by Cheryl Bolen
To his secretary James said, “Mr. Fordyce, permit me to make you acquainted with the new Lady Rutledge.”
The well dressed man stepped forward and took her hand. “Your ladyship,” he said as he bowed.
“I forgot to tell you, my dear, Mr. Fordyce is my secretary.”
James did not at all approve of the way Carlotta eyed young Fordyce from head to toe before she spoke. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said. “His lordship has mentioned you—and your efficiency—often.”
Her words apparently rendered the young secretary speechless. No doubt, Fordyce was unused to being addressed by beautiful women, James thought.
Fordyce stepped back.
To the butler, James said, “Adams, allow me to make you known to her ladyship.”
The stern, gaunt butler offered his new mistress a stiff bow.
Then James looked down at Stevie and raised his voice. “This lad is Lady Rutledge's son, who will henceforth be treated as my own son. His name is Master Stephen. I'm afraid he's a bit shy,” James added.
“Bless his heart,” Mrs. MacGinnis said, “he's such a wee one still.”
Stevie poked his head out. “I'm not, either. I'm six.” Then, like a turtle, his head once again burrowed into the shell of his mother's skirts.
To James's delight, the entire staff—including the foreboding Adams—laughed. Which, unfortunately, made Stevie all the more self-conscious.
James felt badly for all the poor servants who were lined up like slaves at auction. He stepped away from Carlotta and swept his gaze from one side to the other, perusing them. “All of you,” he said in a voice louder than that used for normal conversation, “are to be commended on the neatness of your fine appearances and on the effort you have made to present yourselves to the new Lady Rutledge. Instead of going through tedious introductions, I believe her ladyship will prefer to become acquainted with each of you when in the commission of your duties. Be assured I have told Lady Rutledge there is no finer staff in all of England.”
His comments were greeted with no less than forty smiles.
To his surprise, Carlotta stepped forward to stand by his side, her smiling gaze sweeping from left to right. “I am honored by your welcome, and I look forward to learning each and every one of you by name.” Then she bowed her head and slipped her arm through her husband's, her son still clutching her skirts.
James directed his attention at Mrs. MacGinnis and started to speak to her, but she spoke first. “Would milord and milady prefer dinner on a tray in your chambers?”
James shot Carlotta a quizzing glance.
“We can dress and come down,” Carlotta said. “I eagerly look forward to my first meal at Yarmouth Hall.”
From Mrs. MacGinnis's smile, James could tell she was pleased with her new mistress.
“I trust the rooms are prepared?” James asked the housekeeper.
“Just as you instructed Mr. Fordyce. I didn't realize, though, that the guest chamber was to be used by Lady Rutledge's son. There's no extra bed for the nurse, but I'll have one brought up immediately.”
“There is no nurse at present,” James said. “Her ladyship's maid is fulfilling those duties until we find a suitable person for the position.” He turned to Fordyce. “You've been handling that, I trust?”
Fordyce nodded. “The agency has sent a listing of several prospects. Would her ladyship care to peruse the information tonight?”
“It can wait until tomorrow,” James snapped. “Lady Rutledge is fatigued from the journey.”
“And,” Carlotta said to Fordyce, “the selection of a nurse is one my husband and I shall make together.”
Like a true father.
As he and his family mounted the stairway, James swelled with pride. Carlotta fit in as if she were born to nobility. He had done well for himself by selecting her for his countess.
A pity she did not love him.
“Look, Mama,” Stevie shrieked excitedly. “The ceiling's golden.”
Carlotta slowed and looked up at the molded plaster ceiling. “So it is!”
When they reached the second level, James said, “All of our chambers are on this floor.” The first chamber they stopped at was Stevie's. “This was a guest suite during the old earl's day.”
“His lordship had no children at all, not even daughters?” Carlotta asked.
James shook his head. “No children at all. In fact, one has to go back nearly one hundred years before children lived at Yarmouth.”
“Is there even a nursery?” Carlotta asked.
James strolled into the light blue chamber and spoke over his shoulder. “It's not fit for Stevie. I've instructed Fordyce to proceed with a complete remodel of the nursery, with particular instructions to repair the fireplace, which is currently not working.”
“Thank goodness. We can't have Stevie in a cold room,” Carlotta said. She glanced around the spotless blue chamber. “This room's blessedly warm.”
Now that it was just the three of them, Stevie behaved as his normal self, running and throwing himself on the bed, then standing on it as he began to jump.
“Stephen Andrew Ennis!” Carlotta shouted. “You know you are not to jump upon beds. What happens to bad little boys who jump on beds?”
His face fell as he climbed down. “They cwack their heads open.”
“Yes, indeed, and if you dare to jump on a bed once again, I shall be forced to spank your bottom.”
His green eyes rounded.
James could not imagine Carlotta actually lifting a hand to the child.
“I don't want to sleep in here,” the boy said.
“You'll never sleep in here alone, lamb. I promised. And since Peggy's not arrived yet, I dare say you'll have to sleep in your mama's chamber tonight.”
A broad smile transformed his pouting face. “Shall we go see your chamber, Mama?”
She looked at James. “Shall we?”
