Page 65 of When She Was a Governess
Henry laughed, the sound rich and warm. “She’s very discreet.”
“Yes, but I am mortified all the same.” Sophia sat up, keeping the sheet tucked around her.
“Shall I distract you, then?”
“Perhaps a drop of tea first?” Sophia asked. “And a bite to eat?”
“If it will give you strength for the rest of the morning, then yes.”
She laughed, reaching for her gown. “I’ve never been undressed for such a long period of time.”
“If it were up to me, you would remain so forever.”
They shared breakfast by the fire, wrapped in their nightclothes, stealing kisses between bites of toast and sips of tea. It felt sweetly domestic and intimate—just the two of them in their own small world.
“You have marmalade,” Henry said, reaching out to brush his thumb across her lower lip. “Right here.”
“Do I?” She captured his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. “How careless of me.”
His eyes darkened. “Very careless.” He leaned in, his mouth replacing his thumb. “Allow me.”
The kiss deepened, and suddenly breakfast was forgotten. His hands slid into her hair and she made a small sound of pleasure that seemed to undo him completely.
“Sophia,” he murmured against her mouth. “My exquisite wife.”
“Your wife,” she agreed, pulling him closer. “Always your wife.”
He stood, lifting her with him. “Breakfast can wait.”
“Can it?” She smiled against his lips.
“It can wait a very long time.”
*
Three hours later,properly dressed in a morning gown of pale green muslin, Sophia made her way downstairs to Mrs. Bromley’s office. Mrs. Shaw had arranged her hair in a simple but elegant style, befitting the lady of the house.
Mrs. Bromley’s domain was tucked behind the servants’ staircase—a small, immaculately organized room with a desk, ledgers stacked neatly on shelves, and a ring of keys hanging on the wall. The housekeeper rose when Sophia entered, her expression warm.
“My lady. Please, sit.” She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “I trust you and his lordship are well this morning?”
“Very well, thank you.” Sophia felt heat rise to her cheeks.
“Good.” Mrs. Bromley’s eyes twinkled, but she moved on graciously. “Now, these are the household keys. They’ve been waiting for you.”
She laid them on the desk between them—an impressive collection of iron and brass keys of various sizes, each labeled with a small tag. Pantry. Stillroom. Linen closet. Wine cellar. China cabinet. Silver chest.
“These represent your authority over the household,” Mrs. Bromley explained. “The servants greeted you yesterday as Lady Montrose, but this is the official transfer of authority. I’ll continue to manage the day-to-day operations, of course, but you’re the mistress. The final decisions are yours.”
Sophia picked up the ring, feeling its weight in her hands. Such small things, but they symbolized everything—her transformation from governess to lady, from employee to mistress.
“I’ll need your guidance,” Sophia admitted. “I know the house, of course. But running it is different from simply living in it.”
“You’ll do wonderfully, my lady. You already know the rhythms of this household better than most new brides would. And the staff adore you. That was clear from their reaction yesterday.”
They spent the next half hour reviewing the household accounts, the weekly schedules, the current staff roster. Mrs. Bromley explained which merchants they used, which servants had which responsibilities, what the typical expenses ran each quarter.
“And now,” Mrs. Bromley said finally, “I thought you should tour the service areas properly. You’ve seen them before, of course, but never as mistress. Mrs. Mills and Grimshaw are waiting to walk you through their domains and answer any questions.”
