Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,17

the bags, Hunter.”

Hunter bowed submissively, but his darting glance was not friendly. As they walked up the steps to the front door, Deborah saw a cook, two maids, and last night’s footman, Eric, in faded, ill-fitting livery. There were also a couple of rougher looking men who might have been gardeners or grooms or the coachman from last night whom she had only seen in darkness. She would no doubt discover in time. For now, Christopher did not trouble to introduce them, so she merely nodded to them on the way past.

The entrance hall was huge, dark, and gloomy, despite large, tall windows on all sides, even stretching up the marble staircase.

“It needs work,” Christopher allowed. “Only one room on this floor is cleaned as a reception room for unexpected callers. Up on the next floor,” he added, ushering her toward the staircase, “it is slightly more comfortable.”

Deborah hoped so. However, comfort was not the word she would have used for the massive formal dining room or the ornate yet faded drawing room on the other side of the gallery. They were clean, but still gloomy and smelled musty.

Increasingly oppressed, she followed him upstairs to the bedchambers.

“You can explore everything at your leisure and decide what to do with each room,” he said as though sensing her feelings. “These apartments are traditionally the mistress’s, so they’ve been hastily cleaned and aired for you. But again, you must feel free to choose any rooms you like.”

The rooms were large and well-proportioned. Although inevitably gloomy, someone had blessedly left the windows open, and the musty smell was minimal. A generous sitting room, a small antechamber, and a large bedchamber made up the suite, which must have covered as much area as the Shelbys’ entire house.

“My room is right at the other end of the house. I’ll show you just so you know where to find me!”

Obediently, she accompanied him along the passage, which, again, should surely have been lighter and brighter than it was on such a sunny day.

“These were my grandfather’s rooms,” he said, throwing open the first door they came to, some distance after her own. She had a glimpse of dark opulence and several doors within before she hurried after Christopher.

His bedchamber was considerably less grand, a large, single room with clothes, books, and papers strewn all over it.

“Sorry,” he said, closing the door again. “Not a tidy person!”

“Don’t you have a valet?”

“No, though perhaps I should acquire one.” He frowned suddenly. “You don’t have a maid either, do you? We had better change that, though I suppose you could use the chambermaid for now. There is plenty of room in the servants’ quarters.” He pointed to the attic above. “So, we can take on as many servants as we see fit.”

“Do you really want to open up the whole house?” she asked, daunted. “It will be a huge undertaking. Especially if you are involved with the school at the same time. To say nothing of your parliamentary duties.”

“We could begin a little at a time. We can take proper stock tomorrow and set a few things in motion. For today, I think we should just get used to the place. I’ll leave you to unpack and settle into your rooms. And then… Would you like tea in the garden?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she said fervently, desperate to get out into fresher air.

It didn’t take her long to hang her few gowns and outer garments in the wardrobe and her underclothes in the drawers. Her hairbrush, pins, and ribbons found a place, as did her toothbrush and powder. In a clean but streaky mirror, her new ring glinted on her finger—gold and diamonds, finer than anything she had ever possessed, binding her to the man who owned all this.

Or at least, she hoped he did. Otherwise, Lord Hawfield, the trustee, would come back and turn them both out. A breath of slightly hysterical laughter caught at her throat. Hastily, she crossed to the door and went downstairs in search of Christopher, the terrace, and tea.

The terrace was reached through a large, grubby room on the first floor, suddenly made bright by throwing open the French windows. Christopher grinned at her delight and showed the chairs and table set up outside. The servants brought tea and an array of scones and pastries.

Deborah poured tea for them both and finally relaxed enough to look about her. The terrace overlooked a formal garden sloping down to woods and fields. A natural lake glinted