even if he did have some confusion. And he learned to walk again. He even mastered the stairs if he had a hand to help him. But he did not complete his recovery. He died not six months ago, from an inflammation of the lungs.”
She paused a moment.
“Continue, Madam, for I suspect you are about to reach the part that will actually interest me.”
Oh! she thought, he badly needs a set down. She allowed herself a very discreet huff and continued as instructed. “When Mr. Osgood could speak clearly again, he reminded me of an article I had translated for him from the Histoire de l’Acadamie. It describes one man’s observations of his problems with speech following a mild apoplectic seizure. In this case the man, a learned scientist, found that he could not pronounce the words that he wanted though he knew exactly how he wished to reply.”
She leaned forward. “My lord, this is the important part, for this scientist wrote that he would speak other words than those he intended and that he did not always realize his misstatement.”
She spoke the last sentence with particular emphasis and saw with satisfaction that she had his full attention. She relaxed. “I see that your father will use a wholly inappropriate word in an otherwise normal sentence.”
The viscount nodded.
“Mr. Osgood had a similar affliction and found it a great burden, though once I grasped the problem it grew easier to arrive at an understanding of what he wished to say. My lord, does your father fly into unaccountable rages?”
James nodded, this time with emphasis.
“Mr. Osgood felt extreme frustration and would occasionally throw things in anger. It surprised everyone when he did as he was well known for his patience.”
“No one has called my father patient.”
“But you must see how awful it would be to wish to convey an idea and be denied the words. Especially if one were accustomed to being in charge.”
“And being in charge is something that the marquis has perfected.” James drew a breath and looked at her in a considering way. “You amaze me, madame, for you have explained it to me exactly as his physician did when the apoplexy first came upon him.”
“You knew all this already? My lord, it is vastly annoying to tell a story one’s audience has heard before.”
“And, I assure you, even more annoying to listen to it. But your knowledge of his condition and your willingness to deal with him is the very thing that will set you apart from almost everyone else in the place.”
He began toying with the letter opener again. “So nursing is another of the talents you have acquired in all your years and experience.”
“Yes,” she replied cautiously, unsure if he meant this as an insult. She had seen the marquis’ nurse and heard tales of others from Mr. Osgood. “Yes, I have cared for the sick, but Mr. Osgood was as family and I am not so reduced in circumstances that I would hire myself as a nurse. Well, yes, I am so reduced in circumstances that I should consider it, but it is, beyond anything, demeaning. And how is it you have no chamber nurse?”
“We have had no need of one these last fifteen years so when the last nurse left service she was not replaced. And then it proved a challenge to find someone willing to care for a man as confused as the marquis.” James finished with a nod. “And although Mrs. Beecher may have saved the marquis’ life, it is equally true that she drinks too much and beyond that has an inclination to superstition that produces ghost and evils at her every turn.”
“Surely one must expect ghosts in a place as old as Braemoor.” He would not frighten her with that prospect. “You yourself mistook me for one last night. Perhaps there will be fewer apparitions in the cottage where the marquis lives now.”
“One can only hope.” He leaned forward slightly. “Ridding her of her superstitions is the least of two evils. I want you to instruct her in correct behavior. What your Mr. Osgood would expect from a nurse. I will hold you responsible for her behavior. Do you understand?”
“Yes, if there is another disaster involving the marquis, the nurse and I will be fired without consideration.”
“Oh excellent, Madame. You do show a complete grasp of the situation.”
“Thank you, my lord, however if that is so, might I remind you that you threaten to fire me before you have actually given me the position.”
He stood up and so did she, only a little afraid that her impudence would cost her the offer.
“You are hired. For a month.” He walked over to the window and looked out a moment with his back to her. “And after that time, if I am satisfied, your temporary status will be suspended.”
Marguerite nodded. She walked a few steps closer to him and picked up the books that had fallen to the floor. The first was a volume on sheep breeding and another on how to treat fruit blight.
“How eager you are to begin your work. I warn you that I do not impress easily.”
Let him think what he will, she decided, as she placed the books on the shelf. The task gave her a much-needed moment to control the elation that made her all but dance with delight. Her joy was out of all proportion to the situation.
She turned to face him once again, pleased that she had control of her expression.
He mentioned her salary, a generous thirty guineas per annum and then dulled the pleasure by adding, “If you survive your temporary term.”
