Chapter Six
Catherine entered the morning room at the rear of the house precisely at ten, as arranged. The housekeeper, already seated at the long table with a ledger and a stack of correspondence, looked up with a warm smile.
“Good morning, Mrs Thornberry,” she said as she took the seat opposite her.
The housekeeper dipped her head in much the same way she would if she had been standing in curtsey.
“Good morning, my lady. I have the inventories and accounts you requested. Everything is progressing well for the gathering.”
Catherine folded her hands in her lap, her posture attentive.
“Thank you. I should like to review the guest accommodations once more and confirm which rooms require airing and refurbishment. I understand we are expecting no fewer than twenty individuals.”
Mrs Thornberry nodded.
“That is correct, my lady. The north wing has been set aside for the visiting scholars, as his lordship directed. The rooms have been inspected and the linens changed, and I shall send the maids again tomorrow. The south rooms are prepared for Miss Talbot, in accordance with her request for quieter lodgings. The smaller parlour adjacent to the music room has also been arranged to receive guests upon arrival.”
Catherine inclined her head. “And the kitchens? Will Cook have the assistance she requires?”
“Yes, my lady,” the housekeeper replied. “I have engaged two additional kitchen maids from the village for the duration. Both have served at Penwood before and come well recommended.”
Catherine smiled with approval.
“Excellent.” She took up a pencil to mark a column in the ledger. “I am grateful for your efficiency, Mrs Thornberry. I only wish my experience matched my ambition.”
The housekeeper studied her with a kindness that did not condescend.
“My lady, you have taken to your position more naturally than many I have seen. You know when to ask questions, and you listen. That counts for a great deal.”
Catherine glanced down, warmed by the words.
“It is his lordship’s colleagues who concern me most,” she said. “Scholars are not always lenient observers. They will look to me as an extension of his household and character.”
The housekeeper shrugged, looking utterly unfazed.
“Then you have nothing to fear,” she said. “You understand his work and take interest in it. That is more than can be said for many wives in such positions. These gentlemen come as much for his mind as for the civility of his household. In both regards, they will find no fault with you.”
Catherine drew a slow breath.
“I only hope to uphold his reputation, not to diminish it,” she said.
Mrs Thornberry gave her a kind smile.
“You have already begun to elevate it, my lady,” she said. “His lordship has been more at ease since your arrival than I have seen in years.”
The remark caught Catherine unprepared. She felt a curious blend of satisfaction and apprehension.
“That is very kind of you,” she said quietly.
Mrs Thornberry smiled once more.
“A kind mistress deserves no less,” she replied.
Catherine glanced at the ledger before her, tracing a careful finger along the column of figures.
“The accounts for household provisions appear steady, but the costs for kitchen supplies have risen since the last quarter,” she said. “Is this owing to preparations for the gathering?”
Mrs Thornberry gave a small nod.
“We have ordered additional staples to accommodate the guests,” she said. “I also arranged for fresh deliveries from the market to ensure quality. If you prefer, I can have Cook keep a closer record of each expense.”
Catherine nodded prudently.
“That would be wise,” she said. “With so many guests expected, we must anticipate fluctuations in costs. If the kitchen staff require adjustments to their schedules, I should like to know before the gathering begins.”
The housekeeper nodded sagely.
“I shall speak with Cook this evening and report back tomorrow morning,” she promised.
Catherine turned to the list of arriving scholars.
“Regarding accommodations—Mr Edmund Price also prefers a room with minimal noise, does he not?”
“He does,” the housekeeper confirmed. “I have assigned him one of the south-facing rooms. The smaller parlour nearby will allow him to work privately if needed.”
“Good,” Catherine said, making a note. “And Mr Harold Fitzwilliam?”
Mrs Thornberry consulted one of her lists with a slight furrow of concentration.
“The north wing,” she said. “Near the library, at his lordship’s recommendation. He often reads late, so the distance from the guest quarters will serve him well.”
Catherine made another notation.
“And what of the servant rotations? With so many guests, some shifts may need extending.”
“I have already adjusted the assignments,” Mrs Thornberry replied. “The maids will attend to rooms in the mornings, and additional footmen will be placed in the drawing rooms each evening.”
“That should suffice,” Catherine said with a small nod. “Only ensure they do not overextend themselves. I would rather the shifts be redistributed than have them exhausted before the week concludes.”
The housekeeper regarded her with quiet approval.
“You think ahead, my lady. The staff will appreciate such consideration.”
Catherine blushed at the praise.
“They are the foundation of this household,” she said simply. “If they are not cared for, neither are we.”
When their discussion concluded, Mrs Thornberry closed the ledger.
“You have done more than many ladies in your position would attempt,” she said. “Trust yourself, my lady. I have every confidence that Penwood is in good hands.”
Catherine smiled.
“Thank you, Mrs Thornberry,” she said warmly. “That encouragement means a great deal.”
The housekeeper curtsied and departed, leaving Catherine alone at the table with her papers. For a long moment, she sat in silence, listening to the muted rustle of activity from deeper within the house.
