She froze and stared into the gloom. Perhaps he had spotted some wild creature and wanted to chase it out? The next thing she knew, he had swept her up into his arms.
A bashful smile crossed his face. “It is customary, I believe, to carry one’s bride over the threshold the first time she enters her new home.”
Warmth bloomed through Hannah at the romantic gesture. No wonder he had practically knocked the door down rather than let her slip in through the kitchen.
Once inside, he set her back on her feet. The stained glass doors of the square entrance way opened to an enormous, rounded space. Light struggled to filter through a glass dome high overhead and cast the room in permanent twilight. Two staircases swept up either side of the space in a gentle curve, meeting at the top to create a balcony that overlooked the tiled floor.
“Oh, Wycliff! It’s beautiful.” The newel posts drew Hannah to them—each a four-foot-tall griffin.
Their heads formed the starting point of the balustrade, their wings stretched back protectively over the first few posts. She placed a hand on a feathered head. Carved in a rich golden wood, the workmanship was so exquisite she expected the creatures to step forward and demand to know her business in the house.
In her mind, she stripped away the years of neglect and dust and imagined the dome cleaned to allow sunlight to stream in. She mentally scrubbed the tiled floor, polished the wooden balustrades, and laid stair runners in fiery tones. The house possessed magnificent features on an imposing scale, and once restored would rival any grand home in Mayfair.
“Most of the house is shut up and unused. I’ve not lived here since before the war. The study on the ground floor is kept habitable for when I visit, and I need only a cot to sleep on. I foolishly did not think to tell them we would need more beds for everyone.” Wycliff gestured to one side. A twin set of doors stood directly opposite on the other side of the foyer.
Hannah was no wilting flower; she could roll up her sleeves and do a hard day’s labour when required. “We will make do. Let us assess the situation first and then decide on a course of action. Mr Swift, are there beds in the rooms upstairs?”
“Yes, Lady Wycliff. Some are broken down. Others might not be in good shape after all these years,” Mr Swift answered, having followed them inside.
The solution to the problem seemed obvious to her: Fetch a bed from upstairs and bring it down. The study was habitable and she preferred its closeness to the kitchen. There was no need to ramble up and down stairs and along dark halls every day. Besides, that would be akin to stalking through a cemetery at night. The house should be left to its peaceful slumber. For now.
“First things first. Wycliff, why don’t you see to the horses? Then you can go upstairs with Frank, find a dissembled bed in good repair, and carry it down to the study. Mary and I will introduce ourselves to the housekeeper and find linens, if you will point me in the right direction?” Hannah reached out and took Mary’s hand. Mostly to ensure the maid didn’t run back to the carriage. She had gone as pale as a wraith and her bottom lip trembled.
Wycliff gave her quick instructions to find the kitchen at the rear of the house, and then gestured for Frank and Swift to follow him back outside. Frank picked up Barnes, who sat on the tall man’s shoulder.
Sheba hesitated for a moment, conflicted as to which direction to take. The spaniel had a soft spot for both Barnes and Wycliff. Then she decided on solidarity with her gender and trotted along at Hannah’s heels. Hannah and Mary took a few turns in the corridor and soon pushed through heavy double doors that signalled they had stepped from the family areas into a servants’ hall. Along one wall, placed high above the door frames, was a row of brass bells, each mounted in a square of dull metal. Under every bell was affixed a name plate to denote the room, such as dining room or library. Hannah spotted one in a faded script that read Lady Wycliff.
Ignoring the tug of curiosity to follow the bell’s wire to its point of origin, Hannah pushed through the next door to the kitchen and found a stark contrast to the rest of the house. Light streamed in from a row of windows on one side and a skylight set directly above the worn oak table. The floors were swept, the bench tops and table clean. A row of gleaming copper pots hung from hooks, and a wonderful sweet aroma filled the room. A set of glassed doors allowed a glimpse to some sort of conservatory, accessible from the kitchen.
A woman sat at one end of the table, closest to the ovens. A regular clacking came from the knitting needles in her hand and a ball of yellow wool spun at her feet as the yarn pulled free. She glanced up and narrowed her eyes. “And who might you be?”