They left Stevie's room, and walked midway down the wide stone hall that was brightly lit by dozens of wall sconces.
“The opening into your sleeping chambers,” James said, sweeping open the door, “is through this study.”
They walked into a well lit room furnished in faded red silks and velvets, a gold Louis XIV escritoire centered on the room's large Oriental carpet.
Carlotta's face was inscrutable when she spoke. “I daresay it was grand in the last century.”
“Exactly,” James said. “That last Lady Rutledge died in 1799.”
Carlotta flung out her arms. “Well, there you have it!”
James moved to the next, connecting chamber. The bed chamber. It had once been quite regal and was as large as the entire first floor of Carlotta's Monmouth Place house. The turquoise silk damask on the walls was badly faded from the sun, as were the satin bed coverings.
Carlotta walked around the lofty chamber, the corners of her mouth slightly lifted. Then she turned to him. And he felt unaccountably nervous. He had truly intended to have the rooms redone before she saw them. For some unexplainable reason, it was important to him that she completely approve of Yarmouth and everything in it.
“You know, James,” she began, “with fresh paint and new fabrics, these chambers will be quite magnificent.” She linked her arm through his. “And I shall have a great deal of fun overseeing the decorating of Stevie's and my rooms.”
He could have whooped. “Let me guess. Your room is to be done in purple.”
She burst out laughing. “Heavens, no, you silly man.”
“But I thought purple was your favorite color.”
“Purple looks best on me. Because of my eyes. I told you, I wear what looks good on me, not what's in fashion. However, to show myself off to the best advantage, I prefer a room that doesn't compete with me.”
“White?” he asked.
She shook her head. “That's a bit too insipid for me.”
“What then?”
She thought for a moment. “I believe a lig
ht gold just might do.”
He nodded. A good backdrop for Carlotta.
She strolled after Stevie, who had passed into the third connecting room, the countess's dressing room. She glanced at it, then at James. “I am very pleased with my chambers. Are yours adjacent?”
His glance shifted to the next door, in the middle of the west wall. “My dressing room adjoins yours, and my chambers are the reverse of yours. Right to left, dressing room, bed chamber, study.”
“May I see yours?”
“Follow me, my lady,” he said, proffering his arm gallantly.
His dressing room would have been indistinguishable from hers, were it not for the rows of boots and finely tailored gentlemen's clothing.
Beyond that room, they strolled into his bedchamber.
“It's emerald,” she squealed as she walked into it.
He spun around to face her. “You don't like emerald?”
“I adore emerald, and I must say, it suits you, James.” She studied the room quietly for a moment. “It's a very masculine chamber. Did you select the color yourself?”
He nodded.
“What color did the previous earl have in here?”
James rolled his eyes. “Red.”
She burst out laughing. “I cannot imagine you in a scarlet room!”
“Nor can I,” he said dryly.
“Can I have a wed woom?” Stevie asked, looking up hopefully at them.”
“May I,” Carlotta said.
Stevie screwed up his face in a quizzing fashion.
James stooped down to the boy's level. “To speak correctly, you say 'may I', not 'can I'. Your mama's merely correcting you.”
Now Stevie spun around to face his mother again. “May I have a wed woom?”
“If you'd like, love. Yarmouth Hall is going to be great fun.”
Once more, James felt like whooping.
* * *
Later that night, after partaking of an impressive meal with two liveried footmen in attendance, and after James had taught her how to play backgammon in the saloon, and after Carlotta had read Stevie to sleep in the chaise in her chamber, she climbed on top the huge full tester bed in her room. She blew out the bedside candle and lay there between sheets as stiff as paper. Just the way she liked them. One of her greatest luxuries in life was having her sheets changed every day, a luxury she had rarely been able to indulge.
She lay in the semi darkness, listening to the crackling fire and listening to Stevie's breathing. A peace like she had not known in years settled over her.
She had never felt more liberated. Most importantly, she no longer feared James would learn about Gregory. She had got him away from Bath!
Even though she did not love him, she looked forward to the new life she would make with him. A life free of financial woes. She would be respected as the Countess of Rutledge. She had a vast army of servants at her disposal and a fabulous ancestral home to call her own. Her own chambers—once they were redecorated—would be magnificent, as magnificent as those in the king's castle, no doubt.
And, after all these years, she had her son at last, never to lose him again.
All of this she owed to Lord Rutledge, the man who had honored her with his name. She drifted off to a contented sleep, her lips lifted into a smile.
Chapter 15
When Carlotta came down the stairway the next morning, she came upon a footman in the now-familiar chartreuse livery. “Can you direct me to Lord Rutledge?” she asked.
“His lordship is in the library,” he said with nary a sign of emotion.
“Pray, where might that be?”
His eyes darted down the expansive central hallway that ran from the front of the house to the back. “Allow me to show you the way, milady.”
She followed him down the broad foyer, gazing up at the massive paintings that covered the walls even into the next storey.
At the end of the hallway, the footman opened a tall door into a dark library. Though the room was vast, it had few windows. In their place, tall bookcases ringed the chamber, which was cozy despite its size. A fire blazed in the big marble fireplace, and rich, dark woods suffused the room with warmth.
