Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I’m not the only one of us who needs rest,” Lydia said pointedly. “You are always fretting over everyone else. What of yourself?”
She worried about me, I knew, and I did the same for her.
I smiled, grateful for her companionship. “I don’t need the extra rest. I’m accustomed to the baron’s house parties.”
Lydia harrumphed as if to say she disagreed, but there wasn’t much time for conversation with the day’s work waiting to be done. I made my bed and swept up the scarred floor while Lydia washed her face and dressed. Then we quietly made our way from the cold garret to the main floor of the house. Once there, we parted ways to attend our separate duties.
I began in the drawing room as usual, going to the hearth and turning up the threadbare carpet surrounding it for a sound sweeping. Next, I moved to the soot in the fireplace, taking up the dirty task of cleaning as much as I could before tending to the fire itself. There was an art to the proper lighting of a fire that calmed me. Perhaps it was the distraction or the careful attention to detail or the relative solitude of early morning hours. Or perhaps it was that I found comfort in the familiar.
I had learned long ago how to stack the coals and cinders and wood to avoid smoke billowing into the room, a feat that some other housemaids could not readily accomplish. It pleased the baron to keep the rooms as clean and free of soot and chimney smoke as possible, and it was my duty to make certain that he was well contented. When he wasn’t, all of us paid the price.
By the time I finished my tasks, the guests had stirred from their chambers in search of the handsome breakfast that was laid in the dining room for their delectation at the same time each morning. My stomach rumbled with the reminder that I had gone to bed hungry the evening before and would need to wait a few more hours until I could break my own fast. I ignored it and made my way to the guest chambers to continue my duties.
I began with the finest room, the blue bedchamber, which had been given to the Marquess of Wheaton. Whilst some of its fine mahogany furnishings had been sold off, the linen press, dressing table, and bed remained. The Axminster had yet to become as faded and thinned as some of the parts of the household that saw more frequent wear.
There was a difference to a room when it was inhabited. The notions a chamber’s occupant left behind were telling. Some were slovenly and careless. Bed linens rumpled and scattered, soiled garments flung everywhere, curtains pulled wide to admit the sun without a care for the damage it might do to the paintings on the walls and the carpets. Others were neat and tidy, leaving only the slightest hint that they had even been within the four walls.
Fortunately, the marquess was the latter. A lone book was on the table at the bedside, the counterpane had been pulled smoothly over the sheets, and the curtains were drawn. I wondered which of the gentlemen assembled at the baron’s table yesterday was the marquess, and then I just as swiftly reminded myself it hardly mattered. But I couldn’t shake the memory of those dark eyes that had burned into me, seeing me just for a moment.
Shaking my head to dispel all such unwanted notions, I drew aside the curtains and opened the windows to allow a bit of crisp air into the space while I freshened the room. The day beyond was gray and cold and damp. I inhaled deeply to chase the pleasant scent the marquess had left behind—leather, shaving soap, and a faint hint of lemons. The sooner I moved on to the next room, the better.
Hastily, I attended to the fire and then spread damp tea leaves on the Axminster by the hearth before sweeping them up to collect the dust. I closed the window and drew the curtains, knowing the sun, should it pierce the fog and clouds, would be at its brightest around noon. Mrs. Wells was strict in her expectations for the preservation of the rooms. And well she had to be, for the baron’s profligacy seemed to increase by the day, as did his desperation. Rumors abounded belowstairs that he was in danger of losing Cliffwood to his debts since it wasn’t entailed.
My thoughts weighed heavily upon me as I dusted and took my leave of the chamber. I wasn’t afraid of losing the only home I’d ever known. These walls had been mostly a prison to me rather than a refuge. It was what the baron would do should he lose everything that worried me most.