Be My Bride (7 page)

“Interesting architecture, don’t you think?” he nodded toward the offending door.

She managed a polite smile. “I suppose it was to allow visiting couples to reach each other more easily.”

“Undoubtedly. But the Lewistons of the past were a practical lot. Just in case the couples weren’t all that interested, the door can be locked from either side.” He reached up over the door jamb and took down the brass key that was kept there. “Here. You keep the key. If you ever need me, just use it.”

She paled again, and for a moment he thought he had gone too far.

“You are too good to us, Daniel,” she murmured, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I promise you, I’ll repay you somehow.”

Adam dashed up suddenly, hugging Daniel around the legs. “This is the best day yet, Mr. Daniel. We have our own rooms, and we get to be with you always.”

Daniel felt the now familiar constriction near his heart. He glanced from Adam’s beaming face to Cynthia’s watery smile. “Believe me, my dear, you already have

Chapter Seven

Cynthia’s watery mood barely lasted through the first course of an early dinner. It seemed impossible to believe that after nearly ten years of exile, she was finally to have the pampered, comfortable life for which she had been raised. The very thought made her feel a bit like a traitor to Nathan’s memory, but the sight of veal on her plate somehow pushed the guilt away with the memory. If she had to trade love for a mess of porridge, at least it was to be very good porridge.

Of course, that’s what she had assumed. It was well known that the Lewiston estate boasted a real French chef, and she had naturally supposed that the food would be beyond anything she had ever tasted. One mouthful made her reach for the damask napkin in dismay. Farther up the long table, which could easily have seated thirty, she saw that Adam was attempting to push the overcooked peas around his plate with his utensils and only succeeding in mashing them further. Across from him, James was chewing the cheddared potatoes, although with difficulty, and near Daniel, John had pushed the Yorkshire pudding away in disgust. Only Daniel at the head of the table was calmly eating as if nothing untoward was happening.

“Is this normal fare?” she called up from the foot of the long table, where her place had been set.

Daniel swallowed and nodded. “Seems to be Henri’s favorite dinner. I believe we have it on a regular basis.”

“Every Wednesday, sir,” Evenson supplied from his station at the side table, although Cynthia thought even he looked disgusted by the fact.

“Every Wednesday?” John cried. James swallowed, then reached quickly for water to drown the lump. Adam smashed the last pea triumphantly.

Daniel glanced around at the obviously displeased faces around him. “Don’t you care for it?”

Cynthia’s frown turned the boys’ eyes back to their plates. “I’m sure it’s quite adequate, Daniel. The boys and I have learned to make do with far less. However, I admit I’m curious. Do
you
like it?”

Daniel glanced down at the gray lump that was the veal. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never actually thought about it. Dinner and any other meal was just something to get through.”

Cynthia felt a sudden stab of pity. She could picture him rattling about this great house, conducting his estate duties alone, eating alone, reading himself to sleep alone, and waking up alone to do it all over again. She might not be able to keep him company at night, but she could certainly make sure that his home was clean and his food edible.

“I think it’s safe to say we can do something about this,” she said, smiling at everyone. “Evenson, I shall want a word with Mr. Henri this afternoon.”

Evenson cringed. “Of course, madam. However, I think you should know that Monsieur Henri takes a nap everyday from three to six, and then of course he’s busy with the supper preparations, so perhaps I might suggest . . .”.

“Three o’clock,” Cynthia said sweetly, but the boys had the good sense to lower their eyes once again. “In the library.”

Evenson swallowed and bowed himself out.

* * * *

She didn’t wait until three. Once she saw that the boys were safely engaged in a protracted tour of the picture gallery with Daniel and one of the more trustworthy-looking footmen, she changed from the soft pink wedding gown Jonathan had magnanimously purchased for her into her mourning gown. She had hoped never to don the thing again, but it was guaranteed to look serious, and she needed to look as serious as possible for this interview. She supposed she ought to meet all the servants at some point or at least discuss arrangements with Evenson. For now, she would have to settle for handling “Monsieur Henri.”

