Page 13 of The English Duke
When Martha learned of the duke’s arrangements, she almost threw her hands up in exasperation. Her grandmother was feeling faint. The last thing she needed to do was to climb yet another set of stairs to the guest suites located on the second floor.
The duke, however, exonerated himself by sending the housekeeper and four footmen to the parlor. Gran was convinced to lie down on a contraption of canvas sheeting supported by two poles. In that manner, her grandmother was carried up the gilded sweeping stairs.
“We put your grandmother in the Florence room,” the housekeeper said as they followed at a sedate pace behind the footmen.
The woman had introduced herself minutes earlier as Mrs. Browning. A singular name, since it seemed everything about the woman was brown. She had curly brown hair, warm brown eyes, and wore a dark brown dress with brown shoes. At her neck was a cameo, again in shades of brown, revealing the silhouette of a young woman.
“I’m having the Palermo and Naples rooms prepared for you and your sister, unless you would prefer to share a room.”
The last was said in the form of the question. Martha shook her head.
“If it isn’t too much trouble,” she said. “Two rooms would be fine.”
She’d never shared a room with Josephine and she didn’t want to start now, even in difficult circumstances. Josephine was a chatterbox intent on sharing her opinion about a great many subjects, including anything she saw or felt. Unfortunately, a great many of those opinions were complaints. Nothing was quite as perfect as Josephine thought it should be.
The fact that Josephine had not said one word since the duke had left them was an aberration, one that had her glancing back at her sister. Josephine’s eyes were wide as she was taking in their progress up the stairs and down the corridor. Evidently Sedgebrook had done for her what no amount of pleading could: made her cease complaining.
“His Grace has sent for the physician,” Mrs. Browning was saying. “Dr. Reynolds doesn’t live far away.”
Her estimation of the duke’s character went up another notch. “Please convey my thanks to him for that. I’m sorry we’re such an imposition.”
The housekeeper didn’t disagree with Martha’s assessment, only smiled gently.
“These things happen, don’t they? I’m sure your grandmother will be fine in a day or so. And then you’ll have all this to look back on as an adventure.”
She would just as soon have stayed at Griffin House, but she didn’t explain to the housekeeper why they were here. Nor did she say a word about the duke and his stubbornness. If he’d agreed to come and get her father’s bequest, she wouldn’t have had to travel here in the first place. Consequently, Gran wouldn’t have been worn-out.
At least half of the blame was his, a comment she didn’t make.
The footmen hesitated halfway down the hall. Mrs. Browning made her way to a door, opening it to reveal the guest chamber set aside for Gran.
The room was richly appointed, with rust-colored curtains matching the bed drapes and counterpane. All of the furniture was beautifully carved mahogany and looked as if it would endure for hundreds of years.
She thought she understood why the rooms were named after cities in Italy when she saw the mural painted along one wall of the Florence room. Her suspicion was verified when Mrs. Browning escorted her to the room assigned to be hers. Here one wall was decorated with scenes of the Mediterranean and the Bay of Naples.
She stood there for a moment, marveling at the detail the artist had provided. Clotheslines stretched between the buildings, so realistically drawn she could almost hear the flapping of the shirts in the afternoon breeze.
“The 10th Duke of Roth painted all of these. His Grace’s brother. He so loved Italy. It’s where the poor soul died. I think he would have painted every room at Sedgebrook, but he was taken from us too soon.”
She wanted to ask more about the artist duke, but thought any questions would be too intrusive. After all, she was only a guest and a reluctantly hosted one.
“We keep country hours at Sedgebrook,” the housekeeper said at the door. “Dinner is at seven. Would you like me to send a maid to direct you to the dining room? Or would you prefer trays in your rooms?”
Dinner in their rooms would entail extra effort on the part of the staff and she didn’t want to be any more of a burden. When she said as much to the housekeeper, the woman smiled.
“It’s one and the same, miss. Either a place at the dining table or a tray, it’s no bother. It’s what you prefer.”
“A tray would be ideal, then, Mrs. Browning.”
She wished they weren’t a day away from Griffin House. If Gran didn’t hate trains so much, Martha would have made the arrangements for all of them to return home in a private car, leaving Charles to bring the carriage at his own pace. She didn’t want to agitate Gran, however, so it was best if she just bided her time, and was patient—as difficult as it was—allowing circumstances to play out.
After the housekeeper left, she went to the room across the hall.
Josephine answered her knock with a broad smile.
“Isn’t Sedgebrook the most wonderful place in the whole wide world, Martha? Can’t you just imagine the balls we could have here? People would come from all over England to attend. It’s so empty-feeling now, as if it wants to be filled with people.”
“Gran is ill,” she said. “That’s where your thoughts should be, Josephine.”
