He bent and kissed her fingers. “Good night, Mrs. Halland. I hope you sleep well.”
She swallowed. “I hope you do, too. Goodnight.”
Releasing her hand, he reached across and pushed open her door. She could smell his hair, his skin, clean and masculine, like fresh tree bark and cut grass. And then he straightened, smiled, and sauntered away down the passage toward his own, distant chamber.
She stumbled inside, closed the door, and leaned her back against it. What on earth just happened?
Nothing, she realized. Nothing at all.
Chapter Five
Deborah woke early after a long, yet vaguely disturbed sleep. Perhaps it was dreams inspired by the strangeness of the house, but she had a vague recollection of strange sounds, creaks and whispers, and ominous shadows against the partially open window.
In the light of morning, unease faded into a sense of welcome to the new day, her new life, her new husband. For yesterday, she had learned that they could more than tolerate each other. They could be friends. And this great, gloomy house could be home.
She washed in the cold water left from last night and dressed in her oldest morning gown, fastening it as best she could before hastily brushing and pinning up her hair. Then, she sallied forth to explore.
She decided to begin on the first floor, where she walked into the drawing room and threw open all the windows, tops and bottoms. A fresh breeze greeted her, and she breathed in with relief. Immediately, she went to repeat the process in the dining room. Here, she found Mrs. Dawson directing the maid to clean the floor.
They both stared at her, disconcerted.
“Good morning,” Deborah said quietly and walked past them.
“Breakfast will be served in the parlor,” Mrs. Dawson said, “but I’m afraid it is not yet ready.”
“No matter. I am in no hurry to eat.” Deborah undid the catch and opened the first window before walking on to the next.
“Ma’am, the dust will come in and dirty the floor she is trying to clean,” Mrs. Dawson said patiently, as though speaking to a child.
“Then she may do it later. I cannot dine another night in such a stale room.”
Mrs. Dawson bridled. “Forgive me, ma’am, if all is not yet exactly as you like.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You have been running this house with no staff. I would like to see you and Hunter after breakfast, let us say at nine of the clock. Here will be fine.”
Mrs. Dawson waved the maid away imperiously, and the girl vanished with her bucket and brush. “Nine of the clock is our busiest time.”
“The house cannot run now on its old routines,” Deborah said patiently. “You and I have much to discuss. Please tell Hunter, and I will see you at nine.”
She half-expected to be contradicted again, or at least to receive a killing look, but the housekeeper looked so despairing that Deborah almost turned back. However, Mrs. Dawson strode out of the room and downstairs as though in high dudgeon.
Deborah sighed, for she did not like confrontations and did not wish to begin one with a woman she needed as an ally. However, thrusting the worry aside until later, she walked along the gallery, throwing open doors to various connecting rooms. Most of the furniture was in Halland covers. She took off a few to investigate and found most of it in decent condition, if somewhat old-fashioned.
Turning the corner to a less opulent passage, she found another sitting room, a study and then, at the next corner, she threw open a door and smiled.
It was a large, irregular-shaped room, lined with books from floor to ceiling. A glass cabinet held what looked like Egyptian curios. An armchair, two sofas, and two desks were scattered about the room. Despite the inevitable mustiness, it felt at last, like home. She walked around the windows, opening them to the fresh air, and looked about with glee.
“There you are,” Christopher said, sometime later, strolling into the room to find her halfway up a step ladder, examining the books.
“I love this room,” she said enthusiastically. “Can we clean it and decorate it and make it ours?”
He blinked. “It is ours, but of course we can. I’m going to breakfast if you’d like to join me.”
She slid down two steps of the ladder in her hurry, and he strode forward to catch her, lifting her to the ground by her waist.
She flushed at the contact, although he seemed not to notice.
“Take care,” he said, releasing her and ushering her