She hadn’t reached the ground-floor landing before she heard the shouting. The fact that it was in French and filled with a considerable number of words her mother had never taught her only caused her chin to raise a few more inches higher. She followed the noise down the back stairs and swept into the kitchen. The scullery maids, who were huddled by the door, scattered. Evenson withdrew to a discreet distance, and the two assistant cooks who had been attempting to restrain the portly chef dropped his arms and bowed to her. She smiled, then stepped forward, holding out her hand.

“Monsieur Henri, I came as soon as I could.”

She knew the other servants were exchanging glances of puzzlement. Her appeasing attitude stopped the Frenchman in mid-tirade. She continued before he could recover. “My dear sir, you cannot know how delighted I am to be so fortunate to have an artiste of your caliber on my staff. Je suis enchante!”

She knew her French, though rusty, was near perfect. The little man’s head came up, and a look of delight spread across his pasty face. “I assure you, madame, the honor is all mine.”

“Oh, but you are too kind. A man of your skill, here, is nothing short of miraculous.” With the other servants wide-eyed about her, she stepped closer and lowered her voice, continuing in French. “I realize, of course, that my husband must have been a sad trial to you. His palate, alas, is not very refined, non? But I assure you, I will be a much more discerning judge.”

The Frenchman swallowed, catching the steel behind her velvet words as she had hoped he would. “I will attempt to please, of course.”

“I know you will. I will expect recommendations from you each Monday morning for every meal in the week to follow. We will meet in the library precisely at eight. I ask that you consider we are feeding three young boys with unschooled palates as well as two adults. Given that this is Wednesday, I will waive the recommendations for this week. I hope you will use this time to show me exactly how skilled you are.”

“Oui, madame,” Henri muttered, breaking into a sweat.

“Excellent. And Henri, if you ever serve my husband the slop you provided for dinner today, it will be the last day you serve my husband. Do I make myself clear?”

“Oui, madame,” he managed in a choked whisper.

Cynthia beamed at everyone around her and switched back to English. “It was delightful to meet you, Monsieur. I know our home will be better for having you here.” She nodded to the others and swept out of the room.

Once back in her new bedchamber, she sank down on the embroidered stool near the empty fireplace and broke into delighted laughter. The look on Monsieur Henri’s face had been priceless, but the shocked look on Evenson’s usually impassive face had been even better. That should teach the man to treat her Daniel with anything less than respect!

She choked on her laughter.
Her
Daniel? What was she thinking? For that matter, what was she doing meddling in his affairs? She was acting as giddy as the child she had once been. Daniel Lewiston had been master of this house for years. What right had she to walk in her first day and order his staff around? True, the cook had been shirking his duties, but was it her place to correct him? She was mistress of this house under the flimsiest of pretenses. By this evening, she had no doubt every servant as well as most of her neighbors would know that the Master and Mistress of Lewiston House kept separate rooms. While this wasn’t unheard of among the gentry, it still made her feel guilty that she somehow wasn’t repaying his kindness. She supposed she would simply have to get used to the idea that the best thing she could do for Daniel Lewiston was to ensure that he had a well-run household.

With this thought in mind, she approached Daniel in the withdrawing room that evening after a much improved supper. James was reading aloud a book he had found in Daniel’s “excellent” library to a rapt Adam, and John was sitting on the hardwood floor with knees to chest staring dreamily into the fire. She sat down next to Daniel on the nearby sofa and lowered her voice so as not to disturb her sons.

“Thank you for being so good to us,” she murmured, gathering courage from the smile he gave her back. “I have been thinking about our lives here, and I wondered if you’d mind if I made a few changes?”

His smile deepened. “If they’re anything like the change you made in Monsieur Henri, I’d be delighted. That was the best food I think I’ve ever had.”

She blushed. “Your chef and I simply reached an understanding. I don’t know if I’ll have such luck elsewhere.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Daniel encouraged her. “What else do you wish to change?”

“Well, for one thing, would you mind if we sat a little closer at the dining table?”

He chuckled. “It is a bit of a shout when we try to converse. I’ll tell Evenson to set all five places near the head. What else?”

