Page 33 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Chapter Eleven
“I can’t thinkwhyyou’d want to meet Mr. Blackburn. He’s a dreadful old bore,” Cynthia said unkindly, leading the way along a high-ceilinged, cavernous hallway. “He doesn’t like women very much. He thinks we’re silly, scatterbrained creatures. Although of course in my case he’s right.”
Patrina chuckled despite herself. “I think you are too hard on yourself, Cynthia. I did want to meet him, though. Shouldn’t I take an interest in my husband’s health?”
“Goodness, you were only married yesterday!”
“Well, no time like the present, is there?”
Cynthia twisted around to look at Patrina, smiling quizzically.
“Well, my dear, youarevery serious. Mr. Blackburn will come again, I can assure you. But for now, I want to give you a tour of the house! What do you think of the place so far, by the way?”
“I like it,” Patrina responded, honestly enough. “It’s much larger than what I’m used to. And you have so many servants! How do you keep track of them all?”
Cynthia shrugged. “Oh, we don’t. That wasn’t all of them out on the terrace, you know.”
“What?”
“There were numerous scullery maids and gardeners and such still residing within the house. Not all of them emerge.”
“Good heavens. How am I to remember all their names?”
Cynthia took a sharp left, leading the way through a narrow corridor between two sour-faced portraits. It was the sort of quiet, half-hidden little passageway that could have easily been made secret, a tapestry hung across it.
“Try your best,” Cynthia advised, shooting a smile over her shoulder. “The important names to remember are Smith and Mrs. Black. Besides, I’ll help you. And I bet Mama will, too. She’s been running this house for years and years, of course.”
I’m sure she’d love to help,Patrina thought despondently. No doubt Lady Emma’s help would involve either barking orders or subtle sabotage. Wonderful.
I’m balanced on a knife edge here, with no idea who my friends might be, but with a very clear idea of who my enemies are. I can’t even count of Cynthia – asking her to choose between me and her mother would be beyond cruel. Besides, I might not like which decision she makes.
“The music room is just up here,” Cynthia added. “I think you’re going to love it.”
Abruptly, the passageway opened up into a large, round room, well-lit with natural light from wide windows. There were a few bookshelves, but what really caught one’s attention was a huge pianoforte, standing on a round platform in the centre of the room. Patrina sucked in a breath, eyes widening.
There were stacks of sheet music everywhere, piled up on the pianoforte, on the piano stool, on the window seat, even on the floor by the shelves. A dusty harp stood in the corner; a seat set beside it. There were more instruments, other unusual objects, and many more items that Patrina could scarcely spare the time to look at.
“Goodness,” she gasped. “It’s… it is beautiful.”
Cynthia beamed. “This was always my room. Mama’s not musical, but I am. But I must hear you play. Will you?”
Patrina rounded the platform, taking in the impressive pianoforte. She stepped hesitantly up, and trailed her fingers across the keys, careful not to press down and make any sound.
It was a much finer instrument than she was used to, that much was clear. Patrina’s fingers itched to try the harp in the corner, to try out the acoustics of the room. She seated herself at the pianoforte, fingertips resting on the smooth, cool ivory of the keys.
“I should love to,” she breathed. “What should I play?”
***
Lucy staggered along the corridor, cursing quietly to herself. She had Patrina’s linens piled up in her arms and had already made the wrong turn in this huge, wretched house at least twice.
Really, she ought to take the servants’ corridors, which usually offered quick, private shortcuts which would let her pop out in exactly the hallway she needed. However, the servants’ corridors were, like in all grand houses, absolute chaos. They were a rat’s nest, a maze, sprawling and confusing, criss-crossing each other at the strangest angles. Once she knew them by heart, of course, it would be different. Until then, she would have to keep taking shortcuts through the upper parts of the house. She might well be in trouble if she were caught here. Lady Tidemore, the Marquess’ mother, seemed like a real stickler for rules.
Rounding a corner, her mind set on getting Patrina’s room ready, Lucy simply was not looking where she was going.
Perhaps inevitably, she crashed straight into something. No, someone.
They both tumbled to the ground, the linens landing on top of Lucy. She gave a yelp, struggling to get upright.