James, who sat behind his desk, looked up from ledgers he was perusing, his face brightening when he saw her. He promptly stood up and came forward, his hands outstretched. “Good morning, my lady. I thought you'd be touring the house with Mrs. MacGinnis.”
Carlotta still had not become accustomed to be addressed as my lady. Placing her hands on his chest, she raised up to brush her lips over his. “I believe a more pressing duty this morning is for you and I to look over the information on candidates for Stevie's nurse.”
“I dare say that is more pressing,” he said. He went back to his desk. “Here's the information Fordyce received from the agency on all the candidates for the position.” With several sheets of paper in his hand, he came to sit on the sopha beside her.
After yesterday's long ride in the carriage, she should have become accustomed to sitting close to the man who was now her husband, but she still felt uncomfortable when she was so close to him.
The thing of it was, the man was far too virile. She had not been cognizant of his masculinity when he had first come to Bath—most likely because he was too nice, too apologetic, too disinterested in her as a woman. But now . . . now she had come to realize how manly he was. Not just in the physical way—which he most definitely was—but also in the way he commanded respect, in the way he showed so keen an understanding of human nature—including her own selfishness—and in the way he counseled with such wisdom.
Because he was so masculine, she knew she would be unable to indefinitely deny him physical intimacy, intimacy she wanted no part of. As they sat there, their thighs parallel to each others', she became vitally aware of the closeness of their position. His muscled thighs served to remind her of his undeniable masculinity.
He leaned back and crossed his legs, boot to thigh, and watched the nearby fire for a moment before he spoke. “Stevie's almost too old for a nurse, but he needs someone to watch after him. As mistress of Yarmouth, you'll have many duties to perform and cannot have a child constantly underfoot.”
“What are you proposing?”
“The lady we engage should have qualities of both a nurse and a governess. It's time the lad learn how to read and how to do sums. His intelligence is most keen. You would appreciate the grasp of military strategy he's displayed. I shouldn't want to hold him back.”
“I thought perhaps it was just I who perceived how bright a lad he is,” she said with a smile.
He nodded. “He's as bright as a newly minted guinea—were guineas still being minted.”
“Before looking at these papers,” James said, “I propose we first draw up a list of qualities we seek.”
“An excellent suggestion.”
He went to the desk for paper and pen, which he promptly handed to his wife. “Penmanship is not my strong suit.”
Carlotta folded up the velum to several thicknesses and made ready to write. “First, I think, should be age. Stevie was most attached his first nurse—who came to him when she was only seventeen. The next one was grandmotherly, and he did not favor her nearly as well.”
James's eyes danced. “So the lad undoubtedly likes them young and pretty.”
Carlotta suppressed a smile. “Sarah—the first nurse—was, now that I think on it, quite pretty.” She began to write.
“I beg that you don't put pretty down on paper. I was only jesting. Such a quality is really not relevant.”
She gazed up at him through her thick lashes. “Then a fine appearance is not something you seek in a woman?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Carlotta regretted them. Now she was behaving as the old Carlotta always had. The flirtatious Carlotta. The Carlotta who was confident in her own beauty. The Carlotta she wished to bury in Bath.
He laughed. “Would that it were so,” he said ruefully, his heated gaze sweeping ov
er her from the tip of her ebony head to the toes of her satin slippers.
Her insides began to tremble as she wrote down “Age: under five-and-twenty.” Then she looked back at him. “What next, my lord?”
“James,” he snapped. “You're to call me James.”
Her lashes dropped. “Yes, James,” she said softly.
He lifted her chin with a flick of his hand. “It's as if you're trying to distance yourself from the fact that you're my wife.”
She shook her head. “Never that. I'm very happy you have made me your wife. You're . . . you're only the second man I've known in the six years since Stephen died whom I would wish for a husband.” She saw that he stiffened at her words. I should have lied and told him he was the first.
His eyes flashed angrily. “Who was the other man?”
If she did not know better, she would wager James was jealous! She shook her head. “No one important. No one who returned my feelings.” She picked up the plume again. “What next?”
James was silent a moment. “Someone who has demonstrated her amiability with young children.”
Carlotta nodded as she wrote.
“And this person should be proficient at reading and writing and working with sums.”
While she was writing, a knock sounded on the library door, then Mrs. MacGinnis entered the room.
“My lord,” she began, “Mr. Fordyce tells me you are in the process of selecting a nurse for the young master.” She came to stand before them, a nervousness in her countenance, her hands twisting together.
James lifted a brow. “We are.”
“If I might be so bold,” Mrs. MacGinnis said, “I wish to recommend my niece for the position.”
“Your niece has experience being a nurse?” he asked.
The housekeeper shook her head. “Not actually, but she would be wonderful. You see, she loves children. She was responsible for her young brother and showed remarkable patience and maturity in her care of him and in the execution of her duties.”
James leaned back, hooking his thumbs together, his gaze fixed on the housekeeper. “Tell me about her, if you please.”
She sighed. “Her mother—my sister—is housekeeper to Sir Eldridge in Middlesex.”
