Page 16 of To Swoon and to Spar
This was so close to what Jane had been envisioning that she felt her cheeks heat. She kept her back to him as she filled her plate.
“Something along those lines,” she hedged, finally mustering sufficient sangfroid to return to her seat with her plate and face him. “Whyareyou up so early?”
“I am not as dissolute as you imagine me to be,” he said, taking a sip from his own cup; she sniffed, registering that it was coffee, not tea, and then wondered at herself for wishing to know such a small detail about him. “I’m in the habit of morning exercise, and I’ve already gone for a ride.” He set his cup down, his gaze never wavering from her face as he spoke, and Jane’s eyes dropped to her teacup. “You are correct, though, that this is earlier than I usually rise in London. I know that my tenants keep different hours than I do, and I intend to begin visiting them today, so I thought I ought to make an early start.”
“You… you mean to visit the tenants?” Jane asked, frowning as she glanced up at him again.
Penvale’s frown matched hers. “I do,” he said slowly. “If there are roofs to be mended or empty larders that need to be filled, these things will need to be addressed immediately.”
Jane watched him carefully as he spoke—there was none of the posturing she might have expected, the air of a man who was pleased to let her know how competent he was. Instead, he spoke simply and matter-of-factly of what he clearly viewed as nothing more and nothing less than his duty.
“And,” he added, “I’ll want to ensure the estate’s finances are in good order. I’ve a meeting with the steward—Cresswick, is it?—scheduled for tomorrow, but I’d like to make my own observations beforehand about how things are being run.”
Jane found it strangely reassuring to hear him discussing mattersso practically. She felt much more at ease with the notion of him approaching the estate as a business, something to be handled with cold pragmatism, than she did with any of the glimpses of him that conflicted with her assumptions about what sort of man he was. She could not afford to soften toward him, not when doing so would endanger all the plans she had so carefully put into motion.
“Well, I hope that you enjoy yourself,” she said, casting a doubtful eye at the window. It wasn’t raining, but it was a blustery sort of day, one that she could already tell would involve a sharp wind that would cut through however many layers of clothing one wore to shield against it.
“Will you be remaining at home?” Penvale asked, the question clearly coming from a sense of obligation rather than from any genuine curiosity; even as he spoke, he was busy folding his newspaper, his attention elsewhere.
“Yes,” Jane said distractedly, her mind already on her own plans for the day.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said, and rose from the table, leaving Jane to finish her rapidly cooling breakfast in silence.
Ahh,she thought happily.
Just the way she liked it.
Penvale’s absence that day certainly made one thing easier to manage: a much-needed discussion with Mrs. Ash, the housekeeper. This meeting did not take place until well into the afternoon; Jane spent most of the morning in conversation with Mrs. Robin, the cook, followed by a leisurely tour of the house, taking note of the various improvementsshe wished to make—ideas that she’d had for years but which had never been within her power to enact. It was quite liberating, being a wife instead of a ward.
She had a solitary luncheon on a tray in the library, an arrangement that suited her perfectly, as it allowed her the chance to read a few chapters of the novel that currently occupied her attention. (Persuasion,which she had acquired a copy of in London—town was good for a few things, she would admit.)
Around midafternoon, however, she made a point of seeking out Mrs. Ash, who was engaged in reviewing the week’s shopping list that Mrs. Robin had provided.
“Lady Penvale,” Mrs. Ash said, her stern face brightening as she looked up, her demeanor a far cry from that which she’d presented to Penvale upon their arrival the day before. “I was hoping you’d stop by to see me.”
“I thought we had some matters to discuss,” Jane said, settling herself in a chair opposite Mrs. Ash in the small room that Mrs. Ash and Crowe used as a butler’s pantry, and where they reviewed the household accounts. “Ginger biscuit?” she asked, unfolding the napkin she held in one hand to reveal a few of Mrs. Robin’s treats, fresh from the oven. Seeing Mrs. Ash hesitate, doubtless over the perceived impropriety of eating with Jane given the newfound difference in their stations, she added wheedlingly, “Go on—I do feel self-conscious if I’m the only one eating when I’m in company.”
This was true, though it was also true that Jane was often self-conscious when she was in company, regardless of whether food was involved. She felt more relaxed around Mrs. Ash than she did around many people, given their long acquaintance—she had been the housekeeper at her father’s house in Essex, and when Jane had come to live atTrethwick Abbey, Mrs. Ash had accompanied her, since the previous housekeeper had departed recently. Mrs. Ash had been uncertain, given that she had never managed anything nearly so grand as a country estate, but Jane, for one, had been thoroughly grateful to have a familiar face in her new home.
“I thought your performance yesterday afternoon was quite convincing,” Jane said after a moment of quiet, contented consumption of biscuits.
Mrs. Ash beamed. “Did you? I worried I was laying it on a bit thick.”
“Not at all,” Jane assured her. “The point is to unsettle him.”
“He didn’t seem terribly convinced,” Mrs. Ash said, doubt evident in her voice.
“He fancies himself a practical sort of man,” Jane said dismissively. “But give him a few weeks of this, and his mind will start playing tricks on him.” She paused to take another bite of biscuit. “The bird at the window was an inspired touch.”
“That bird flew into the glass two days ago, and I wouldn’t let the gardeners dispose of it—I thought it might come in handy. Never let a good corpse go to waste, that’s what I always say,” Mrs. Ash added.
“How sensible,” Jane agreed, deciding not to inquire as to precisely how many corpses Mrs. Ash kept on the premises.
“I think so,” Mrs. Ash said cheerfully. “What’s next, then?”
“We need to proceed cautiously,” Jane warned. “He is inclined to be skeptical, so we must build our campaign slowly. And we don’t wish to make a mistake like we did with Mr. Bourne and cause him to want to sell the house altogether.”
The campaign in question was one Jane had commenced several months earlier, when she’d decided that she could no longer allow herfuture to be decided by her guardian. What better way to rid herself of his company than to convince him that his house was haunted? Initially, she had thought merely to spook him sufficiently to ensure that he spent all his time in town, leaving her more or less to her own devices at Trethwick Abbey. Apparently, however, Jane’s notion of what was mildly unsettling as opposed to nightmarishly horrifying was different from the average person’s, and soon enough she realized that Mr. Bourne was not content merely to absent himself from Trethwick Abbey, but that he intended to sell it altogether.
