Page 66 of When She Was a Governess
“That would be helpful.”
They descended a narrow staircase that led to the basement level. Sophia had rarely visited the service areas during her time as governess. The corridor at the bottom was whitewashed and surprisingly bright, lit by high windows that let in natural light. Doors opened off on either side—the wine cellar, the lamp room, the boot room.
Grimshaw was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking dignified and slightly scary. He bowed. “My lady. If you’ll permit me, I’ll show you the wine cellar and silver pantry first.”
The tour was thorough and practical. Grimshaw explained his systems for managing the wine, the silver, the formal china. Mrs. Mills showed her the kitchen, an enormous, vaulted room with its massive fireplace, copper pots gleaming overhead, the scent of bread and herbs filling the air. She explained the daily rhythms of meal preparation, the relationship with local suppliers, the kitchen garden’s contribution to their table.
“I’ve been cooking for this family for a long time, my lady,” Mrs. Mills said. “And I’m pleased as punch to see you asmistress. You’ve always been kind to my girls, never treating them as beneath you even when you were Miss Ford.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mills. That means a great deal.”
At the end of the tour, they gathered briefly in Mrs. Bromley’s office—just the four of them: Mrs. Bromley, Mrs. Mills, Grimshaw, and Sophia.
“The staff are all very happy about the marriage, my lady,” Grimshaw said. “I wanted you to know that formally. We’re all pleased to see you elevated to your proper place. Especially after what was taken from you as a child.”
“A duke’s daughter deserves better than sleeping in the nursery wing,” Mrs. Mills said.
Sophia forced herself to remain composed, but they had touched her heart with their welcoming words. “Thank you. All of you. For your loyalty and your kindness. Your support will be essential to my success.”
“It’s no more than you’ve shown us, my lady,” Mrs. Bromley said. “Now, shall we discuss the menu for next week?”
As they settled into the practical business of running the household, Sophia felt suddenly lighter. She wasn’t just playing at being Lady Montrose. She was learning how to actually be her. With the support of people who’d known her first as Miss Ashford and chose to respect her as their mistress anyway.
When she finally climbed back upstairs, the ring of keys hanging from her belt, she found Henry waiting in the entrance hall. He smiled when he saw her.
“How did it go?”
“Well, I think. Mrs. Bromley and the others were very patient with my questions.”
He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I never doubted it. You will exceed all expectations. Mark my words.”
Looking at her husband, who believed in her so completely, Sophia thought perhaps he was right. She was Lady Montrose now. Not just in name, but in truth. And she was ready.
*
The next morningdawned gray and drizzly, typical March weather. Sophia woke in Henry’s arms. They’d fallen asleep in her bed again, neither willing to spend the night apart. She felt a pang of disappointment when he kissed her and said, “I have to go.”
“I know.” She clung to him a moment longer. “How long will the meeting take?”
“Most of the day, I’m afraid. Drainage rights are contentious. Every landowner has an opinion.” He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. “I’ll be back by dinner. I promise.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“And I’ll miss you.” He pulled away reluctantly. “But I’ll see you tonight.”
After he left, Sophia dressed and went to the nursery where Amelia was already awake and demanding breakfast. They ate together in the nursery while Amelia chattered about everything and nothing.
The morning passed pleasantly. They read, they played, they had an elaborate tea party with all of Amelia’s dolls invited. After lunch, Sophia left Amelia napping under Lucy’s watch and retreated to the drawing room with some correspondence. Letters had arrived from Rose and Georgiana, both thanking her for the wedding and expressing their joy at having her as a sister.
There were also invitations—quite a few of them. Several from local families: the Harrisons requesting their presence at dinner next week, Mrs. Ellis inviting her to a card party, and Lady Thornton hoping she might call for tea. But also three fromLondon—a dinner party hosted by the Duchess of Marlborough, a musical evening at Lady Pembridge’s, and an invitation to the Countess of Beaumont’s at-home. All for when they next came to town. Charlotte must have been spreading word of the marriage among her circle, and as the Duke of Ashford’s sister, Sophia was being welcomed into society.
It was gratifying to be received so warmly. She was composing replies when she heard the sound of carriage wheels on gravel.
Odd. They weren’t expecting anyone.
Sophia set down her pen and moved to the window. A large, elegant carriage was pulling up to the front steps—black lacquer with a coat of arms emblazoned on the door. Not one she recognized. A footman hurried out with an umbrella. The carriage door opened, and a woman descended. She was perhaps fifty, tall and slender, dressed in a traveling costume of deep burgundy. Her dark hair showed threads of silver at the temples, arranged in an elaborate style beneath a fashionable bonnet. Even from a distance, even through the rain, she radiated elegance and authority.
A man followed her out—older, gray-haired, stern-faced, wearing a coat that spoke of wealth and position.
