“He always was impervious like that,” Sally said. “He let people talk, and then did as he pleased. No one was surprised when he ran away to America to avoid joining the army. Although it was a surprise he took Katharine.” She stopped short and added quietly, “I ought not have mentioned her,” her tone not apologetic so much as regretful.
“You must have known Katharine,” Thea said.
Sally’s eyelids flickered and she turned away. “You’ll want to see the drawing room and library, first?”
Without waiting for an answer, she left the room.
Chapter 10
By the time Thea caught up with Sally downstairs, she was already throwing open one of the doors leading off the foyer. Thea peered past her at a drawing room as lovely as the rest of the house. The bright, airy room was decorated in cream and gold, with blue carpets and upholstery. A glossy pianoforte beckoned from one corner, an ornamental fire screen covered the empty grate, and the furniture was arranged to make the most of the light and view.
Despite the room’s air of expensive elegance, it felt welcoming and lived in, as though all it needed to be complete was for Thea to come in and sit down.
“Is it to your liking, my lady? We’ll start lighting fires again soon, and will arrange the furniture accordingly, but we can easily make changes now.”
How peculiar that they rearranged the furniture for best use in a room that was never used. The previous earl—Luxborough’s elder brother—never married, so this house had had no mistress in the years since Luxborough’s father died and his mother moved away. Yet looking at this room, one would think its mistress had just now stepped outside.
“This room is perfect,” Thea said. “All I shall ever require is to take afternoon tea here.”
“Of course. Bread and cakes are baked fresh every day, and the farms provide fresh butter, cream, jam, and honey. It will be a pleasure to see the countess taking afternoon tea. And if you have guests… The house is always ready.”
Thea could almost see it, this room full of friends and family, chattering, singing, competing to entertain each other. She blinked away the alluring image and faced Sally with a bright “Where to next?”
Next was the door on the opposite side of the foyer, behind which lay the library. Thea needed only one look to fall in love.
Rich red carpets and curtains created a warm atmosphere, and the oak shelves lining the walls were stuffed with books. Two large bay windows overlooked the lawn and the lake. In one window was a cushioned seat, perfect for reading. In the other was a massive desk, with a large chair covered in supple green leather.
Thea was drawn to the desk helplessly. She smoothed her hand over its surface, thinking almost fondly of the little desk in her bare room in Mrs. Burton’s house, where she had passed her spare hours, writing until her bum grew numb from the hard seat and her fingers stiffened with the cold. Only during those hours had she felt anchored to her real life; the rest of the time she felt horribly adrift. Soon, she promised herself. Soon I will get home and no longer be exiled to strangers’ houses.
“And you say Luxborough does not use this desk?” she asked.
“He prefers his study.”
“Ooh, I want to see his study. Is it through that connecting door?”
Before Sally could answer, Thea yanked open the door and tumbled into a large room holding a billiard table a good twelve feet long, with a dozen or so ivory balls scattered over the green baize. Through the next door she spied a small parlor. It looked to be very much in use, and not by the earl, judging by the workbasket of sewing and the neat stack of books.
Back in the billiard room, the housekeeper stood by the table, absently spinning a ball in one hand, her expression guarded.
“Let us continue the tour,” Sally said. “We have become accustomed to using that parlor in the evening, but we shall stop if your ladyship desires.”
“We?”
“Martha Flores and I.”
Two friends who passed the evenings together in a parlor. Thea would not be welcome to join them. They were employees and she was the countess, so they could be friends and she could not. How silly it was, that such rules prevented even a countess from doing as she pleased.
Well, a plague on all the rules. Thea knew better than to form attachments anyway. Her family had moved so often, as her father’s fortunes rose and fell, that Thea learned early that nothing lasted. Even her faith in her family, the one thing she had been sure of, had been wrenched away from her. Soon she would set the world right and start her life anew, and then she could find more friends. For now, the only rules that mattered were her Rules of Mischief, and they demanded that she enjoy herself. So enjoy herself she would.