Chapter 4 #3
Eleanor found scant comfort in this. What was to happen over the next few weeks and how would it affect her? Before she could decide whether to question him the butler came to tell them the staff was assembled.
Hollygirt, the butler, presented his wife, the housekeeper; Mrs. Cooke, who was in fact the cook but unmarried; a footman; a parlor maid; a groom; and a gaggle of awed lower servants.
Hollygirt formally offered the couple the best wishes of the staff, and then Eleanor followed the housekeeper upstairs.
Mrs. Hollygirt flung open a door. “The master bedroom, ma’am.”
This room too, delighted her, being large with full-length windows filling the room with light. The furniture was in the slender, modern style, and the draperies were of brown velvet trimmed with gold. On the floor, however, were two dark bearskins, complete with head and claws.
“Good heavens!” Eleanor exclaimed.
“Nasty, barbarous things,” said Mrs. Hollygirt with a sniff. “The master has some funny stuff, begging your pardon, ma’am. It will be a pleasure to have a lady here.”
She indicated two doors on either side of the room. “That one is the master’s dressing room and this one is yours, ma’am. It’s rather bleak, not having been much used.” The woman’s face tightened as she realized she had made a faux-pas, but Eleanor ignored it.
“I will enjoy decorating it to my taste, Mrs. Hollygirt.”
The older woman hurried through to another unfurnished bedroom, totally out of character with the parts of the house Eleanor had seen so far.
Though not dissimilar to the master bedroom in size and shape, it was made horrible by walls, curtains, and carpet in sickly shades of pink, green, and cream.
“Oh,” was all Eleanor could think to say when faced by this bilious vision.
“This room, the nurseries, two other bedrooms, and the drawing room haven’t been touched since Mr. Delaney bought the house, ma’am.
They are as the previous owners left them.
No doubt you will wish to have them redecorated.
” There was a clear implication that if she didn’t, she had no right to be mistress of the house.
“Oh yes, indeed,” said Eleanor. “It will be one of my first tasks. Let us leave.”
Eleanor had to fight back a grin. She was delighted there were shortcomings to be overcome.
This was her home, hers to do with as she wished.
She wondered how much money she would be allowed to spend and how she could find out.
With a frown, she supposed it would depend on Lord Stainbridge’s generosity. Not a pleasant situation.
Back in her dressing room, Eleanor found her few pieces of luggage had been brought up and a maid was carefully putting away her garments.
Mrs. Hollygirt indicated the girl. “This is Jenny, ma’am. She’s a good girl, if inclined to chatter. She could serve as your maid for the time being, if you would wish. I understand you haven’t brought a maid from abroad.”
Eleanor graciously acquiesced to this, noting that the Hollygirts were not in her husband’s confidence and that the maid had gone pink with pleasure at her promotion.
She then thanked the housekeeper and asked for hot water.
This rid her of both her attendants and left her alone in the room “not much used.”
She wondered what sort of women Nicholas Delaney had brought here in the past. Doubtless very special women.
He had obviously directed the redecoration of this house.
If it had all previously matched her bedroom, it had taken a special gift to see through the frills and sickly colors to the classical beauty beneath.
A man of taste and discernment, strangely at odds with his reputation for wildness and his obvious fondness for loose women.
No matter how she might try to concentrate on his shortcomings, Eleanor was only too aware of her own.
At twenty-two she was already past her youth, and she had never been a beauty.
Her regular features had sometimes caused her to be called handsome, but she knew she had no remarkable feature except her wealth of hair, and long hair was not in fashion.
She had no particular wit, no artistic talents, and an indifferent education.
She felt tired, depressed, and in despair.
This was no good. If nothing else, she was a fighter. In a determined attempt to think more positively she stood before the long mirror to assess her points. Her hair, yes. That she could count on. Thick and wavy, it fell to her waist when released.
What had he said? “I never could resist hair such as yours.”
Her figure was well proportioned, full and rounded.
It would do well enough if he did not favor willowy maidens.
It was not shown to advantage, however, by her gray traveling dress.
It had been bought for the sober widow, Mrs. Childsley, by Lord Stainbridge’s minion.
