Page 51 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
George, comfortably ensconced in a wing chair by the fireplace, glanced up with a smile and put aside his book.
“Your nose is looking a trifle red, my love,” he said as he stood. “Come warm yourself by the fire.”
She playfully swatted his arm. “I’m sure it’s quite red, but how rude of you to notice.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m very fond of your nose. And red is a charming color on you.”
“You’re too kind, sir.”
She sank onto the plump cushions of the giltwood sofa and extended her feet toward the crackling flames in the hearth. George angled the painted fire screen to moderate the outpouring of heat before joining her, wrapping his arm snugly about her shoulders.
The yellow drawing room was quite her favorite room in the old abbey, and for a few minutes she simply enjoyed its quiet tranquility and the security of her husband’s embrace. The walls were hung with striped silk wallpaper in a beautiful shade of pale lemon, and comfortable, overstuffed chairs were arranged in cozy groupings that were perfect for conversation, reading, or viewing Donwell’s excellent collection of antiques, books, and curiosities. It was a peaceful retreat, and she was determined to transform the rest of the house into a similar haven of beauty and comfort.
Of course, those changes would have to wait behind more practical matters. While beautiful rooms and an ancient patrimony were excellent things, so were modern stoves, chimneys that didn’t smoke, and food that arrived from the kitchen at the correct temperature. Emma had a few traditions of her own, including the habit of eating foods that were either properly hot or properly cold.
“Henry is safely tucked away in his room?” George asked.
“With extra blankets and a lamp by the bed so he can read. I asked Mrs. Hodges to check in on him shortly to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep with the lamp still burning.”
George frowned. “It’s Harry’s job to make sure candles and lamps are safely extinguished after the family retires to bed.”
“I know, but I couldn’t find him, which is apparently a fairly common occurrence.”
“You’re used to Hartfield’s excellent standards, my dear. We at Donwell must make do with what we have.”
She scoffed. “While I agree that Hartfield isthestandard of excellence in Highbury, Harry is a rather low bar to set.”
“True. Still, up till now he’s adequately served our needs. Having said that, I’m sure you’ll whip him into shape.”
“Even Mrs. Hodges can’t whip him into shape.”
“We’ll be hiring more staff soon enough.” He sighed. “When I can find a minute to sit down and discuss it with Larkins and Mrs. Hodges.”
Emma winced with guilt. “Here I am nattering on, when you’ve had a dreadfully difficult day. I’m sorry, dearest.”
George pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Thankfully, I was able to return home to a quiet evening with my wife and my favorite nephew.”
“Thank goodness. But Prudence’s poor family, especially Mr. Parr. I cannot imagine how cut up he must be feeling.”
“His grief was difficult to witness,” George quietly replied.
Emma turned and pressed a hand to his chest. “I know how this has affected you, and how greatly you must feel for the family.”
His expression was somber. “I wish I could do more for them. As it was, I had little comfort to give.”
“Did Mr. Parr have more questions?”
“I only spoke to him to offer my condolences. But Prudence’s older brother again expressed his dismay over the coroner’s conclusions, specifically regarding the statement that she’d been drinking.”
“I can understand his dismay.”
“Yes. Young Mr. Parr was not best pleased with me,” he dryly said.
“How unfortunate. Then I’m doubly glad Mr. Weston was there to support you.”
“I appreciated his company.”
She frowned, suddenly remembering a niggling question. “George, why didn’t Larkins go with you? I thought he planned to do that.”
