Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,218

old humiliations resurfaced. Once upon a time, before Bess was a respectable countess, she’d listened to the lies of a scoundrel. Sweet words whispered into her ear, promises of an eternal love.

Lies and more lies.

She’d been naive and smitten in those days. To deny Merrick Bradshaw anything, had been inconceivable. A wild drive through Hyde Park with her clinging to his arm. Saving every waltz for him, spinning and laughing from the sheer joy of being near him. Steamy kisses in the Eldridges’ garden. Merrick had been the sun and her, a seedling stretching for his warmth. Bess sickened at the thought of what might have become of her if the scoundrel hadn’t lost interest overnight and turned his attentions toward courting another.

“Let it go,” she said through gritted teeth and jerked open the dresser; her pins and brush went flying and banged into the back of the drawer.

Lord Julius might have awakened that foolish girl, but Bess knew how to control her now. Once she collected herself and he came below stairs to break his fast, she would reveal the truth about last night—just like she had planned before he stormed around the bed and scrambled her thoughts. Law. She was truly featherbrained to think she could teach the rogue a lesson.

He was shameless.

Rather than pulling her lady’s maid from work for a simple task, Bess twisted her hair high on her head and stabbed a pin into the knot. Quinn, agreeable woman that she was, had offered to work alongside Anne in the kitchen until the cook returned. The two servants formed a bond soon after Bess’s cousin arrived at the dowager house in Mayfair with Robbie and Anne in tow. At Bess’s urging and with Gemma’s blessing, Quinn was training young Anne to become a lady’s maid, too.

After setting herself back to rights and donning a new pair of stockings, Bess went in search of her cousin. Gemma was at the writing desk in the drawing room, sorting the large stack of post that had been waiting for her return. It was the only piece of furniture in the room not covered with a sheet. Sunlight filtered through the window at her back, creating a halo around her dark blonde hair. When they had met for the first time, Bess had been shocked by how much they resembled each other.

Gemma glanced up with an envelop and brass letter opener in her hands. “We received a letter from the agency. They found a housekeeper with excellent references and wish to know if an interview should be scheduled. Did you expect a response this soon?"

“I was hopeful.” Bess moved behind her cousin to read the inquiry over her shoulder.

Two weeks before the journey to Davensworth Cottage, Bess had spoken with the most reputable service agency in London about the need for a butler, housekeeper, and stable master. She’d reasoned once the senior positions were filled, the head servants could hire their own subordinates.

“There is no mention of other candidates.” Gemma frowned as she concentrated on breaking the seal on another letter. “Will it be difficult to find manservants? I don’t know how long we can manage without a butler and footmen. Robbie isn’t much stronger than you and I, and we cannot keep sending for your men in the stables.”

“Not all men are opposed to female employers,” Bess said. “Tripleton has been with me for years. Someone will be pleased with the opportunity for advancement.”

“I trust your experience in such matters.” Her cousin sighed and dropped the correspondence on the desk. “I wish Papa had better prepared me. It is a lot of responsibility running a house and owning the brewery.”

“I understand, but rest assured, I will remain at Davensworth Cottage to assist you until you demand that I go home.”

“I am more likely to beg you to stay.”

The poor dear had experienced a rough go of it after Uncle Roger’s death. Bess, herself, had been lost after her husband’s death. Without guidance from Hadley’s nephew and heir, she couldn’t imagine how she would have made decisions with the fog of her grief clouding her mind.

Bess gave her cousin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Since your father’s man-of-affairs reported all is well with the business, I believe it is safe to turn our attentions toward hiring a housekeeper. Write the agency and take the interview.”

“Of course, although I’m unable to frank a letter today. Last night’s storm made the lane impassable. No one will be coming or going for days,