Page 39 of The Marchioness Who Tempted Fate
“You will be studying with me today, Tiffany. Sophie, I will see you in my office immediately after breakfast is served tomorrow. It seems to me that Tiffany is not the only one who needs instruction. You will not be late.”
Tiffany hung a long-handled pan with a now shining copper bottom up on one of the hooks on the back wall. She then took off her apron, which was well-marked with evidence of her morning labors, got a clean one out of the laundry, and headed upstairs to the library.
As she entered, she could hear voices raised in the Marquess’ office.
“By God, Nephew, are you trying to get the household murdered in their beds? What were you thinking, to put her in a position where she could cause all manner of mischief?”
Percival’s voice was a quiet murmur. Tiffany could not make out the reply.
“And that is another thing. To give her access to the library, to give her your own mother’s little retreat, how could you even think of such a thing? And teaching her Latin! Latin, of all the useless starts. When and where is she ever going to use this learning?”
Tiffany had no desire to be caught eavesdropping, so she hastened across the library, closed the small door behind her, and opened the door onto the garden. She swallowed hard as she looked out across the neat rows. Lettuce and radishes had joined the onions, although they were only misty rows of tiny greens, flanked with mounds of straw.
Mrs. Twitchel entered the little room from the library side. “There you are, Tiffany. I was afraid you might have gone back downstairs. Or did you come in before they started?”
Tiffany did not ask, “Started what?” She merely smiled wanly. “No. I heard enough to hasten me through the library, and to close the door behind me. I shall not be going back that way, I can assure you.”
“Let us go sit in the sunshine,” Mrs. Twitchel said. “I would speak frankly with you, and I fear that we might be overheard and our conversation misconstrued if we remain here.”
Tiffany nodded, and they went out to the bench that stood against the sunny wall. The vines were putting on tiny leaves. “What are these?” Tiffany asked.
“Grapes,” Mrs. Twitchel replied, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “You didn’t know?”
Tiffany shook her head. “We didn’t garden much at the bakery.”
Mrs. Twitchel nodded. “I suppose not. Come, sit down. We shall enjoy this lovely sunshine and the growing things while we may. Have you given any thoughts to your future?”
Tiffany looked at her in surprise. “Beyond what to make for dinner? Not really.”
“You might be considering that. Lord Northbury is a kind man, and he sees the best in nearly everyone. But even a kind man can sometimes give way to someone he admires or to whom he feels an obligation.”
“Lord Ronald, you mean.”
“Indeed, so. Lord Ronald is not particularly kind, although he is very shrewd. He did a good job stepping in to take care of Lord Northbury when the late Lord Northbury was killed in a hunting accident, and his wife sickened and died. But that does not mean that his consideration extends to anyone other than our current lord.”
“Clearly not,” Tiffany agreed.
“I do not think that Lord Ronald will convince Lord Northbury to turn you in for stealing, but he might very well insist that you be turned off. You would do well, therefore, to think ahead. When next you have a lesson with Lord Northbury, you might ask him about credentials. Tell him that you are worried about what might happen if he falls ill.”
“Will he not think that I wish to leave?”
“He might. But better a little suspicion than to be turned off without a reference. You should think about these things.”
“Do you have written references from him, Mrs. Twitchel?”
“I do, as a matter of fact. They are given each year. A small innovation Mr. Wilson suggested and Lord Northbury gladly adopted. But these are not handed out until Boxing Day as part of our yearly stipend and largess.”
“It is a long time until Boxing Day.” Tiffany sighed.
“Indeed, it is,” agreed Mrs. Twitchel. “But now, let us review the hierarchy of a noble household so that should you require a different position, you are prepared to behave properly.”
“Yes, Mrs. Twitchel,” Tiffany replied, and then began to name off the household positions in order.
Ialready know this. But at least as long as I am reciting for Mrs. Twitchel I am not listening to Sophie carp about her duties.
* * *
The day dragged on in weary sameness, rather than the joy Tiffany normally felt when cooking and baking. At the end of it, Tiffany tumbled into bed, more tired than she could ever remember being.
