Page 27 of The Lord Meets His Lady
He steeled himself for a tale of a lost child, but something held her back. Gambling had taught him to read anxious flicks of the eye, a change of tone, drumming fingers…anything to reveal the other’s hand. His young housekeeper masked her emotions well, save one telltale sign—her mouth flattened into a tight, smaller line. This subject required absolute tact and consideration.
Animated conversations rose outside the cottage. Samuel and his brothers spoke with newcomers, a small army by the sounds of them.
Miss Turner nodded at the window. “They’re waiting for you. I’ll explain tonight when we have more time.”
And just like that, the door was shut, the moment gone.
His new housekeeper roved about his chamber, collecting discarded clothes. “You smell like a horse. You need a bath, milord. I’ve already poured one for you.”
He grinned at her bluntness. Servant-master decorum didn’t matter here. A bath was perfect, even if he’d need another one by the end of day.
He checked his chamber. A Chippendale dressing table, an upholstered wing chair faded to muddy brown, and a washstand.
“Where is my bath?”
“In the scullery.” She picked balled-up stockings off the floor.
“That’s in the kitchen.”
“Sculleries usually are.” Arms full of clothes, Miss Turner toed the ash pail closer to the fireplace. “Another requirement of mine: all bathing will be done in the scullery. I don’t haul wood or water upstairs.” She gave his night table a nod. The open bottom drawer held the built-in chamber pot. “And I don’t clean chamber pots.”
“But you’re the housekeeper,” he sputtered.
Her eyes sparked with mischief. “If you wanted a proper housekeeper, milord, you should’ve hired one.”
He was about to ask what kind of arrangement she’d made with Samuel, but someone banged on the front door.
“That must be the Dutton sisters.” Miss Turner sashayed to his doorway, her russet skirts swaying and her voice light. “I poured your bath some time ago. If you want hot water, you’d better hurry.”
“What?” His feet hit the cold floor.
Her breezy alto carried from the hallway. “Something to keep in mind, milord. Early risers get hot water.”
“Wait.” He threw caution to the wind and ran to the hall. “The doll I saw last night. Are you looking for a child?”
The true question hung between them.Are you looking foryourchild?Her gaze raked his legs before she ducked behind the armful of clothes. Hermit crab, definitely.
Someone pounded on the front door again, louder this time. Miss Turner rushed downstairs. “Later, milord.”
