Page 77 of The Consolation Prize

“You have acted before as chatelaine to a large household, I think.”

Mrs. Brickenden relaxed infinitesimally. “I have, for Lady Mildred over Upper Derring for thirty years.”

“It must be difficult adapting to a different place,” Una commented mildly. Mrs. Brickenden’s lips tightened but she made no comment. “I presume that at your last place, you reported to the steward,” Una plunged on. “Here at Lynwode, I expect you to report directly to me at least once a week. I trust that will not be a problem.”

The color in the older woman’s cheeks rose. After a moment, she gave a short nod. “This morning, Rose told me she has moved out of the old housekeeper’s room. I understand you will not require it as you live in the village still, with one of your daughters.”

Mrs. Brickenden took a deep breath. “I do, milady.”

Una waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. Really, it was like trying to draw blood from a stone. “Tell me, what do you think of this recent change in Rose,” she said aloud. “I would value your opinion.”

Mrs. Brickenden snorted. “Girls get these wild starts,” she said after a moment and shook her head. “I raised two of my own, so I should know.”

“You do not think it anything we should concern ourselves about?”

Mrs. Brickenden’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Certainly not,” she said forcibly. “The sensible thing,” she said stoutly, “is to let it play out. She and Janet are thick as thieves at present. She’ll soon settle down to some middle ground.”

Una regarded her with something approaching approval. “That does sound sensible,” she concurred. “Now, I should like to show you my lists for new furnishings about the place. Let us consult one another about what needs doing.”

*

Una had felt a good deal cheered after her interview with Mrs. Brickenden, but as supper approached without the slightest glimpse of Armand about the place, she began to suffer misgivings. Their “bed sport” of the previous evening had gone badly awry. Clearly, she was not supposed to be the aggressor or show initiative, however much he had seemed to enjoy it at the time.

She would have to apologize, and hope things straightened back out again on an even keel. Feeling foolish, Una relegated her efforts to be bold and flirtatious to the scrapheap. She was clearly not cut out for such things and had given Armand a disgust of her by even trying. Perhaps men did not want that type of thing from their wife after all?

She dressed for supper with some deliberation, choosing a deep-red gown she had not worn before, which had beautiful sleeves decorated with gold thread. Her hair she caught up in a gold hairnet, and after attaching a short gold veil with a couple of pins, she thought she could delay the inevitable no longer and went below stairs. She had hoped Armand would come to their room to change before supper, but he had not appeared, so she would simply have to face him at table. She hoped to goodness he wasn’t avoiding her.

At first, her fears were heightened considerably, for other than a perfunctory kiss to her fingers, Armand was distant. However, when he subsequently failed to notice the entrance of Mr. Beverley with the roasted meats, she realized he was simply distracted.

“This looks wonderful,” she told the crestfallen cook, and nudged Armand who was gazing moodily at the far end of the table.

“Yes,” he agreed belatedly. “Good work, Beverley.” The cook beamed and took his place next to Mrs. Brickenden.

“Is anything wrong, husband?” Una asked when Armand continued abstracted. “Shall I pour your drink?”

Armand gave a start, “Naught,” he said hastily, and reached for the wine, climbing to his feet. “Fill the cups,” he yelled down the table, and Janet sprang to her feet wielding a pitcher of ale. Armand started pouring wine into the cups of those around him. “Otho,” he prompted when his steward seemed almost as slow to act as himself that evening.

Otho tore his gaze away from the same direction and set to carving the meat for the plates. Glancing down the table at what was absorbing them, Una was astonished to see even more men gathered at the foot of the table. They were packed in very close, and soon, Una realized, if their number kept increasing at this rate, they would need to start seating people at the other two tables that took up the length of the great hall.

A few of the new men seemed to be boisterously trying to catch Rose’s attention with jests and sallies. Even that ugly headscarf could not distract from her pretty face. Una noticed Mrs. Brickenden rap the table with her broad knuckles and the men’s gazes dropped at once respectfully and order was restored.

Once the plates were filled with meat and passed down and the cups of wine distributed, Armand cleared his throat. Again, he gave a speech welcoming any newcomers to their table and toasted Una as mistress of the house. These sentiments were duly echoed, and everyone fell upon their food.

Supper was a noisy affair that evening, and conversation was only stilted at their end of the table. Elsewhere, the murmur of voices rose to the rafters and even the occasional ring of laughter was heard. Otho was tight-lipped and morose, though in truth, he was never exactly effervescent company. As for Armand, he fell into abstraction and even seemed to forget to eat, except in fits and starts.

Una found she missed the loquaciousness of Fulcher, who could always be depended on to keep a steady stream of conversation, but he was not due back with them for some weeks now. Una wracked her brain for things to talk brightly about, but in truth she did not think her husband or brother attended her, until she mentioned a proposed trip to Great Derring that herself and Mrs. Brickenden had decided to take upon the morrow.

“No!” both Armand and Otho exclaimed at the same time.

Una lowered the wine cup she had been raising to her lips. “But tomorrow is the market that Mrs. Brickenden thinks we might be able to find the linens we require—,” she started patiently. Again, she was interrupted.

“I forbid it,” Armand said almost simultaneously to Otho barking out another negative. Armand eyed Otho darkly and Otho lapsed into silence. “It’s not convenient at this time,” Armand continued, after a slight pause.

Una was speechless for a moment. “Very well,” she said at last, rather taken aback. He had never forbidden her to do anything before.

“The Brickenden woman can go if you like,” he added as an afterthought.

Una wasn’t sure she trusted to the housekeeper’s taste. “Perhaps next week,” she murmured, and got a heavy frown for a reply. Clearly, she thought, she was not in Armand’s good books, but surely this could not stem from her woeful attempts to please him in the bedchamber. She eyed him uncertainly, but precious few other words fell from his lips for the duration of the meal.