Hannah stopped by the table and smiled pleasantly. “I am Lady Wycliff and this is Mary, my maid. The spaniel is Sheba. I assume you are Mrs Rossett?”
Mrs Rossett resembled a barrel—short, rotund, and sturdy. She appeared to be somewhere in her late fifties, with greying hair pulled back in a tidy bun. Piercing grey eyes stared at Hannah for a long moment and then turned upon Mary. The maid’s head dropped and she shuffled sideways to escape the withering scrutiny. The housekeeper never stopped knitting, although she growled at Sheba, who had stalked too close to the ball of yarn. Once chastised, the spaniel sat and cocked her head as though waiting for further instructions.
Having made some internal decision, the woman heaved a sigh and set aside her knitting. She pushed her chair back and stood, which increased the resemblance to a barrel; the woman couldn’t even have reached five feet in height. “There are no rooms ready for you, your ladyship. We were given no notice.”
“I’m aware of that, Mrs Rossett, and will be perfectly content in the study with Wycliff. The men are putting the horses away and then they will forage upstairs for a larger bed. I need your assistance with linen and blankets, please. Mary and I will make up the bed once the gentlemen find one. Then it remains for a bed to be found for Mary.”
Hannah wanted to let out a sigh and drop into a chair. The kitchen had a comfortable atmosphere and her tired body longed to linger, while her stomach wanted to investigate the delicious aromas coming from the range.
Mrs Rossett narrowed her gaze at Hannah. “You would make the bed yourself?”
What an odd question. “Of course. My mother might be a mage, but she never believed in using magic to do something your own hands are capable of. If you would be so good as to provide me with a broom, a bucket of water, and a cloth, we can give the study a once-over while we wait for the men. Once we finish, supper would be lovely.”
Mrs Rossett tilted her head back and let out a hearty roar of laughter that seemed more suited to a seven-foot-tall pirate. Mary jumped and Hannah shot out a hand to settle the girl. The puppy yapped and leapt to her feet. “You do not know how relieved I am that the rapscallion has finally found a capable woman to marry.”
“Rapscallion?” Hannah assumed the housekeeper meant Wycliff, but she couldn’t fit the description to her serious husband, even though she caught rare glimpses of humour under his steely facade.
“Oh, yes. That one was right trouble when he was a lad. Always getting into things he shouldn’t. Why, once we had to grease his head with lard after he got it stuck between the stair railings.” She headed toward a dim corridor and gestured for them to follow. “I keep a supply of bedding aired and clean, just in case he might appear. He seldom gives me sufficient notice.”
Hannah’s feet refused to move while her brain conjured an image of the young Wycliff having his ears greased to fit back between the railings. There was a story she would tuck away for later use. “Is there a room close by that Mary could use? Frank—that’s our man—prefers the stables and being close to the horses.”
“We can air out the room next to mine for her. That way we’ll be company for one another.” Mrs Rossett kept up a steady stream of conversation, detailing the exploits of a young Wycliff. It transpired that the housekeeper had begun her life in service at the tender age of eight, sweeping out the fire grates. Over the years, she had risen through the ranks to ho
usekeeper. Wycliff kept her on, even though the house sat silent and mostly empty.
Hannah returned to the study with a pile of bedding, while Mary carried a broom and cleaning supplies. By chance, there was already a pie in the oven and they left Mrs Rossett to begin on sufficient vegetables for dinner since with much to do, everyone would be hungry by the time night fell.
While Hannah and Mary cleaned, thuds and bangs preceded the men carrying in the pieces of the bed through the double doors. Next they made the return journey to bring down a mattress. Barnes leapt onto the study light fixture and watched from above.
The cot was taken to a room by the kitchen for Mary’s use. The room picked for her possessed a window overlooking a slice of overgrown walled garden, where once vegetables for the household would have grown. In the study, a narrow desk and a cabinet needed only a wipe with a damp cloth to revive them and the open window would soon drive out the lingering dust.