“And accommodations, my lord?” Indeed this did worry her, for any number of reasons.
“I am sorry to say that the housekeeper had her suite in the north wing and it is beyond use of any kind. Marfield will contrive an office for you in this wing where you will be able to interview and deal with the staff as needed.”
Marguerite nodded. It had a satisfying air of substance.
“But as for a suite of rooms, I think you must be satisfied with one of the cottages. The one between the Marfields’ and the one the marquis is using. That will allow you ample opportunity to supervise Mrs. Beecher.”
She nodded again, more in charity with him than he might suspect. She already knew the cottages were clean and solidly built. Living apart from this all-male household would ease any sense of impropriety if her true age were ever discovered.
“You will begin immediately.”
“That will suit me perfectly, my lord.” She spoke as if she had a choice.
“Marfield will show you to your cottage and introduce you to the rest of the staff. After that he has his own work to do. You are not to bother him at any time.”
“But of course. That is understood.” She spoke with authority and liked the feel of it. “May I arrange to speak with the house steward when he is able?”
He nodded and turned back to the window again. Marguerite assumed that she had been dismissed. He turned abruptly and spoke again as she moved to the door.
“Before you go, madame, there is one other thing.”
He walked closer to her and raised a hand as if to touch her face. Shocked by the gesture, Marguerite swung her arm up to stop him.
He took the raised hand and very gently turned it over as if he would kiss it. The intimate feeling of his fingers on her bare hand had an amazing effect, much too intimate, but impossible to ignore.
As quickly as pleasure filled her, dread overcame her. Would familiarity of this sort be a condition of her generous salary? She had heard such arrangements existed, but the Vicar had insisted that the Braedons were not so inclined.
“You are not ugly enough for a housekeeper, Madame.”
Mon Dieu, she thought, what am I to do? She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held it with more pressure than before.
“The marquis said that you were not as ugly as Mrs. Lanning and showed his eyesight is improving. But, madame, neither are you as old as she is.”
They stared at each other for a long moment as Marguerite grasped that this had nothing to do with seduction. Her recovery was slow, the touch of his hand too much of a distraction and Marguerite’s eyes fell first, as good as admitting the lie. But all was not lost. Had he not already promised her the post?
She gave a slight curtsey. “Eh bien, I did not expect my disguise to work forever, but had hoped it would be convincing for longer than twenty minutes.” She wanted to smile but thought better of it. He still held her hand and he might interpret a smile as an invitation.
“If you please, my lord, how could you tell? I thought it such a fine effort.”
“Indeed, Madame.” He raised her hand. “However, these are not the hands of a woman in her middle years and, if that were not enough, your second reference letter refers to you as—and I quote—”a young woman suited to a post of a mature nature.” Besides that, you said that you were a child during the Revolution. If I wanted to trouble my mind with the arithmetic, I am sure I would find that you could not be much above your mid-twenties.”
He looked at her with a leveling stare. At best, she would describe it as uncertain, and at worst, skeptical. “One month, Madame Voisson. I trust you harbor no more secrets?”
She shook her head, still holding his gaze, not looking away this time.
“I will not tolerate dishonesty in an employee, and certainly not in one on whom the harmony of this household depends.”
“Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your consideration and must tell you that I am optimistic. I see a future filled with opportunity.”
“Tell me in a month if you still see it that way, Madame, If you do, I will be convinced that my father is not the only imbecile in residence.”
She laughed out loud and knew some gratification when he joined her with the smallest of sounds that she was sure was laughter.
~ ~ ~
James walked toward the cottages. Beyond the crest and with the trees as a break, the air felt cleaner. He drew a deep breath, welcoming the smell of anything not tainted with smoke. There were lights from several of the windows but none from the cottage that his new housekeeper would be using.
Madame Voisson. He shook his head. Did she still have a husband somewhere? Or had she chattered him to death?
Oh, that was unfair. She was talkative, but not thoughtless. Pretty, but hardly beautiful. Young, but not immature. And his headache had evaporated for all of an hour. James could hardly credit her for that, but having one less thing to worry about had helped.
And why was he not worried about this new employee? Because one thing she did have in excess was charm. He had never thought to require that in his staff before. It would be worth watching to see if she could use it successfully to sidestep her more obvious lacks. Time would tell. And it would not take much time at all.
