Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

“Then this is an occasion for celebration.”

Mrs. March pursed her mouth. For one awful moment Francesca wondered whether she was going to refuse to allow them to pass, and they would have to wrestle with her on the doorstep. But perhaps she only wanted to give that impression, because suddenly she stepped back, her skirts swinging.

“This way,” she said, with a mirthless smile. “You may have to wait a moment or two while your rooms are prepared. Mr. Tremaine does not like to have rooms in use when there is no need, so parts of the house are closed up most of the year. I’ll have tea served to you in the second-best parlor.”

“‘The second-best parlor’?” Francesca repeated, feeling cross.

But Amy laid a warning hand on her arm and shook her head. “Thank you, Mrs. March,” she said, to the woman’s ramrod-straight back, her voice falsely bright.

“Mama,” Francesca whispered her protest. “She’s being insufferably rude!”

“That may be true, but I still don’t think we should commence our stay in London by coming to blows with my brother’s housekeeper, no matter how much we might be tempted. My dear, you know you’re inclined to accept first impressions far too hastily. Perhaps Mrs. March is shy…overwhelmed by the occasion…” Amy waved her hand, seeking inspiration.

“Mama, the woman is a nightmare,” Francesca retorted.

“Here we are.” Mrs March had stopped at one of the doors and was waiting for them to catch up.

“Thank you, Mrs. March.” As usual Amy’s manners were impeccable. “I remember this room when it was my dear mother’s sitting room,” she added, gently reminding the housekeeper of her family’s long association with the house, and her right to be there. “Do you know what time this evening my brother will be home?” Amy went on, stripping off her gloves.

“The master is in Oxford,” said Mrs. March, with satisfaction. She watched their faces fall, and allowed herself a smirk. “If you had let him know you were coming, I’m sure he would have been here to greet you, but as it is he won’t be home until the day after tomorrow.”

“Oxford,” Francesca repeated woodenly.

“William has friends in Oxford,” Amy explained, but her voice was full of disappointment. “Oh dear, I suppose I should have written to inform him we were arriving today, Mrs. March, but I so wanted to surprise him.”

Even the housekeeper wasn’t proof against Amy’s sweetness, and her chilly expression thawed slightly. “He’s asked for leg o’ lamb for his dinner day after tomorrow. It’s his favorite and he won’t miss that.”

Amy smiled. “Well, that is a relief. I suppose we can occupy ourselves until then.”

“Ma’am?” Lil was hovering in the hall. “Do you have any further instructions for me?”

“No, it’s all right, Lil,” Amy said kindly. “You go and have something to eat. I’ll send for you when you’re needed.”

“The servants’ quarters are this way,” Mrs. March moved briskly across the hall. Lil fell into line, and her back was, if possible, even straighter than the housekeeper’s.

In the second-best parlor, Amy sat down and stared at the shabby and depressing decor. “I am missing Mr. Jardine already,” she said in a woebegone voice.

“At least we will be able to visit the theater, Mama. And the opera. And Madame Tussauds. Maybe there is a wax effigy of Mrs. March in the Chamber of Horrors.”

Amy chuckled. “Terrible child! I beg you don’t upset her, Francesca. Helen did mention in one of her letters that William relies on her a great deal.”

“You don’t think they are—?”

“No, I don’t.”

Francesca thought of the housekeeper’s cold, unsmiling face and steely eyes, and decided there was little likelihood that Uncle William would want a woman like that sharing his bed. Surely his preference—if he had one—would be for someone soft and sweet and pretty? One of the soiled doves whose only way of surviving was to find a protector who would house and care for her…until boredom set in, and she was once more adrift.

Francesca shuddered. Aphrodite had once been such a woman…

“Do you wish to visit Madame Aphrodite while we are in London?” It was almost as if Amy had read Francesca’s mind.

“No,” she said shortly.

The subject, she hoped, was closed.

Aphrodite was busy with the evening entertainment, gliding about the room, making certain that her guests were being entertained and that their glasses were full of champagne. She seemed to know just what to say to each of them.

Years of experience, Sebastian supposed, watching her as he half listened to the pretty girl at his side. Her smile was seductive, promising more than conversation, if he was interested. He knew she’d be knowledgeable in the giving of pleasure without emotion—no need to think beyond the moment—which was what most men here tonight were seeking. But Sebastian wasn’t. Passionless encounters bored him, even more so now that he’d known Francesca.