Page 14 of Surrender Your Grace
She offered a weak smile. “I’m sure I’ll remember everyone… eventually.”
There was a polite ripple of laughter, swiftly stifled. Forty sets of eyes watched her—not unkind, but assessing. Weighing. Wondering what kind of mistress she’d be. She’d never been in charge of more than one maid—whom she’d shared. How could she possibly know the answer?
With the introductions ended and the staff dismissed, she stood in the echoing silence of the gallery, her palms damp.
Beside her, Andrew offered a faint smile. “They’ll warm to you. Just don’t confuse Mary Ellen with Mary Anne. Or Mary Two with the original Mary. Disaster could follow.”
Her head snapped around. “How so?”.
The glint in his eyes revealed the tease, and Cici laughed—a high, nervous sound that verged on hysteria.
“It’s going to be fine,” he assured gently, “but you’ll have to learn to relax.”
“I’m trying,” she muttered, wringing her hands. “But this is absurd. I’m the lady of the house—no, the castle—and I don’t know a single soul.”
“You will,” he said, patting her hand with quiet reassurance. “You don’t need to win them all over tonight.”
No, only you. She swallowed that thought with a tentative smile.
The awkward moment was saved by Higgins’ timely reappearance.
“My lord, my lady,” he said with a crisp bow. “Supper will be served at the top of the hour.”
Andrew offered her his arm. “Let’s relax in the salon while we wait.”
As they stepped into the cozy room, warmth from the hearth wrapped around her cheeks. Andrew moved toward the brassbar cart while she crossed to the open French doors, letting the evening breeze cool her flushed skin.
“An aperitif?” he suggested. “Madeira, perhaps.”
“No thank you. I’ve never acquired a taste for it,” she replied, watching the last fingers of daylight vanish behind the tower beeches.
“Something sweeter, then? A fruit cordial made with blackberries grown here at Arendale?”
Her interest piqued. “Aren’t cordials digestifs, for after dinner?”
“Usually. But it’s sweet and light, and I think you’ll like it. Or we can call for the tea cart.”
“I’ve disturbed the household enough,” she said, shaking her head. “But I do like berries—so yes, I’ll try the cordial.”
He joined her at the doors, a glass of wine in his hand, and passed her the petite stemmed glass filled with dark-purple liqueur. She steeled herself, expecting bitterness—but was pleasantly surprised.
“It’s quite good,” she said, savoring another dainty sip.
“Preston also makes a lemon cordial, but blackberry is by far the favorite. You’ll have to give him your compliments.”
“I shall.” Her smile came more easily now. “Arendale is lovely. Aside from your London townhouse, do you own other properties?”
She prayed for a negative response, but her spirits lagged at his answer.
“There is a small estate in Kippford, and an ocean-side cottage near Brighton.”
“Kippford? Isn’t that in Scotland?”
“Yes. It was passed down through my mother’s family, as was the title.” He gestured toward the settee and waited until they were both seated before continuing. “Kippford is a quaint coastal town south of Dumfries on Solway Firth. There’s alighthouse nearby perched atop a 250-foot cliff where you can see the Isle of Man, England, and the Irish coast.”
“It sounds beautiful. But how did you inherit?” she asked. “I thought your brother, being the eldest, would have through primogeniture.”
“My mother—also Maggie’s—was my father’s second wife. Many forget, since they wed when James was still an infant. She raised him as her own. He’s always called her mother. But she was Baroness Arendalesuo jurethrough her father’s Scottish line.”