These men will judge Marcus partly based on his choice of wife, she thought. She looked at her neat columns of planning and supply lists. If she could not impress them with family connections or polished charm, she would do so through competence. If they sought substance, they would find it.
She rose and made her way to the north wing to inspect the guest chambers for herself.
It would not do to rely solely on reports.
As she moved from room to room, noting repairs, checking for draughts, and adjusting curtains to admit the mild light, she grew more certain in her task.
She would ensure that no detail went unconsidered.
Marcus had trusted her with this, and she would not falter.
At the final room, she paused beside the window and looked out across the sloping fields toward the orchard.
The grounds lay touched with new colour, alive with the quiet promise of growth.
The house itself felt quiet, held in that expectant pause before company arrived.
She rested her hand on the sill and allowed herself a moment of reflection.
This is my home now, she thought as she gathered her courage. These are my responsibilities. And I will meet them fully.
***
Marcus leaned over the worktable, one hand braced near a brittle document he had not seen in years, the other marking the chart he had begun years ago but never completed.
Catherine sat across from him, sleeves rolled with pragmatic precision, her hair pinned neatly, though several strands had fallen loose. She was engrossed in sorting fragments from a labelled box, her brows drawn together in focused thought.
“This column seems inconsistent with the others,” she said.
Marcus looked up.
“Which one?” he asked.
She turned the book around and tapped a line halfway down the page.
“This list of coins catalogued from the 1807 dig does not match the classification system you used in the 1809 records,” she said. “Here, you begin organising by imperial reign, but before that, you used reverse iconography.”
He straightened and came around the table.
“I had not noticed,” he said, glancing at the place where she was pointing. “You are quite right. I had not standardised it yet.”
His wife looked up at him, her genuine desire to help shining plainly in her gaze.
“Would you like me to create a concordance for the earlier years to align with the later method?” she asked.
Marcus nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “That would be extremely helpful.”
Her eyes met his, bright with engagement. For a moment, the room was still as he regarded her. Not only had she noticed the inconsistency without prompting, but she had offered a sensible, time-saving solution. Admiration rose swiftly in him, mingled with the rare pleasure of camaraderie.
He cleared his throat.
“You have a remarkable eye for structure, Catherine,” he said.
She gave a small shrug; her cheeks touched with colour. “I have always liked to see disorder resolved into pattern.”
Marcus chuckled. “Then you have married into a house most in need of such a gift.”
Her lips curved, though she did not look away.
“If that is true, I am content indeed.”
They resumed their work, though Marcus found his attention straying toward her more than toward the scattered fragments of Roman pottery. When she leaned forward to examine a shard, a lock of hair slipped forward; he watched as she tucked it back, the gesture graceful and unstudied.
“Have you ever presented your findings formally before?” she asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“Only in writing,” he said. “My last paper appeared four years ago in the Society’s quarterly. I rarely speak at meetings. I prefer to listen.”
Catherine gave him a warm smile.
“Then perhaps this gathering will prove different,” she said.
Marcus met her gaze with firm intensity.
“In some respects, it already has.”
Colour deepened in her cheeks, and she returned her focus to a fragment in her hand.
“This piece still has visible scoring. It may have belonged to a larger vessel.”
He stepped nearer. “May I?” he asked.
She passed it to him, their fingers brushing. The contact was fleeting, yet his awareness lingered. He studied the fragment, then set it down with care.
“You are very adept at this. I hope you know that.”
Her shoulder lifted lightly, though her eyes remained bright.
“I have always liked puzzles. And you have given me a vast one.”
He smiled faintly. “If we continue so, I may soon find myself unnecessary.”
She glanced up at him in disbelief.
“You will never be unnecessary,” she said. Then, realising the implication, she added, “Your knowledge, I mean. These fragments would mean nothing without your years of research.”
Marcus returned to his place across the table, though his mind had not returned to the work.
He watched her arrange the small objects with care, matching edge to curve with practised precision.
She had brought clarity to his clutter, method to his instinct—and had done so without lessening him.
Rather, she had strengthened the work they now shared.
As the afternoon wore on, Catherine continued refining the catalogue. Marcus located a small parcel wrapped in linen and placed it beside her.
“These are from the 1813 excavation. I had nearly forgotten them.”
Catherine looked at it with interest.
Then we must rediscover them properly,” she said.
She unwrapped the parcel, handling each item with the reverence he had not expected from someone new to his world. A tile was placed, measured, and recorded with calm precision. He watched her a moment, then said quietly:
“My mother would have admired such attention.”
Catherine looked up, surprise softening her expression.
“You are kind to say so,” she replied gently.
He nodded but said no more. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, catching the fine strands of her hair as she bent once more to her notes.
“I believe we are finished with the main set,” she said, straightening.
Marcus glanced over the newly ordered table. “It has never looked like this before.”
Catherine laughed, the sound light after so much concentration.
“Then I shall consider that a success.”
He nodded with quiet fervour.
“It is.”