The outfit was designed, Eleanor thought bleakly, for a lady past the first flush of youth and given to charitable works.
It was not at all suitable for a new wife with a fascinating husband…
What did she think she was doing? Probably the last thing Nicholas Delaney wanted was a wife who worried as to whether her clothes or her body pleased him. A short while together and then he would be off on his travels, leaving her here, free.
Free.
A few weeks ago it had been her fervent prayer. Now, try as she might, Eleanor could not make this into a heartening prospect. Her thoughts were interrupted by the maid with the jug of hot water.
Eleanor washed and pointed out a blue wool gown. Another “Mrs. Childsley” item. At least the color suited her. “Will it need pressing, Jenny?”
“This one, ma’am? I don’t think so…” The girl went pink. “But it wouldn’t take a moment…”
Eleanor calmed her, glad someone else was as nervous as she. “Let me see. No, it will do very well.”
She gently directed the maid and soon her toilet was accomplished. When she looked hopefully in the mirror, however, Mrs. Childsley looked back.
Eleanor shrugged and thanked the girl, adding idly, “Have you much experience as a lady’s maid, Jenny?”
Jenny went red. “Oh well, ma’am. Once or twice, for guests like.”
Eleanor could guess what kinds of guests, but it gave her an idea. “Could you dress my hair, Jenny?”
The maid brightened eagerly. “Oh yes, ma’am. I can do simple styles. I’ve learnt all I can, for I hope to be a lady’s maid one day.”
When Eleanor’s braid was let down and unraveled, Jenny gasped and set to work to brush it with long strokes.
But she soon had to confess that she didn’t know how to put it into a fashionable style unless it was cropped and curled.
In the end she replaited it and arranged the thick braids in a coronet on top with long tendrils, curled with an iron, hanging down to her neck.
It was an attractive style but unfashionable.
Eleanor wondered if she should have her hair cut.
She was discussing this with Jenny when, after a knock, Nicholas came in.
“How like a woman,” he said with a smile.
“No sooner do I become accustomed to her than she transforms herself entirely.” He tweaked one trailing glossy curl, and Eleanor knew she was blushing.
She only hoped she did so prettily. “You are doubtless thinking of a coiffeur,” he continued, “but I do much prefer long hair.”
Disregarding the presence of the maid he dropped a light kiss on Eleanor’s neck. “I have to go out, my dear, just for a little while. Among other things, I must pay a visit to your brother. He will not bother you again. I will be in for dinner.” With that he was gone.
Eleanor and Jenny looked at each other and smiled.
“No crop,” Eleanor said with resignation, though she was pleased not have to part with her hair.
“Jenny, I depend upon you to think up ways to dress this mop of mine. If you continue as well as you have begun, I see no reason you should not be my maid.”
When she left the room the maid was still standing with an enormous smile on her mouth, and Eleanor had discovered the delight of giving pleasure to others.
As dinner would be within two hours Eleanor took only tea as she worked hard at accustoming herself to being the mistress of this well-run establishment.
The years of oppression under her brother had taken their toll, however, and she had to work up the nerve to ring the bell to summon Mrs. Hollygirt rather than going off in search of the lady.
When the housekeeper presented herself, Eleanor requested a tour of the rest of the house.
As she had expected, everything was well run. Most rooms, like her bedchamber, needed redecorating, but otherwise it was an elegant residence.
Eleanor made arrangements to check the financial accounts weekly, hoping her husband wished her to undertake this duty, and then found herself in the library with nothing to do until the meal.
Full of excitement over the house, she would have liked to have pored over drapery samples and design books, but there were none available.
Besides, without some idea of how much money would be made available, it would be foolish to make plans.
She turned instead to exploring the library shelves, partly because she loved books and partly in order to learn more about her fascinating husband.
The books were an intriguing mixture. There were works on travel and geography; texts in Latin, Greek, and in translation; all side by side with practical tomes on agriculture, engineering, and husbandry.
As well as works in the classical languages, there were books in French, Spanish, Italian, and something she thought might be Portuguese.
She wondered if her husband spoke all these languages.
The books had a well-read look, but that might well be attributed to the previous owners.
He could have bought a collection merely to fill his shelves.