Within minutes of meeting the staff, it soon became apparent that the housekeeper was not a woman who welcomed interference from the mistress. Aware of the lengthy time Mr Drake had spent abroad, Juliet decided that Mrs Barbary had been left to her own devices for far too long, and that was perhaps the reason for her reluctance to disclose any information relating to the running of the house.
“When the master is in residence, I inspect the linens on Fridays,” Mrs Barbary said, her pinched face and thin lips suggesting suppressed annoyance.
The housekeeper stood a foot taller than Juliet—as most people did. Clearly the woman knew of Juliet’s inferior birth else she would not speak with such veiled disdain.
“And when he is not in residence?”
Mrs Barbary looked down her pointed nose. “I inspect them once a quarter.”
“Then I ask that you take a full inventory and we will discuss the matter tomorrow.” The last thing Juliet wanted was to cause animosity, but she had to make a stand. She had to show she was capable of holding her position.
“Yes, Mrs Drake.”
Juliet’s stomach performed a flip at the sound of her married name. A dark, brooding image of
her husband invaded her mind. For some inexplicable reason she felt drawn to him, craved spending time in his company, even though there were plenty of reasons she should be frightened.
Devlin Drake was too tall, too broad, too strong. His countenance screamed of virile masculinity. And those eyes—heavens above—they were like dangerous pools with fathomless depths. When the sun’s rays caught the black irises, they turned an inviting chocolate brown. When he smiled and laughed, they grew warmer still.
“And these are your apartments.” Mrs Barbary’s words drew Juliet from her musings. The servant stood in the gloomy corridor and gestured to the chamber door. “All the rooms are exactly as they were when the mistress was alive.” The housekeeper’s mouth twitched in a half-smile of admiration. “Now, there was a lady of high standards and unshakable integrity.”
The indirect insult did not go amiss.
Nor had the earlier comment about there being no need to unlock the music room door.
“Then I hope to prove myself a worthy replacement as mistress of Blackwater.”
Mrs Barbary pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. She opened the chamber door and stood back for Juliet to enter.
Like all the rooms in Blackwater, the bedchamber was a gloomy, oppressive place. The panelled walls, the faded tapestries, the green velvet bed hangings made the space feel sombre and morbid.
Juliet’s heart sank.
It was as if a solemn presence lingered within the walls, one eager to invade her spirits, to suck every drop of hope and happiness she possessed, leaving a shrivelled wreck. A sense of melancholy gripped her, ready to drag her down into the depths of despair.
She had married a man who’d left her alone on her wedding day, in a strange house with servants who obviously disapproved of the match. Never had she felt so lonely, not even in her father’s home. Now she knew why a lady took her own maid when she married. A familiar face would be a welcome distraction.
“What with the sudden news of your wedding, there’s been no time to air the place properly.” Mrs Barbary moved to the window and pulled back the curtains. “There’s a dressing room through there,” she continued, pointing to another door. “And a sitting room where the mistress used to take her breakfast and write her letters.”
No doubt the rooms were just as dismal. But how was she to broach the subject of new furnishings when the chamber was like a shrine to Mr Drake’s beloved mother?
While Juliet had a multitude of questions regarding the running of the house, including a curiosity to examine the last three months’ accounts, she needed time alone to gather her thoughts.
“Thank you, Mrs Barbary. That will be all for now.” At all costs, she must shake this morose mood. “We will meet tomorrow and go over the menus for the next two weeks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The housekeeper hovered for a moment. Perhaps she sensed Juliet’s unease, for she said in a more personable tone, “There’s a pleasant view of the gardens and the fountain from the window. The path leads down to the brook if you’re in the mind for a stroll. The mistress used to sit on the bench and read her correspondence.”
She didn’t want to hear any more talk of reading letters.
“Thank you.” Juliet forced a smile. “Perhaps I might go out tomorrow.” A walk would distract her mind and give her an opportunity to build a relationship with Rufus.
“I shall send Tilly up to you.” Mrs Barbary’s critical eye focused on the mud stains on Juliet’s pelisse. “She’ll attend to all your needs until you’re ready to take a maid of your own choosing.”
Juliet nodded. Only when the rattle of Mrs Barbary’s chatelaine faded into the distance did she breathe a relieved sigh. Her stomach twisted in painful knots, much like the first day she’d spent under her father’s roof, feeling overwhelmed and out of her depth. The desire to run had been stronger then. The desperate longing to feel her mother’s loving arms wrapped around her proved equally intense.
Wallowing in pity was a fool’s pastime, and so Juliet unbuttoned her pelisse, shrugged out of the garment and threw it onto the chair. Then she braced her hands on her hips and surveyed the room. A brighter colour was needed, pale yellow or gold, something to bring life to the mausoleum. A vase of dried flowers on the side table and a few lively paintings on the wall would improve the room immensely.
Feeling more optimistic, she wandered over to the washstand and poured water into the porcelain bowl. As she immersed her hands, her gaze fell to the black and gold wedding band. The choice of ring was as intriguing as the man who’d slipped it onto her finger and made a host of promises he couldn’t possibly keep.