By the time they had everything in order, night had fallen and Mr Swift took his leave to return to his home and family. Hannah and Wycliff, followed by the others, made their way to the kitchen, to be greeted by a delicious aroma and the table set with a plain, but ample, meal.
“Viscount or not, milord, you had better wash those filthy hands before you sit at my table.” Mrs Rossett waved a knife at Wycliff and then pointed to the sink.
“Yes, Mrs Rossett,” Wycliff murmured like a meek schoolboy. Then he ruined it by winking at Hannah and leading her to the soap and hot water.
4
Despite Mrs Rossett’s formidable appearance, the housekeeper harboured a soft side. Not only had she found a pretty bowl with purple pansies painted on it for Sheba, the housekeeper filled the dish with offcuts from dinner, then folded an old blanket and placed it by the range, where the spaniel could stretch out in the warmth. The dog attacked her dinner with gusto and her tail wagged as she ate. So far, Sheba’s country adventure was going splendidly.
Hannah took a seat at the table to the right of Wycliff. Frank sat to Wycliff’s left and stared at his plate. Mary, sheltering next to him, dished up an enormous helping for her man and cast nervous glances around his bulk at Wycliff. Mrs Rossett sat to the other side of Hannah and closest to the range.
Hannah pondered whether or not to say anything about this unprecedented state of affairs. In the end, she decided to act as though it were perfectly normal for the lord and lady of the house to dine in the kitchen with the staff. To be fair, Hannah didn’t even know where the formal dining room was, nor did she want to contemplate what sort of condition it might be in. Mice and rats probably dined and then danced upon its table while bats clung to the corners underneath.
Barnes hopped up on the table and plonked himself down close to Frank. Mrs Rossett, to her credit, did not scream or fetch a broom. She merely pointed. “What is that?”
“That is Barnes. There once was more of him, but he met an unfortunate end and this is all that remains,” Wycliff said as he passed a bowl of potatoes to Hannah.
“He can be mischievous, so please don’t let him startle you.” Hannah worried the hand might misbehave so far from her mother’s control.
“Oh, I don’t think he’ll cause me any problems. If he does…” Mrs Rossett slammed a short vegetable knife deep into the wood of the table. “I’ll skewer him to the table. Do we understand each other, Barnes?”
The hand froze to the spot as the knife hilt quivered. Then he gave a thumbs-up signal and dropped back to the bench, out of range of small knives.
Relieved she had one less problem to worry about, Hannah cast about her for a topic of conversation. “Thank you, Mrs Rossett, for providing such a wonderful meal at short notice.”
“Think nothing of it. I prefer to have busy hands and it is nice to have his lordship under his own roof again.” The housekeeper beamed at Wycliff like a besotted grandmother.
“His lordship? I think you mean the rapscallion. I do hope you have some lard on hand in case of misadventures.” Hannah, somehow, managed to keep a wide-eyed innocent look on her face as she asked her question and then turned to Wycliff.
Wycliff set down his cutlery and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “What exactly have you been telling my wife, Mrs Rossett?”
“Why, hardly anything, sir. I’ve only known her ladyship a mere handful of hours. I haven’t told her nearly as much as I’m going to over the next few days.” The housekeeper winked at Hannah and then let out her booming laughter.
Hannah found herself laughing at the horrified look on Wycliff’s face.
“I’m not so sure bringing you here was such a good idea after all,” he muttered as he returned his attention to his dinner.
“Really? I believe it will turn into quite an educational trip.” Hannah grinned at him. He might be the most notoriously grim and rude viscount in London, but in Dorset he was the mischievous boy and she looked forward to hearing more of his antics.
A lively discussion erupted around the table, while Frank remained silent. Mary managed to speak up at one point and didn’t quiver in fear when Wycliff asked her if her accommodation was sufficient. After dinner, Hannah and Mary helped clear up and wash the dishes. Wycliff took Sheba for a walk outside and Frank disappeared to the stables, where he had a room in the loft.
The night lengthened and soon Mary said her good-nights. Mrs Rossett brewed a cup of tea for Wycliff and he kept one hand curled around the cup while he scanned the local newspaper he held in the other.
