Page 5 of The Widower Without a Will
Let him think her rude.She couldn’t bear to pretend for one moment longer she was some great lady whom he must entertain with drawing room debate.
“You are my guest, Mrs.Bellamy.”
“Surely there is something I can do to be helpful.Perhaps some mending, or polishing the silver.”
“I have a whole household of servants to see to such things.Now that I am the only one living here, I’m afraid none of them have enough to do.”He pulled out that kind smile again.“No doubt there will be plenty for you to do when you move to your niece’s.Embrace this as your season to rest.”
Rest.Martha’s least favorite activity.“You haven’t any open positions?If I had shown up today as a stranger seeking refuge, you would have nothing to offer me and would turn me out?”
“If you were a stranger seeking refuge, we would put you in the lodging house and find some position for you.But, Mrs.Bellamy, you are not a stranger.You are the esteemed late rector’s wife, a woman who has already done your share of work for the community.I have invited you here as my guest, and I would not ask you to work in the kitchen or mind the laborers’ children.”
She almost argued back—but realized, as her mouth opened, that he might be trying to politely remind her that no one wanted to get too close to her, in case Lucas’s ending had been not merely a scandal but also a curse.
Lord Preston said apologetically, “The only position I have open at the moment is that of Mr.Maulvi—the steward.”
“No, I wouldn’t know the first thing about that,” she agreed.Then, buoyed by his kindness, she offered, “Do you already have a secretary?I helped my husband with his correspondence all our life.My lettering is better than his.”She corrected herself: “Better than hiswas.”
The baron measured her with his heavy gaze.“A secretary position requires some discretion, as I correspond on matters of sensitivity to both Northfield Hall and the nation.”
Hope allowed Martha to meet him eye for eye.“A rector’s wife must be either the biggest gossip in the village or the best at keeping her mouth shut.”
His lips curved upward.Martha realized what it was that made them so attractive: when they moved, so did his face, and when he smiled as he did now, it felt as if he were unveiling a secret emotion, just for her.
“Then perhaps, Mrs.Bellamy, you would be so kind as to assist me with my correspondence while you await word from your family.”
“Sir,” she replied, “it would be my honor.”
Chapter Three
Thecuriousthingaboutlife was how quickly it could change.The previous morning, as Martin had dressed in the clothes laid out for him by his valet West, he had expected a solitary day in a string of solitary weeks as he waited out Parliament’s recess at Northfield Hall.
This morning, he rang for West to help him find a better waistcoat than the one he had been wearing of late.He was not wandering the estate on his own anymore, nor was his socializing limited to a visit to poor Maulvi.He could do Mrs.Bellamy the courtesy of wearing clothes without patches.
They were to convene in his study at nine after breakfasting separately.From all the available apartments—of which there were four on the family floor and three above—Mrs.Bellamy had selected the bedroom two doors down the corridor from his.He had suggested it, since its window offered a lovely view straight down the driveway and it did not burden her with an extra chamber for a lady’s maid; yet now, he wished he had left the matter entirely to Mrs.Chow so that he wouldn’t know the precise location of Mrs.Bellamy at all times.
He didn’t know what was the matter with him.He had hosted guests hundreds of times over the years, and never had he second-guessed their room assignments.Just last year, he had, without any of his daughters present as hostesses, entertained two members of the House of Commons and their wives for nearly three weeks.And while he had certainly worn his good waistcoats, he had not spent the early morning straining to hear signs of life from their bedrooms.
What did it serve him to know if Mrs.Bellamy was yet awake?
Martin supposed it was because there was no strategy behind her visit.As practiced a host as he might be, Martin only ever invited people to stay at Northfield Hall for a purpose—usually one related to politics.Martin had no aims for Mrs.Bellamy’s visit other than to do his duty by a woman under his umbrella of responsibility.If yesterday he hadn’t known how to treat her, then this morning, he didn’t know how to feel about her.
Was she intruding on his peace?
Or was she a welcome distraction from his solitude?
He took a simple breakfast of fresh berries and cream and went to prepare his study for her invasion.The truth was that he had never before had a private secretary.At the time he inherited the role of baron, King George III had managed all ofhiscorrespondence himself, and Martin had decided to follow that example.But Mrs.Bellamy had looked so bereft at the idea of having no duties at Northfield Hall.The offer of the role of secretary had sprung spontaneously from his lips.
Itwouldbe a help to have someone managing his correspondence so he could spend that time reading reports and planning his strategy for the next round of battle in London.His coalition had accomplished much this year—reducing the number of crimes eligible for the death penalty and transportation, as well as gaol reforms—but, as always, there was still so much to do.Through his son Nate, Martin knew that the African Institution was preparing to publish a report recommending that slave traders be treated as pirates, and he wanted to gather support for legislation to that end before he returned to London in the winter.Too, he wanted to propose another bill to abolish slavery in the empire entirely.And then there were the Corn Laws, which he attacked every year, and the Irish Insurrection Bills, which kept getting renewed to keep the poor country in terror.
And besides all of that, Martin still had to finalize his will.
He was glad Mrs.Bellamy would be assisting him.Yet it also required him to instruct her on what to do and how to do it.
She would be discreet.But she had helped Mr.Bellamy with parish matters.How would she react to the many letters Martin received from the needy and poor and desperate, asking for help he could not give?How would she handle the reports coming in from around the empire recording the terrible conditions of slave plantations and Indian factories?
Martin would limit her to his social correspondence, if he could.Yet he did not write witty letters to grand dames nor engage in prolonged personal exchanges with friends.If he wrote to someone—if someone wrote to him—it had a purpose, and that purpose most likely was more complex than the dilemmas Mr.Bellamy had ever faced.
Martin reminded himself that he was no doubt ruminating so much that everything seemed harder than it was.He would begin by asking her to sort his papers.Ordinarily, his study was relatively orderly, but he had only returned from London the week prior, and he had brought a crate of records which he had so far left untouched on the secretary’s desk.It was a simple task that would help both him and Mrs.Bellamy get accustomed to her new role.
