Chapter 13

The following morning dawned with a heavy, overcast sky. It wasn't the sort that seemed to threaten rain, but it was still uninviting at best. The weather wasn't the only thing that tamped down Frances' already dismal spirits, however.

"Good day to you, Your Grace," Mrs. Barrett said sweetly after she knocked and Frances bade her enter. "I've come to wake you and let you know that breakfast will be ready in one hour."

"Of course, thank you, Mrs. Barrett," Frances answered, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

She was struck with a sudden inspiration.

"I'm actually quite tired this morning. It must be all of the activity yesterday. As for dressing for breakfast and coming down, I don't know that I feel up to it."

Mrs. Barrett smiled weakly, though she didn't respond at first. She looked uncomfortable, as though she wasn't prepared for this possibility.

"I see," she finally managed to say.

"Please tell His Grace we shall have breakfast later this morning if he would like to wait until then. Perhaps two hours from now, if you'll please wake me then," she said before turning over on her other side and closing her eyes.

Frances held her breath as she waited for Mrs. Barrett to leave. By her count, it took the housekeeper nearly an entire minute to go out and close the door behind her. Frances grimaced, already wondering what the woman must think of her.

It cannot be helped, she decided. I must learn more about Anthony, and if he will not speak during polite conversation, he must at least react to more bothersome tactics.

By the time Mrs. Barrett returned to wake her once again, Frances was very uneasy. The housekeeper seemed to be rather put out as well, which had not been her intention.

"His Grace is still seated at the table," Mrs. Barrett said as she helped Frances dress and style her hair.

"Still? Do you mean he's been there this whole time?" Frances asked, frowning at Mrs. Barrett's reflection behind her in the looking glass.

"Yes, Your Grace," the housekeeper said simply, not meeting her eye.

"Why on earth?"

"It's as I told you," Mrs. Barrett said with a great sigh. "The duke does and says things a little differently than most. He asked you to take your meals with him, and you agreed. This morning, you decided to delay. Therefore, he has been waiting for you all this time."

Without another word, Mrs. Barrett finished helping her and raced out of the room. Frances looked at herself in the glass and saw that her cheeks burned a bright red with embarrassment. She had only meant to prod the man into some sort of reaction—she certainly hadn't intended for Anthony to sit alone at a table and wait for her.

After he explained that he was tired of being alone, you go and do something so heartless!Frances thought briefly, but that sad feeling was soon pushed aside, replaced with a sort of indignation. If he merely needed a silent companion, he should have bought himself a hound! I am a person, and it is not my responsibility to prevent him from feeling lonely if he will not even speak with me.

With her head high and her shoulders proudly pulled back, Frances took her time coming down the stairs and going to the dining room. As Mrs. Barrett had said, Anthony sat in his seat at the table, simply waiting. For her part, the housekeeper was already in the dining room assembling the food and plates on the sideboard.

"Good day, Frances. I would appreciate it very much if you could come down for meals when they're planned," he said, though there was no hint of anger in the way he carried himself.

"Good day, Anthony," Frances said simply, overlooking the request on purpose before turning to the housekeeper. "Mrs. Barrett, I now realize that you do a great many tasks in this house. I'm very sorry that I did not come down when you woke me, for I didn't think about the extra work I was putting on you. I will not treat you with such disregard again."

The housekeeper slowly looked up at Frances, her expression shifting from mistrust to gratitude. She nodded her thanks and returned to the plates.

"And further, Mrs. Barrett, though I can already see that you do an excellent job here, I fear we are asking too much of you. A housekeeper is a proud position of dignity, one that you have no doubt earned all these years you've been in service. You should not also be tidying the rooms, helping me dress, seeing to the chamber pots, and cooking the meals. His Grace and I will discuss hiring more staff right away so that you may enjoy your rightful position, starting with a maid or two and lady's maid."

Mrs. Barrett blinked in surprise, her mouth hanging open for a moment. She darted her eyes to the duke and back to Frances, then nodded again.

"That would be wonderful, Your Grace. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you're thinking of me," she answered slowly.

Frances smiled and took her seat, thanking Mrs. Barrett again when she placed a plate in front of her. Anthony looked dumbfounded, but he did not say anything.

