Chapter 4 #2
The foyer of the house retained the lines of the great hall it had once housed in its former life as a manor, and Cerys waited while the others shuffled in, the women of the company, the men, and then the two boys, Fred and Meek, gaping about them like farmhands let into the master’s house for the first time.
She would concede that this was one of the more elegant entrances she’d seen.
The floor was tiled in a checkered design, veins showing in the white marble, and twin staircases lifted gracefully to the first floor as if they were floating ribbons.
One arched doorway led to a splendid formal parlor, spacious enough to house a large party for conversation and mingling and music, yet the furniture was arranged to make a gallery of comfortable gathering spots.
A pang of longing came and went for times gone by, innocent times when an invitation to a ball was the grandest thing she’d ever been able to imagine.
Manelli led them up the grand stairs, and while the girls giggled and looked around, Mame watched Cerys. “Grand house,” she commended. “But our Cerys isn’t one to be impressed by grand houses, is she?”
Cerys shrugged. “I grew up in a crumbling old priory. There’s not much grander than those old abbeys the medieval monks built.”
“Crumbling priory in Newport, Wales,” Mame murmured. “Finally, our little Cerys has a history.”
Her skin prickled along the back of her neck.
Manelli could overhear them, close as they were.
He marched up the stairs with the straight, strict carriage of a soldier discharging a duty.
It didn’t matter what he knew or thought, or where she came from, Cerys told herself.
No matter to him, and no matter to her friends, really.
What mattered was what she made of herself now.
An actress with a traveling troupe trying to make their home, for which they required a theater.
Manelli turned down one hallway, his boots ringing on the wooden floor, and Cerys followed. “I am astonished that Mr. Manelli should have the leisure to greet and conduct us through the house,” she remarked to Mame. “He does not seem the sort who is disposed to entertain.”
“Of course you would prefer your host be here to receive you,” Manelli snapped, “but he is off at one of the fashionable haunts, either imbibing the waters from one of the wells or calling with Dutton at the Great House to see who has arrived in town lately. Inviting a theater troupe to stay in his house is one of his whimsical freaks that he will have forgotten already, and he will be amusing himself with others of his class and inclination.” Impatience lathered his tone, like soap whipped into a froth, and Cerys made note: Mr. Manelli did not approve of whimsical freaks.
“Or are you put out that the staff did not turn out to greet you?” He turned his head to send a glare at Cerys, one dark brow arched, and that uneasy feeling lifted up her spine, tingling her scalp.
“The housekeeper and cook are at the market madly endeavoring to plan and produce meals for ten additional guests,” he snapped.
“The chamber maids are airing your rooms as we speak. The footmen are in the mews helping unload your luggage from the cart, and as for the butler—” He paused.
“Buckle is no doubt in the cellar raking his pate for the proper wines to serve at dinner to a draggletail group of actors, a viscount by courtesy, a baron’s son, and me. ”
“Draggletail!” Cerys exclaimed, the word escaping against her better judgment. It would never do to show by a sliver or a crack that his insults found a mark.
“Terribly sorry to be an inconvenience to you, Mr. Manelli.” Dot stepped forward to soothe the waters.
She’d worn her best hat, which she’d trimmed herself with ribbons and flowers, and the blush in her cheeks was rouge.
She fluttered her darkened eyelashes at him.
“Are we tainting you by association? Or upsetting a wife or sweetheart, with a flock of women being under your roof?”
“No on both counts,” Manelli said shortly.
Cerys made another note: Mr. Manelli was unattached. But what woman would have patience with that constant glower and scold?
“How fortunate for us that, unlike the staff, you are currently without employment, Mr. Manelli, and thus able to play butler for us,” Cerys said. “For certain we are diverting you from more important tasks. Putting the last of the furnishings in place, or some such.”
“I shall return to them directly, and forget the annoyance as best I can.” He practically kicked open a door.
“These three rooms are for the women. Dorsey, you and the rest of the men are on the other side.” He frowned at Cerys as he spoke.
“There’s to be no commerce between the wings, I’m sure it goes without saying.
Andover might like his amusements, but he’s not running a bawdy house. ”
Cerys narrowed her eyes at him. “Somehow, I am not surprised that your mind should sink to such a level. You, Mr. Manelli, are no gentleman.”
He offered a stiff jerk of his head, his acknowledgement somehow also conveying scorn. “A lady would know.”
“I am not a lady,” Cerys objected instantly.
“Ah, but you are.” His mouth twisted on one side, the expression somehow softening his strong features, though the result was a sneer. “Lady Disdain.”
She pointed her nose into the air and swept into the room.
And stopped, captured by the loveliness.
The enormous bed sat heaped with pillows, a recessed canopy waving with curtains like a promise of sweet dreams. A patterned carpet spread over the floor, sinking beneath her slippers.
Two upholstered chairs were pulled before a fireplace—a bedroom with a fireplace!
What a luxury. The entire room was done in colors combining the barest blush of pink with the pale green of new spring grass, quiet and calming and lovely.
She ignored for the moment the small dressing table with its mirror and the cabinet with its stack of books and went to the window.
The sash stood open to the breeze and a view of the kitchen gardens below, a profusion of flowers and scents.
Beyond and around her spread the tidy green of growing fields and meadows, rising in the distance to the gentle hills.