He stood outside the door to his father’s cottage. He heard no voices, no shouting; and he hated to interrupt a rare moment of peace. He would inspect the place some other time.
James stepped away from the door, aware that he’d used the quiet as an excuse to leave. He would most likely have done the same if there had been a tantrum in progress.
He walked down the narrow lane and stopped at Marfields’. Despite the sturdy front door, he could hear laughter inside and a loud voice as though someone were calling from one room to another. He hardly wanted to intrude on this scene either, but for entirely different reasons.
He raised his hand and knocked. The door opened almost immediately and Mrs. Marfield’s spontaneous welcome grew at once more formal. She stepped back and invited him in with a curtsey, “Lord Crandall.”
He stepped into the room as her husband came from the kitchen wiping his hands on a cloth, speaking through his laughter. “Jenneth, joy, you must learn not to take the....”
He broke off when he saw they had a caller. His laughter stopped but his smile remained, his greeting more sincere than his wife’s. “My lord, how good to see you, but I would have come to your office.”
“I needed the walk.” James knew he sounded curt, but he wanted to do his business and leave this cozy domestic scene far behind as quickly as possible.
He felt out of place. With good reason. He no more belonged here than Jenneth Marfield did. “I came to tell you that I have hired Madame Voisson. She is much too young.” He avoided looking at Mrs. Marfield but caught a slight grimace. Ah, he thought, so she had been party to that effort.
“She is too young,” he repeated, “but she has the most amazing way of handling the marquis. For that alone I will give her a month’s trial.”
“The marquis?”
He could tell Marfield had no idea how his new housekeeper had met his father. James explained the interruption and madame’s own experience and finished it all by saying: “She will move in next door to you. Introduce her to the staff. Then return to your work and let madame do her job as you will yours.”
“Thank you, my lord. It will be exactly as you wish.”
James looked around. He had not been inside since the two cottages had been combined into one. “The renovation of the cottage seems to have been a success.” He looked directly at Mrs. Marfield. As he did, she moved closer to her husband. “Are you comfortable?”
She stared back at him as though what he said had a double meaning. “Yes, my lord. This is our home and I am very comfortable here.”
He nodded. The floor alone looked clean enough to eat from. Is that what she did all day? How long could it last? How long before she missed the excitement of London? Until that happened, he had determined to do his best to accept her for Simon’s sake and the good of the estate. The ache in his head edged up a bit.
“The truth is, ma’am, that I have no idea what shops Braemoor has used in the past or even from whom we get our meats and fish.” He bowed to her. “I had hoped that I could impose on you to share your expertise with our new housekeeper.”
She hid her surprise, but he could read the confusion in her eyes. “I would be happy to help her, my lord.”
He seriously doubted that she would ever take what he had to say as straightforward, with no hidden meaning. Indeed, she had come by that dislike honestly.
His modicum of business complete, James hurried away from the cottage, then forced himself to slow. You would think he ran from pestilence. That was as good a term as any for the kind of wedded bliss Simon Marfield had embraced with such enthusiasm.
Like a disease, it came on strong, often with little warning and left disaster in its wake. He knew that would happen as soon as Mrs. Marfield tired of this performance, grew bored with Marfield’s ardor and longed for London.
Love did not endure no matter what Robert Burns’s poetry might claim. His mother had proved that. Running away had been her solution to a loveless marriage.
The marquis had not fared much better. True love might change someone, as it had his father in his second marriage, at least until Lady Gwyneth had died. But the changes she induced in her husband had not survived that trial. He might not be able to avoid the consequences of his father’s bitterness, but he could surely learn from his experience and avoid the same trap.
He was sorry that someone as trusting as Simon Marfield had been caught in love’s clutches and would have to learn the hoary lesson.
James looked back down from the rise that he claimed as his favorite spot. Braemoor looked viciously unwelcoming. Someone, indeed it looked like Madame Voisson, walked along the wall of the east wing, peering in window holes and testing a door that had melted shut.
God help him, he had hired her out of pure desperation.
She bent down to pick something up and dropped it almost as quickly. After looking around for a cloth to wipe her hands on and finding nothing, she shrugged and wiped her hands down the side of her dress.
It was only for a month. Would she even last that long? At that very moment, Marguerite Voisson looked up, saw him, and raised a hand in greeting.