"I trust you slept well?" Frances asked Anthony brightly as she unfolded her napkin and took a sip of her tea.

"I did, thank you," he said plainly before starting to eat.

"Excellent. I did, as well. I think the bedroom will be even more inviting once it's painted," she said, watching him carefully.

As she expected, there was something of a tremor that came over him when she spoke about the paint. He did not say anything, though, so Frances struggled to think of other topics to keep the conversation moving.

"As I was just explaining to Mrs. Barrett, I feel as though the house is too large to be maintained by only three members of your staff," Frances began.

"There are four. You met the driver when we left the wedding feast," he corrected simply, then resumed eating.

"Well, unless the driver also doubles as a footman and a valet, that still may not be sufficient. Poor Mrs. Barrett already does most of the tidying, all of the cooking, and now must also become my lady's maid. It's far too much to ask of her."

"Vickers helps her," Anthony reminded her without looking up.

"True. And I should think Miss O'Reilly does her part too, but—"

"No. Miss O'Reilly is otherwise engaged. She has other duties here."

"Oh? What sort of duties?" Frances asked, hoping she didn't sound too nosy.

"Just… other things," Anthony answered, waving his hand in general indication of the entire house.

"Thank you. I now know precisely nothing more than I did before I asked," Frances teased lightly. Anthony didn't reply, nor did he acknowledge her attempt at humor.

"My lady's maid is still at my aunt and uncle's house. I should like to employ her here if that's all right with you."

Frances waited for Anthony to think on it. She could sense the deep thought he was putting into it, and for a moment, she feared that she'd made too large a request. After all, another servant would mean additional wages, and she had yet to know anything of his funds.

"That will be all right, though I would expect her to help Mrs. Barrett as well," he finally said.

"Of course," Frances said, smiling warmly.

"And she must also remember that the private areas of the house are not to be disturbed, not even to clean."

"I see. I'm sure she will not mind."

"Very good." Anthony returned to his breakfast, staring down at his plate as though all conversation was over.

"Wonderful. I shall send word to the maid at once," Frances said, hoping for a reply. Even for Anthony to tell her not to be hasty would have been an improvement over his silence.

With a quiet sigh of frustration, Frances gave up her efforts for now. She looked down at the food on her plate and felt no appetite, despite having had only a meager, solitary dinner the night before. She chanced to glance up and saw Mrs. Barrett giving her a sympathetic look, though the woman did nod encouragingly at her.

I will not be defeated in this, Frances thought confidently. I will find a way to get through this wall he's built.

After their breakfast, with Anthony gone to wherever he hid in the house, Frances once again began to roam throughout the rooms. Mr. Vickers' impromptu tour had been a nice way to see the property, but now she wished to really visit each room. The library was ample and well stocked with volumes, and Frances noted happily that they encompassed a variety of subjects. She was surprised to find a massive room that would serve as a salon or ballroom, and it was completely empty of furnishings or adornment. Judging from the few cobwebs in the highest corners, it hadn't been used in years.

Downstairs, Frances tiptoed through the kitchens. The larder was sparsely stocked, which wasn't surprising for a household of only four people before she came along. The housekeeper's stilling room was sadly unused, for where would Mrs. Barrett even find the time to concoct remedies or work on drying herbs? The immense kitchen also contained a table for the servants to take their meals, one that would comfortably seat thirty or more at a time.

Why have so many chairs if not for ample servants?Frances thought, thinking back to the beautiful but disregarded ballroom that was also so redundant. There must have been a time when this grand house was a center of life and activity, but how heartbreaking that it now stands nearly empty and quite neglected.

"Oh! Your Grace, I'm sorry I did not know you were down here. Did you need something? Some tea, perhaps?" Mrs. Barrett asked, coming down the stairs and stopping short.

"Oh no, I'm only wandering the halls, trying to find some way to occupy my time," Frances said too quickly. She sighed and relented. "I'm sorry, I only meant that I'm still learning the house. I thought it would be nice to see the kitchens."

"Certainly, Your Grace. I'm happy to show you all the provisions and what we order each week if you like."

"That's very kind of you. I trust you know all about what you do, though it's nice to learn about the household," Frances agreed. "But tell me, Mrs. Barrett, why are there so many chairs here? Were there perhaps more servants before?"