A weariness crept over Hannah’s limbs and warred with a case of nerves. Her husband seemed settled for the time being and that provided her with ample time to complete her evening routine. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Rossett, I will also seek my bed.”
They had managed to turn the study into more of a functional bedroom and less of an officer’s campaign tent. The men had pushed the plain wooden bed frame up against one wall, which contained bookshelves to the height of the chair rail. Above that was an enormous map of the world. Hannah and Mary had made up the bed with clean sheets and found a cheerful patchwork quilt in a mix of floral patterns to spread on top. They moved the desk closer to the window, to give them a few more inches of space and to serve as her dresser. Her small travelling case sat to one side, holding her brushes, a bottle of perfume, and her velvet roll of jewellery.
Hannah managed to coax a fire into life in the hearth, to throw its cheery light over the room and to dispel the gloom. The rugs were threadbare, but functional. Only one pane in the window was cracked and it did a valiant job at keeping the drafts at bay, as long as the dusty drapes were pulled. Tomorrow she would find a piece of wood to cover the gap.
The drapes would need to be taken down and given a good beating—another job to add to her list. Wooden boxes of various sizes were stacked in one corner as though a boy had built a fort. Wycliff had muttered about the boxes containing small items such as silverware or porcelain that had once resided in the upstairs rooms.
A small settee with holes chewed in its golden brocade was set at the foot of the bed and before the fire. Hannah threw a forest green blanket over the piece to make it more homely and to cover the holes. There was no screen for her to hide behind while she changed. Her trunk stood open beside the desk. Hannah removed her dress, shift, and stays and placed them on top. Then she slipped on her nightgown and dressing gown.
She sat on the settee with a book in her hands, but the words swam on the page. Her mind churned as though she made butter in her head. She had not shared a bedroom with Wycliff since their stay with the Pennicotts. But much had changed since then. She recalled the day in the glade, when he had confided how the hellhounds had attacked his platoon. Then he had kissed her in a way that made her think the same molten heat was being poured into her veins.
There was no doubt they would share a bed while at Mireworth. Only one question remained: Would he sleep under or on top of the blankets?
She didn’t have to wait long to find out. In a few minutes, Wycliff enter
ed and closed the door behind him. Hannah dared glances from under her lowered lashes as he undressed. Silently he stripped off his jacket and hung it over a chair. His waistcoat and cravat were tossed over the top. Next, he pulled off his boots and stockings and set them next to the chair. His shirt came off over his head and was balled up and tossed to the top of the crates.
Heat flared over her cheeks at the sight of his well-formed and naked torso. She felt a small moment of pride at the barely perceptible silver scar on his shoulder, where she had dug out a ball shot from a badly aimed pistol. She had not been given any opportunity to examine the wound since.
Clad only in his breeches, he crossed the rug to stand in front of her, and reached out to take the book from her limp fingers. Closing the pages, he set it beside her. Taking her hands, he raised her to her feet. One hand slid to her waist, and with the other, he caressed her cheek.
Hannah closed her eyes and focused on his touch. She leaned into his palm as he cupped her face.
“There is much unsaid between us, Hannah,” Wycliff murmured as he traced the line of her jaw and down the side of her neck. “I offered you a marriage in name only, but I believe our feelings on that subject have altered. Yet I find myself on uncertain ground as I contemplate whether to advance or retreat. The next step is not my decision to make—it is yours. I need only a single word to indicate whether this is what you want to do. If your answer is no, I shall sleep on the settee. If yes, well…I promise you will not regret your decision.”
The idea of physical intimacy no longer frightened Hannah. Rather the opposite. Due to her evolving relationship with Wycliff, she found herself curious and wanting more. Which meant they should advance, wherever that path took them. It was an easy decision for her to make.
With one word fixed in her mind, she opened her eyes to his intense gaze and whispered, “Yes.”
His arm tightened around her and Wycliff kissed her. Hannah let go of any last reservations and placed herself utterly in her husband’s warm and very capable hands.
Sixpence and Selkies Page 3
