Mrs. Cotswold turned to Worth next. He looked as if he were trying to squelch a smile. “What about you, Your Grace?” Her brow was arched, and she looked nothing but skeptical.
“All I can say in defense of myself is that I have quite a large sum of money riding on this and I hate to lose bets,” Worth replied, staring directly over her head toward the mantelpiece.
“You’ve bet on this?” Mrs. Cotswold asked, her eyebrow inching even higher.
“Yes.” Worth remained as still as a statue.
Mrs. Cotswold’s shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. “Well, then, why didn’t you say so? I’ve little doubt you’ll be the best footman of the lot, Your Grace.”
Worth cleared his throat. “Groomsman.”
“Oh, so you won’t be in the house?” the housekeeper clarified.
“No.” Still standing at attention, Worth lifted his chin.
“That’s probably for the best,” Mrs. Cotswold replied. She turned away from them and all four of the men exchanged laughing glances. None of them dared to utter a sound, however, as the housekeeper turned toward them once more, her hands folded behind her back and said, “We shall begin with the basics.”
“Which are?” Lucas asked.
“How to clean silver,” Mrs. Cotswold replied, eyeing each of them in turn as if looking for any objections to that particular task.
The three future servants nodded in unison.
“What else?” Bell asked.
“For you?” Mrs. Cotswold replied. “How to welcome guests and valet them properly including how to see to a gentlemen’s clothing and boots.”
Bell nodded. “Of course.”
“And?” Lucas prompted.
“For a footman? How to trim the lamps and properly wait upon the dinner table,” Mrs. Cotswold replied.
“I suppose I should just totter off to the mews then,” Worth said, already heading for the door.
“Not so quickly, Rhys,” Mrs. Cotswold said.
Worth froze, a look of utter surprise stalled on his features.
The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of the housekeeper’s lips. “You do realize servants are often called by their Christian names?”
Worth cleared his throat and shook off his astonishment. If a housekeeper calling him by his first name wasn’t enough to stop him, apparently her admonishment was. “Of course,” he replied, turning back to face her and inclining his head. “But why wouldn’t I be trained in the mews?”
“In due time,” Mrs. Cotswold replied, “but first there are things you’ll need to learn from me.”
“Such as?” Worth arched a brow.
“Such as how to put rugs around a lady’s legs,” the housekeeper replied with nary a pause, “which you may be called upon to do if our guests partake of a ride in a coach.”
Worth frowned. “It’s August.”
Mrs. Cotswold nodded. “Some ladies are quite cold even in August.”
“Very well.” Worth sighed. “Anything else?”
“Yes. A great many things. Such as…how not to appear as if you’re listening to your master’s conversations.” She gave them all a tight smile. “Shall we begin?”
Chapter Three
Viscount Clayton’s Country Estate, Devon, August 1814
Frances stepped out of the carriage at Clayton Manor and breathed a sigh of relief. No one else was in the vicinity. She might be able to make it to her rooms without an uncomfortable encounter with Sir Reginald. Albina, their maid, had already been carted away to join the other lady’s maids. Poor Albina was serving as a cook’s helper, a housemaid, and a lady’s maid at this point. The money to pay for a full staff of servants had long ago been gambled away by Papa.
“Lady Winfield,” said Lady Clayton, their beautiful hostess, who stood by the front door to greet them. “I’m so pleased you and your lovely daughter could join us.”
Frances smiled at Lady Clayton and executed a short curtsy for the woman. Lady Clayton was young and lovely and seemed ever so nice. They’d met during the events of the Season and developed an instant liking.
“We’re both ever so pleased to be here,” Mama replied. “Thank you so much for your kind invitation, Lady Clayton.”
“Wasn’t Lord Winfield able to make it?” Lady Clayton asked, frowning.
Mama winced. “Uh. He had some business to attend to in London, I’m afraid. But we do hope he’ll join us next week.”
They hadn’t employed a footman in an age. Thankfully two footmen from the Clayton residence were busy pulling the trunks from the top of the carriage, while Frances glanced around nervously. The longer they remained out in the open, the greater the chance Sir Reginald might spot them.
To Frances’s immense relief, Lady Clayton soon led them into the manor house’s large, gorgeous foyer. It smelled like lemon wax and Frances marveled at how very clean and well-kept everything looked. In addition to being far smaller, Papa’s country house was dingy these days, ever since they’d had to dismiss most of the servants and sell the artwork and furniture. But there were plenty of servants here at Clayton Manor, including the two footmen who carried their trunks behind them and the formidable-looking housekeeper who stood near the bannister staring at them. Apparently, she’d returned from depositing Albina in the servants’ quarters.
“Mrs. Cotswold will show you to your rooms,” Lady Clayton said, gesturing toward the housekeeper.
“Thank you,” Mama replied. She made to follow the housekeeper, who had already turned toward the grand sweeping staircase, before turning back to Lady Clayton. “Oh, one more thing. Has Sir Reginald Francis arrived yet?” She made it seem as if it were an afterthought, but Frances knew better.
Frances held her breath while Lady Clayton blinked as if perplexed by the question. The poor woman’s brow furrowed next. “Why . . .” The lady tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. “Why, yes. I do believe Sir Reginald arrived early this morning.”
A wide grin spread across Mama’s face. “Excellent,” she said, eyes sparkling. She gave Frances a knowing grin.
Trying to keep her expression perfectly blank, Frances expelled her breath and lifted her skirts. If Sir Reginald was already here, she’d best ascend to the safety of her bedchamber as quickly as possible.
She darted across the foyer, nearly tackling one of the poor footmen who was headed toward the back of the house with her trunk. No doubt he was on his way to the servant’s staircase. “Please,” she said in a loud whisper to the man. “Please won’t you bring the trunk directly up?” She nodded hastily toward the staircase in the foyer.
The footman’s face was obscured by the trunk hoisted on his shoulder, but he quickly turned his frame toward the double-sided staircase and said, “As you wish, my lady.”
Frances nearly wept with relief. She was being entirely inappropriate, of course, but at the moment, she couldn’t summon a care. She should also wait for her mother and the housekeeper, but instead, she plowed ahead of the footmen. She pointed up the staircase in front of them. “This way?” she asked as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence for a guest to ask for directions from footmen.