“Och, we have nae had a manservant for years.” She clapped her hands together and gestured toward the door. “But look at me. Standing here running my mouth. Come inside.”
Henry had to duck under the low lintel as he stepped into the cool entrance of the home. It was not nearly so grand as Carlisle Hall had been. It was definitely not as stylish as his town house. But it was neat and the furnishings were serviceable. Mrs. Yeatman had lit a fire in the hearth in the drawing room, and she led them inside. Katie immediately moved toward a painting of a man and woman in clothing from an earlier century.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Henry admitted. “Mrs. Yeatman?”
“That is the sixth Duke and Duchess of Carlisle,” the housekeeper said. “They were responsible for the majority of the improvements to the house.” She gestured at the tattered rug and a cracked windowpane. “Though, as you see, it needs a wee bit of upkeep now.”
“You and I will sit down tomorrow and discuss what is needed,” Katie said. “I know you said there was not a cook. Is there anything to eat?”
“Maisie and I thought you might be hungry. There’s tea, and she sent a loaf of bread she made fresh yesterday. Will that do?”
“That would be lovely.”
“Then let me show you to the dining room.”
When they’d eaten half the bread and drunk two glasses of tea, Mrs. Yeatman gave them a tour of the rest of the house. The kitchen was in a building behind the house, and the ground floor held the drawing room, dining room, a small parlor, and rooms for staff. The first floor comprised the master suite and two smaller bedchambers, which were quite bare and unfurnished. Henry remembered sleeping in one of the chambers with Michael, while Edith and Jane had occupied the other. But he couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and his siblings younger still.
“These were the nursery rooms,” he said to Mrs. Yeatman.
She smiled. “They were, aye. I believe that furniture was sold some years ago. They’ve been empty since I have been here. But the furniture in the master”—she gestured to the open door—“that was the bed and armoire of the sixth duke and duchess.”
“The ones whose painting is in the drawing room?” Katie said.
“Yes. Of course, your grandfather replaced the old mattress with a new one, and I believe your mother purchased new sheets and draperies.”
Henry nodded in approval. “It looks very well-tended, Mrs. Yeatman. Thank you.”
Looking at the master chamber reminded him of his father. He had a quick flash of a memory of the eighth duke standing before the window, hands clasped behind his back. Shrewsbury had said Henry’s father wanted to keep the land in France to pass on to his eldest son and heir and assumed that was because Henry’s father had loved him so much. Was that it, or had it just been the duke’s sense of obligation to the title? Henry supposed he would never know.
Mrs. Yeatman curtseyed. “I’ll have the men bring up your luggage and unpack, shall I?”
When her footfalls fell away, Katie turned to him. “I don’t think we’ll need to stay in town. This building is in remarkably good condition.”
Henry was looking at the ceiling. “There’s some water damage here, but I’ll see what can be done about that before the next hard rain. At least it’s not directly over the bed.”
“Would it matter if it were? Look at the draperies. I’ve never slept in a tester bed. We can close the curtains and exist in our own world.”
“Yes.” But Henry was thinking of the world he’d left behind. It was easy to forget, when he’d been at the dower house or racing across the countryside to Gretna Green, that his life had changed irrevocably in the last few weeks. There would be no more carousing with his friends in London, no more nights at White’s, no more stumbling into his town house at three in the morning and having to listen to his valet scold him for the state of his clothing.
There was no more valet. No more new coats from Weston or boots from Hoby. Whether he’d lost everything due to his own recklessness or from a curse, the fact that hehadlost it wasbeginning to sink in. He stared out at the green of the valley below and wondered what he was to do here.
Of course, as soon as the thought entered his mind, he thought of a thousand things he must do. All of them would cost money—money he didn’t have. How was he ever to support his wife or maintain this household?
Katie’s arms came around him from behind, and she leaned her head against his back. “I’m sorry.”
He turned his head to look at her. “What are you sorry for? You’ve done nothing that warrants an apology.”
“I can see that you are sad. That you miss London and your friends.”
Henry wondered if he was that transparent or she was simply that observant.
“Invite them here,” she suggested. “We’re close to Scotland, and you wanted to return to the school you attended and to see if you could make amends with the, ahem, witch.”
Ah, yes, the witch. As though the rest of his obligations weren’t enough, he had a curse to deal with as well.
“I doubt the witch is still alive,” he said. But there was that counter-spell. Someone had made certain he’d received it. Henry carried it in his coat pocket, always close at hand. “But I will write to them. Again. If there’s even a chance something of my former life can be restored, I must try it.”
