The second half of the east wing's attics were given over to storage. After looking in, she agreed she didn't need a more detailed inspection. Luc had said he'd return for luncheon; she didn't want to appear trailing cobwebs on their first day as man and wife.
Returning to the central block, Higgs stood at the top of the main stairs and pointed out the rooms filling the top floor. "Nursery's here at the front, and the schoolroom's right to the back. We've rooms here for nurse and governess — that's Miss Pink."
Amelia recalled the shy, diminutive woman. "How does she manage with Portia and Penelope?" A wonder, for Luc's younger sisters were nothing if not handfuls.
"Truth to tell, I think it's more that they manage her — those two young madams are sharp as you please, but for all their willful ways, they've good hearts. I think they took pity on Pink the instant they set eyes on her, and there's no doubt she's as much of a bluestocking as they'd wish for."
"They like their lessons?"
"Devour them. And between you and me, Pink teaches them far more than young ladies need to know. Howsoever, as they've brains enough to cope without ending in a fever, Pink has served well. Because they like her, Miss Portia and Miss Penelope try to behave."
Descending from the top floor, they commenced an inventory of the rooms on the first floor. Most of the reception rooms were on the ground floor, but the occasional sitting room was interspersed between the bedchambers along both wings.
"So we actually have a number of suites. Helpful, especially when we have older guests." Amelia made a note on the tablet she carried.
A deep bong resonated through the house. Higgs lifted her head. "That's the luncheon gong, ma'am."
Amelia turned for the stairs. "We'll continue this afternoon."
She stepped into the front hall as Luc entered from the long corridor of the west wing. In breeches and hacking jacket, he appeared the epitome of an English country gentleman; the planes of his face, the long lines of his body more definitively declared his status.
Higgs bobbed, then bustled past him, heading for the servants' hall. Luc raised a brow at Amelia as he joined her. "Have you seen all?"
"Barely half." She led the way into the family dining parlor. "Higgs and I will continue after lunch."
She took her seat, once more on his right; she refused to sit at the end of the table when they were alone. Cottsloe appeared to agree with her; he'd set her place as she'd wished, even though she'd made no request. Shaking out her napkin, she glanced at Luc. "Is there any particular" — she gestured—"element of household management you'd like to see changed?"
He sat, clearly gave the matter thought while Cottsloe served. When the butler stood back, Luc shook his head. "No. Over the past years, we've reorganized virtually everything." He met her gaze. "Now Mama has handed over the reins, control of household matters is entirely in your hands."
She nodded. Once they'd both started to eat, she asked, "Is there any aspect of the estate presently on your plate you'd like me to take over?"
A delicate question, but Minerva wasn't young, and Luc was Luc. While his mother had undoubtedly fulfilled her duties unstintingly, she knew he would have transferred as many responsibilities as possible from Minerva's shoulders to his.
Again, he considered, then went to shake his head — as she'd fully expected — but stopped. "Actually" — he glanced at her—"there are a few things you could take over."
She nearly dropped her fork. "What?" She hoped her eagerness wasn't too transparent. It was essential to her long-term strategy that she establish herself as his wife, not only in the eyes of the staff and estate workers, and all others, but in Luc's eyes, too.
"The Autumn Gathering — it's an… estate party for want of a better name, held in late September."
"I remember," she replied. "I've been here for one, years ago."
"Ah, but you wouldn't have been here for one in my grandparents' time. Now those were parties."
She met his eye, grinned. "I'm sure we could match them if we try."
"Cottsloe was a footman, and Higgs was a parlor maid — they'd remember enough to resurrect some of the more unusual events."
His eyes remained on hers; she inclined her head. "I'll ask and see what we can organize." She laid down her fork, reached for her glass. "Was there anything else?"
Luc hesitated. "This is more prospective. Mama visited the tenants, and I'm sure you'll do the same, but we're taking on more workers, not just on the home farm but on the tenant farms, too. There's a lot of children about. Too many to eventually work the farms in their fathers' stead."
He picked up his glass, sipped, leaned back. "I've heard good reports from various estates where schools have been set up for the workers' children. I'd like to institute something along those lines here, but I simply don't have time to look into it properly, let alone do the necessary planning."
And if Devil and Gabriel had their way and co-opted him into the Cynster investment cartel, he'd have even less time for such activities.
He was watching Amelia carefully; he saw the spark of eagerness in her eyes.
"How many estates do you have?"
"Five." He named them. "Each is productive, and the returns are sufficient to justify the time and effort to keep them running smoothly."
"That won't leave you much time for anything else."
He inclined his head. "I travel to each estate at least twice a year."
She looked at him. "I'll be coming, too."
No question. Pleased, he inclined his head again.
"Your other estates — are any big enough to justify a school?"
"In the next few years, it's likely all will have sufficient numbers."
"So if we trial the concept here, and work through all the problems, then we can later expand to your other estates."
He met her now overtly eager gaze. "It'll take time and considerable effort in each case. There are always prejudices to overcome."
She smiled. "I'll have more than enough time — you may leave the matter with me."
He acquiesced with a nod, masking his satisfaction. The more she became enmeshed in his life, in the running of his estates and his household, the better.
His ride about the estate had brought home how many repairs and improvements were under way — works she'd undoubtedly think were being paid for by her dowry.
Convention stated that no woman had any right to know her husband's business.
Regardless, he couldn't imagine not telling her the truth.
That her dowry was a drop in the ocean compared to his wealth, that he'd known it from the dawn she'd offered herself — and her dowry — to him, that he'd been careful to allow no hint of the truth to reach her, even to the point of corrupting her father and making a pact with Devil…
Could he rely on her temper to blind her to the real revelation therein?
He inwardly grimaced; she was a Cynster female — he had too much respect for her perspicacity on such subjects to risk it.
He had until September to make his confession.
Sufficient unto the day the evil thereof.
"My lord?"
He looked up to see Cottsloe standing by the door.
"McTavish has just come in. He's waiting in the Office."
Luc laid down his napkin. "Thank you." He glanced at Amelia. "McTavish is my steward. Have you met him?"
"Yes. It was years ago, however." She pushed back her chair; a footman started forward — rising, Luc waved him back, drew out the chair.
Amelia stood and faced him, smiled into his eyes. "Why don't I come with you and you can reintroduce us, then I'll leave you to your business while I continue with mine?"
He took her hand, set it on his sleeve. "The Office is in the west wing."