Page 17 of When He Was a Duke
“Dear me, I suppose that’s true, isn’t it?” Mrs. Carter laughed, a bubbling gurgle of a sound that warmed Rose’s heart.
The kitchen returned to its lively routine, with kitchen maids chopping vegetables and kneading dough. An errand boy ran in and out, collecting a basket to take to the village. Scullery maids positioned at the wash area scrubbed dishes while gossiping quietly to each other.
Pots, pans, and utensils hung on hooks along the walls, their polished surfaces catching the light. Pewter serving dishes were stacked on open shelves, ready to carry meals upstairs. A dedicated corner of the kitchen was reserved for baking, with rolling boards, bins of flour, and racks of cooling tarts, cakes, and loaves of bread piled high upon the counter.
Adjacent to the kitchen, the larder, kept cool by thick stone walls, housed hanging cured meats, cheese wheels, and baskets of root vegetables. Rose didn’t care for it in there. The hanging flesh of animals did not appeal to her whatsoever. In fact, she couldn’t standthe thought that they’d once been living creatures. It was simply too sad to think of.
She bade them farewell and headed down the narrow hallway to Mrs. Blythe’s office. At the doorway, she paused, observing Mrs. Blythe at her perfectly polished desk. The room had only one small window, but it let in lovely light this time of morning, which illuminated the gold streaks in the housekeeper’s light brown hair. Rose wasn’t entirely sure why, but the space smelled of lemons, a scent she associated with the woman who ran their household with love and attention to detail.
Her desk was always neatly organized, with a leather writing pad and inkstand, quill pens, blotting paper, and ledgers. Small drawers contained account books, receipts, schedules, and notes. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held rows of leather-bound ledgers, inventory books, and manuals for household management. A board on the wall displayed the staff rota, menus for the week, and lists of duties for each servant. Small pins or hooks held keys to storerooms and other secured areas, labeled with brass tags.
When she was small and her governess had required a break, she would stay with Mrs. Blythe in her office. To keep Rose occupied, Mrs. Blythe would let her look through books with depictions of flowers and herbs, which the housekeeper had drawn herself and labeled. It was only a hobby, Mrs. Blythe had told her and served no real purpose, but Rose had adored each and every one regardless.
Now, Rose knocked softly, and Mrs. Blythe looked up from her sums. “Oh, dear me, I didn’t hear you.”
“I’m sorry to startle you. I’ve come to go over the party details. And the ball.”
Mrs. Blythe nodded, shutting her ledger and placing it inside a lockable cabinet beneath the desk, where she kept payroll records and other sensitive documents. “Of course, Lady Rose. May I get you a cup of tea?” She gestured toward the small tray with a teapot, teacup, and atin of tea leaves on a side table.
“No, thank you.”
“Have you thought about a theme for the ball?” Mrs. Blythe asked, settling into her cushioned chair behind the desk. “I had no idea your father would bring it back and am worried about time to plan properly. We shall have to be clever.”
“Yes, it was a surprise to me as well. Do you think a prison theme would go over well?”
Immediately sympathetic, Mrs. Blythe cocked her head and gazed at her kindly. “What’s troubling you, my lady?”
Rose sighed, looking down at her hands. “Father’s upset with me about my failure during the Season, and he’s arranged for me to marry Baron White.”
“What? No.”
“Father wishes to marry Mrs. Blackwell. But she will not agree unless I’m out of the way.”
Dead silence, followed by a draining of all color from Mrs. Blythe’s cheeks. “We feared as much.”
“Yes. It’s unfortunate.” Rose flapped her hands in front of her face, trying not to cry. The last few months had been so difficult. If only the Season had gone better.
“He’s much too old for you.” Mrs. Blythe flinched. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me for saying so.”
“It’s all right. The truth is the truth. No one else wants me. As you know, I sat alone at every ball.”
Mrs. Blythe opened her mouth as if to share something but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she pursed her lips and shook her head.
“Baron White cornered me one night in Mayfair’s garden. If it had not been for my quickness and a sharp nudge of my elbow into his ribcage, I may have been ruined. When I told Father what had happened, he didn’t care. In fact, he told me he’d sent Baron Whiteout to find me. I should have known then that it was Baron White he’d chosen for me to marry. I’ll be engaged by the end of the summer.”
“I shall ask Thorncroft to put the gardeners on high alert,” Mrs. Blythe said. “The servants inside will keep close watch on you as well.”
“I appreciate it, but it doesn’t matter one way or the other. I’m to be married to him by the end of the year. I shall have to move away to live with him. It will break my heart to leave all of you.”
“I’ll be praying for a miracle, Lady Rose.”
They left that subject alone and dove into the plans for the party and ball. They spoke at some length about the activities and menu for the weeks they would have a full house, then moved onto the masquerade ball.
“Your father wants invitations sent out to roughly a hundred guests from London and the surrounding areas here in the countryside. It’s shorter notice than I’d like, but since it’s the end of the summer, hopefully people will be delighted at the prospect of getting out of the city.”
“Father told me my mother was good at choosing themes.”
Mrs. Blythe’s voice softened as she shared her memories. “Oh, yes. Lady Wentworth was the most inspiring hostess. There was the Moonlit Sea Soiree—guests were encouraged to wear sapphire or aquamarine. The women were all so lovely. Then one year we had a Venetian Carnival. Your mother hired harlequin dancers for the entertainment, and Mr. Thorncroft put together candlelit gondola rides on the pond.”