“Do you think the boys might have a tutor?” she ventured.

Daniel nodded. “Certainly. Although I wondered about Mr. Wellfordhouse’s classes at the vicarage. They’d have a chance to meet other children that way. The class is small now, but it will grow once we have the school built.”

Cynthia was surprised to find how easy it was to talk to him about matters. Whenever she’d raised such issues to Nathan, he had laughingly scolded her for worrying too much. “I think the vicarage school would be wonderful,” she agreed. “There are some things, however, the good Reverend won’t be able to teach them, such as horsemanship.”

“We used to have an excellent stable,” Daniel replied thoughtfully. “I rode every morning for years, but I somehow lost interest after my sister Cerise married. I suppose it was just one more thing to do alone. I’d be delighted to take the boys riding whenever you’d like. And you too, of course.”

“You’ll have to get us riding outfits, then,” Cynthia replied with a laugh. “There isn’t much call for horsemanship on the Bristol docks.”

“Done.” He grinned. “We’ll have a tailor and seamstress in from Wells tomorrow.”

But even when the tailor and seamstress had measured them and scurried off to make riding outfits and several other items Daniel commissioned, riding proved to be difficult. Daniel took the boys and Cynthia down to the stables to inspect the horses; however, Cynthia was disappointed to find the animals old and entirely too docile for all but Adam. Seeing her disapproval, Daniel suggested they purchase suitable mounts. Cynthia brightened, until he called for the carriage to take them to visit Enoch McCreedy.

Mr. McCreedy was well known about Wenwood for two things: fine horses and a foul temper. Even when he was a young man of twenty her father had refused to deal with him, and she could only assume that Jonathan had followed suit. She remembered her mother sweeping her skirts aside to keep from touching him as they passed in the village. He had leered at her and spat on her shoes. It took a strong person to deal with Enoch McCreedy and come out the better for it. She wasn’t sure Daniel had that strength.

She managed to convince him to leave the boys at home with Evenson and the footman to watch them (soothing the boys with the idea that the exact color of their horses would then be a surprise). She kept him busy during the ride across the village by asking him questions about his sisters – when they had married, how they were getting on, how many children they had by now. She nodded and chatted, but all the while her mind was elsewhere.

What skill did she possess that might allow her to help Daniel? She had learned to bow and scrape to the servants of the merchants in Bristol so that she might earn a living darning socks and mending clothes. She seemed to remember how to behave with arrogance befitting gentry if her handling of Monsieur Henri was any indication. But would either approach allow her to help a kind man like Daniel purchase horses from a tyrant like Enoch McCreedy?

Daniel was more than happy to recount tales of his many nieces (all his sisters having had daughters so far), but he knew by the way Cynthia’s eyes kept darting to the window that her thoughts weren’t entirely on what he was saying. He supposed she’d heard stories about Enoch. The man certainly had figured largely in local lore. Daniel had met him a few years ago at a horse auction and struck up a conversation. He had been the only one to stay when the man began cussing and spouting bile, amazed by how easily Enoch vilified anyone who crossed his path. It was obvious to him that the man was as alone as he was, and, once he had shown Enoch he wasn’t to be turned aside so easily, they had struck up an odd friendship. He had little doubt the man could sell him some prime blood, but he wasn’t sure how Cynthia would react to Enoch’s personality.

“Perhaps you should wait in the carriage,” Daniel tried when they arrived at the farmstead. “It’s a bit dusty, and I wouldn’t want you to ruin your gown.”

As she had chosen to wear the black dress again, she could hardly agree with him. “I’m not afraid of a bit of dust. I would like to help you select the horses for the boys, if you don’t mind.”

He could hardly gainsay her. Glancing out the carriage window, he saw that several horses were already out in a paddock some distance away from the main stable. “All right, then. Suppose you go with Jeffers over to have a look at the mounts, and I’ll see if I can’t scare up Enoch.”

It wasn’t exactly what she had had in mind, but she couldn’t find a reason to argue. With great misgivings, she allowed the footman to lead her over to the fenced area where she could survey the horses.