Page 65 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
“Indeed. We have two new members of the staff.” Charlotte pulled back the lid of the basket to show the two sleeping kittens inside. A collective sigh went around the room.
“Aww.”
“How sweet.”
“Little darlin’s.”
“They are indeed sweet. And unlike the previous, unfortunate feline that lived in this house, these two are to be treated like kings.”
“Kings?” Hurley repeated, incredulous.
“Kings. Princes in this house.” She speared each servant with a piercing gaze. “Do you understand? These cats are yours to mind and I will have them treated like royalty. You will name them. You will find them a cozy, warm corner downstairs where they will sleep. They have their bed.” She indicated the large, quilted cushion the seamstresses had brought down. “You will procure them a box of earth for their needs. You will cuddle and comfort them, train them and feed them. Not overfeed, mind you, for I want them sleek and in hunting shape. You will praise them when they are successful and even when they fall short. In short, you will spoil them rotten. In part, to make up for the past, shameful neglect done here. And also, to help you remember that we are all working together in this house, each of us doing our best to help each other.”
She looked around. Hurley looked contemptuous. A few looked doubtful. But most appeared intrigued by the idea.
“Am I understood?”
“Yes, my lady.” The chorus echoed around her.
“Very well. You must all decide on names, first. Be sure to tell me what you choose.”
Debate broke out immediately.
“Excuse me, my lady?”
She turned. “Yes, Alfred?” The footman hovered in the doorway.
“Where would you like the workmen, Lady Whiddon?”
“Workmen?”
* * *
Several minutes later,she burst into Whiddon’s rooms. “Was it you? Did you hire workmen to adjust the windows on the third floor?”
Looking up from his breakfast, her husband pointed his knife toward the sketches of the cook. “I doubt Mr. Flemming would approve of the one with his tongue out.”
“He makes the most fascinating faces when he’s concentrating,” she said absently. “Well? Was it you?”
He lifted a shoulder. “If we are to be explicit, it was Chapman, but he acted at my request.” He paused in buttering his toast. “Why? Have I intruded upon your decorating territory?”
“Of course not.” She flushed. “It’s just . . . if you wished for something in particular to be done, I could have handled it for you.”
“Yes.” He took a bite. “But that would have ruined the surprise.”
She stilled. Her heartbeat stumbled and her skin tingled with anticipation. “Surprise?”
He stood. “I can see my breakfast is going to get cold.” He took a couple of quick bites and swallowed. She watched while pleasure and hope began to blossom inside of her. He took a long swallow of tea, then set his cup down and headed for the door. “Come on, then.”
He took her to a large room on the north side of the third floor. The workmen were already there, carrying out a bookcase and taking measurements of the windows.
“The nursery is next door. I believe this was meant to be a schoolroom, but we never spent much time in this house as children.”
“How do you mean to use it?”
“I don’t.” He gave her a look that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “I asked them to expand the windows and look into the possibility of a skylight. You’ll need plenty of good light in a studio.”
“Studio?” Her pulse began to pound, a mad, frantic pounding in her ears.