A brief dark cloud passed over the housekeeper's face, but then she smiled brightly. She set down the washing rags she'd been bringing down and folded her hands.

"This house was once so grand," she began with a wistful look. "I'm sure you've noticed that there are some things that could do with a solid repair."

"When did all of that change?" Frances asked, trying to be delicate and not put the housekeeper in a compromising manner.

"Oh, it was a good many years ago, I suppose. No one simply stops opening the doors or inviting people in, you know. It's a gradual thing. First, the former duke passed away, which was a terribly sad occasion. His Grace was only a boy, you know. And what need does a child have of parties or balls or music to fill the halls? His mother, the Duchess of Preston, tried her best to keep up with all of the festivities during the Season and at Christmastide, but after a time, it just became too much to bear on her own. The grand ballroom was closed off, the rooms that used to be filled with friends and relatives throughout the year were dusted for one last time. And the house has been asleep ever since."

"That's so sad," Frances said mournfully, already envisioning how the grand parties must have looked, picturing a young boy peering down from the upstairs when he should have been asleep, too excited by all of the merriment to go to bed.

That is something else I shall have to discuss with the duke when the time is right, she thought.

She thanked Mrs. Barrett for her time and returned upstairs to continue her exploration, marveling at the portraits that still adorned the walls. The faces of Anthony's relations looked down at her, and though they were serious and composed as most painter's subjects were, there was always a hint of a smile or a slight sheen of mischief to them. They were so unlike Anthony's ever-present indecipherable mask that she almost wondered how they could possibly be part of his past.

"Your Grace? Some of the items you ordered have been delivered. Shall I carry them up?" the butler asked, coming up behind her.

"Thank you, Vickers. But I'm happy to take them. I'd like to see which things are here."

Frances followed the butler to the front foyer where a number of parcels were stacked on a narrow table. She knew the few gowns she'd ordered could not possibly be ready, but she hoped this was some of the fabric she requested to make other necessary things.

It will give me something to do to keep from going mad!she thought, brightening at the prospect of setting about to do some sewing and grateful for the endless hours of labor at Miss Chatham's that had prepared her to make her entire trousseau.

"Let's see, this one should be from Greggerson's shop, so I believe it will be my sewing tools," she said, untying the twine and reserving the paper it was wrapped in. Sure enough, the small wooden box held her needles, scissors, bodkins, and a few unfashionable buttons.

Next, Frances untied the first soft parcel and found several lengths of serviceable muslin in different shades. Though the fabric was merely long rectangles of cloth, she still felt the need to shield them from Mr. Vickers' eyes as she knew they would be used for undergarments.

"What's this?" Frances asked, frowning as she untied another parcel and saw a luxuriously soft morning gown with slippers to match. "I don't think this is mine."

"Oh?" the butler asked, coming closer.

"Nor is this one," Frances said, untying another parcel and lifting out a shawl of the softest wool she'd ever felt. Her confusion only deepened when she opened another to reveal a small box of paints and a sheaf of heavy paper bound with a thin leather cord, followed by a carton that contained several new books.

"Your Grace, I'm so sorry. The shops must have sent these to the wrong address. Probably brought by an errand boy who does not know his letters well. I will see to it personally that they are sent back straight away," Mr. Vickers said, gathering up the misplaced items.

"Thank you! I hate to think that someone is missing their purchases today, especially such lovely items as those," she said, smiling gratefully.

"Of course," the butler said with a bow.

Frances took her sewing kit and fabric with her as she headed upstairs. As she climbed, she thought of something she'd wondered about the ballroom and turned around to ask him. To her amazement, he was gone, already carrying the misplaced parcels to some other part of the house. She came back down the stairs and looked after him, surprised at the speed with which he squirreled them away.

As Frances crept after him to see what was happening, Miss O'Reilly appeared at the far end of the long hallway. The butler spoke to her urgently, then placed the items in her arms and she left with them.

That's rather odd, Frances thought, hurrying back to the staircase before Mr. Vickers returned. Perhaps Miss O'Reilly will be the one to return them to the stores… or perhaps they were her things to begin with? But why not simply inform me that they were her purchases?

Deciding that she may simply never understand all the strange things that go on in Cadmoor House, Frances sighed and carried her items upstairs to begin her work.