“There, there, my dear, all this crying will do no good to your baby. Sally wouldn’t want you to make yourself ill on her account.”
Isobel sniffed and dried her eyes on the sheet. “Mary, what are you doing here? You should not be looking after me you have the house to run. Ellie will do very well.”
“Bless you, my lady, I’d not let anyone else take care of you. It’s only a small establishment, young Bill can manage everything as well as I can.”
“It will be a comfort having you close, but only until I’ve recovered from the shock, then you must return to your duties.” Isobel was heavy eyed, her throat raw from crying and she had no idea what time it was. Pushing herself upright she stared at the mantel clock.
“Good grief! It’s almost noon, I must get up at once.”
“His grace insists you remain here, my lady. He is taking care of everything - the funeral will be held tomorrow and all the staff are to attend.”
“I’ve no wish to cause you any distress, Mary, but I am not remaining in bed. I feel perfectly well. I’m deeply grieved but won’t break down again. I am the mistress here; I should be on my feet not malingering here as if I am an invalid.”
Mary had no chance to remonstrate for she threw back the covers and hurried into the dressing room. She had a pressing need to use the chamber pot. Twenty minutes later she was in her parlour waiting for a tray to be brought up. Once clothed her desire to go downstairs became less urgent. She kept seeing the limp body spread-eagled at the bottom.
The door opened and her mouth rounded. “Good heavens, Alexander, you’re the last person I expected to arrive with my luncheon.”
He smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I wished to speak to you, my love, and thought I would share your repast.”
His gesture reminded her of the night before her marriage and her gaze softened. “There’s certainly more than enough for both of us on there. Mary has cleared the table so you can place your burden there.”
He did as suggested then smiled at Mary. “If you would care to return to your duties, Watkins, I shall be here for the remainder of the afternoon.”
Mary curtsied; she didn’t smile but she looked slightly less disapproving than usual. “Thank you, my lord. My lady, I shall be back before it gets dark.”
When they were alone he approached her, his expression reflecting his concern. “Sweetheart, how are you now? Your eyes are red - have you been crying again?”
I am recovered, thank you. It’s my condition; according to Mary, it makes me more tearful. I haven’t eaten since dinner last night and I am hungry. Tell me, what delicacies has Cook sent?”
Removing the snowy white cloth he examined the plates. “There’s a tureen of soup - from the aroma I would say it’s leek and potato - and there is fresh bread and butter to go with it. Then we have what looks like game pie and chutney, a decent wedge of cheese and a generous slice of plum cake.”
Her mouth watered as he listed the food, then her stomach gurgled loudly much to his amusement. “It all sounds delicious, please may I have soup and some bread; no butter. Did Cook send up lemonade?”
He removed the small beaded cloth from the jug and sniffed the contents. “Yes, it appears we are both to drink this for there isn’t anything else on the tray.”
He sounded so offended she giggled. “Honestly, Alexander, it will be to your taste. Far better than wine or beer, I can assure you.”
The meal did much to restore her and his kindness and attention warmed her heart. “I am replete; I could not eat another morsel. Between us we have almost cleared the tray.”
“Excellent—your Cook is an asset, I had forgotten what good plain food tasted like. My chef de cuisine smothers everything with a rich cream sauce so most of it is unrecognizable.”
“And I don’t remember ever having a meal served hot.”
“You’re quite correct; what nonsense to have a kitchen so far away from the dining room everything arrives inedible.” He brushed off the crumbs and carried the tray into the corridor. She thought he might leave but he returned and folded himself back on the chair with a sigh of what could have been contentment.
A stab of guilt jolted her. How could they be sitting here enjoying each other’s company when poor Sally was in her coffin? “Where is the service being held tomorrow?”
“In the family church, where else? She will be buried in the churchyard alongside all the staff who have died in our service. That’s something I wish to discuss with you, my love. Have you any suggestions for what should go on her headstone?”
“Let Mary decide, she would know better than I what Sally would like. This whole episode is most upsetting.”
He stretched out his legs towards the fire and she noticed his breeches were no longer stretched taut across this thighs, she was not the only one to have lost weight recently.
“I’ve decided to reopen Newcomb immediatel. Watkins and George have gone to select sufficient staff to run the place for us. Maynard and Foster are to remain in Grosvenor Square with the rest of my people; they can take care of Bentley. I’ve told him to accept invitations on my behalf and enjoy himself. This will be his first experience of the ton; I thought to let him benefit from my absence.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “I’ve no wish to live next door, you may move there if you so desire but I am remaining here.”
“Isobel, I thought you would prefer to be away from where your abigail died today. Every time you ascend the stairs you’ll be thinking of her. If you prefer to stay, then that’s entirely your prerogative.”
Her eyes filled, she could not keep pace with his new persona. “I beg your pardon …” She half smiled. “I must try not to use that phrase, it reminds me of Bentley. You’re quite right, that thought has kept me in here all day. But, Alexander, I still don’t understand why George should need to accompany Sam.”
His cheeks flushed a little. “George will know exactly which members of staff to bring back; he won’t select any one likely to make you feel uncomfortable.” He leant forward, his expression earnest. “I should have been aware how unpleasant things were for you. In future only people with your best interests at heart will work here.”
She was nonplussed by his consideration. “I don’t know what to say, Newcomb is your home, my wishes should come second.”
His grin made him look almost boyish. “I intend to remain here, in the east wing, I shall oversee the repairs. I’ve no wish to cause you any further distress. I can assure you Newcomb will no longer be an unfriendly place.”
“I shall still be obliged to eat cold food,” she said laughing, “and if my cook is to remain with you, then you shall have the best of the arrangement.” There was something about his suggestion that did not sit well. What was it that bothered her? Her good humour vanished as she realised she’d been bamboozled into accepting the fact he did not intend to return to Grosvenor Square.
“Why are you not going back to Town?”
His expression was wary as he answered her. “You’re not looking after yourself, you’re too thin. This tragedy has made me decide my place is here, taking care of you and my unborn child.”
Jumping from the chair, she glared at him. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Alexander. It’s very strange that now I am carrying a possible successor to your title you’re all attention. Where were you a year ago when I was miserable and lonely and you were gallivanting all over London with your unpleasant acquaintances and chereamie?”
He loomed over her, his bonhomie replaced by a fearsome scowl. “Madam, you’re treading on thin ice with these impertinent comments.” He stared down his aristocratic nose and her bravado shrivelled. “I’ve never been unfaithful, I’ve my faults, but I don’t intend to follow …” Biting back whatever he’d been intending to say, he nodded coldly and strode from the room.