A Winter Wish (The Read Family Saga #1) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,7

the beauty of 1896 Pembroke Place,” she said, as if they’d been conversing the whole time on that very subject.

“It is impressive in its grandeur,” Merry murmured, unwilling to offer her true grim opinions.

Frowning, the countess removed her spectacles. “Sit,” she ordered, gesturing with those gold frames to the Louis XVI painted marquise chair.

Merry hadn’t even fully seated herself on the mustard velvet upholstery before the other woman began speaking. “The household must be completely transformed. There can be no doubting that the adjusted plans had anything to do with… ” Wonder of wonders, color splotched the other woman’s cheeks. “With… with…”

“Your desire to return to London for a lovely holiday season,” Merry neatly supplied.

The countess found her footing once more. “Precisely. As such, it is my expectation that the foyer, halls, and great ballroom are all fully decked for the Yuletide season.” She pushed that large paper that had previously commanded her attention over to Merry.

Why… it hadn’t just looked like a map. It was a map. Merry lifted a questioning gaze. “My—”

“It is a map, Miss Read. I trust you know something of maps?”

There would be a second wonder of wonders, because in that instance, the countess’ eyes twinkled. That glimmer was gone as quickly as it had come.

Surely a flicker of the light. For the other woman could not and would not know the fun Merry had enjoyed making maps as a girl. She’d spent countless days designing countless maps for scavenger hunts she’d played with Ewan. His older and younger brothers had both been too serious to ever take part. “Yes, my lady,” she finally said. “Maps are not foreign to me.”

“This,” the other woman went on as if Merry hadn’t spoken, but then, an answer would never have been required from the countess, “is the layout of the townhouse.” She turned the page around so Merry could see. “Bedrooms here.” She jabbed a finger at the area in question. “Guest suites”—she moved a long finger across the page—“here. And priority should be given to these following areas. The foyer.” She jabbed her finger at the crude map as she spoke. “The music rooms. The ballroom. The dining rooms. In that order, Miss Read.”

As the rapid-fire instructions flew, Merry struggled to commit the details to memory.

“There is, of course, no limit to what you may spend. You are free to decorate as you see fit. I’d only ask that it be tasteful and cheerful for the holiday season.”

Merry stole a sideways peek at the garish rooms. Given their vastly different views on design aesthetic, the countess’ ask seemed like a hard one indeed. “There is the matter of boughs and greenery and the yule log.” Those trappings came far easier in the country.

Lady Maldavers pointed to another area on the map. “We have gardens with everything you might require, Miss Read.” The countess proceeded to gather her things. “I suggest you begin by assessing the rooms you’ll be working with, and then you may inventory the gardens in order to ascertain you’ve everything you require.”

“Of course, my lady.” Of course they would have everything she’d need. How very plebian for Merry to even think anything to the contrary. In possession of a title that went back to William the Conqueror, the Holmans held a level of wealth that people like Merry and her family could never dare wrap their minds around. It had been just one reason why she’d never been so foolish as to entertain the possibility that there could be more between her and the middle Holman brother. She’d not been so naïve as to think their futures could intertwine.

The countess set her spectacles atop her neatly stacked folders. “In the unlikely chance you can’t find something you need, you may simply pass word to Blake, the butler, who will pass word to the maids and footmen, and they’ll procure it for you in an instant.” With that, Lady Maldavers started to sweep off. She paused in a whir of skirts. “Ah, there is one more thing.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Lord Grimslee.”

Stiffening, Merry looked about for the gentleman and found just she and the countess remained the sole occupants of the room. “What of the viscount, my lady?”

“Lord Grimslee will be helping you.”

Merry had oft suspected that when the countess had welcomed her firstborn into the world, she’d likely greeted him by his title.

The countess had turned to go when the implications of the matriarch’s previous statement knocked Merry back on her heels. “I… what was