Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mercy carried the bowl to the long counter and set it down, careful not to let the clean water slosh on the floor, before fetching a rag from the cupboard. She wasn’t entirely certain if Colin was upset with her for working in the garden. If that was the case, she was not about to inform him she knew the stillroom so well because she had spent the afternoon yesterday organizing its cupboards.

The cook, Mrs. Johns, had been busy making loaves of bread and preparing for dinner, but she took the time to show Mercy the rooms downstairs. When Mercy saw the state of the stillroom and learned the kitchen maid had left more than three months ago, she set to work.

Mrs. Johns had tutted, but she left Mercy to it. After only a few short hours of work, everything was well in order.

Now, Mercy was able to fetch the rag straight away and return to Colin’s side. His suspicious gaze tracked her movements but she ignored it, pulling down a second bowl and setting it beside the first. She reached for Colin’s hand. He seemed reluctant, but he gave it to her. “It isn’t a deep wound.”

“No, but we ought to remove the dirt anyway. Your hand is filthy.”

He glanced at her hands, and she felt a rising blush spread into her cheeks. She returned to the pump in the corner and splashed her hands beneath it, wiping away the extra mud and grime. Once her skin was scrubbed red and clean, she dried her hands and returned.

“You did not need to do that,” Colin muttered.

Mercy didn’t bother arguing. She took his hand and held it over the empty bowl. His skin was surprisingly warm, given how cold it had been outside. His fingers were long, curling up slightly. She dipped the rag in the bowl of water and squeezed it over his hand. Dirty water ran into the bowl. She repeated it a few times, working the dirt from his palm and his cut, all the while keeping her focus on the wound.

Colin watched her. She could feel his gaze focused on her face while she worked. When she moved to the whisky, he sucked in a breath.

“Is that necessary?” he asked, breathing through his teeth.

“My father believes so. I’ve never questioned it.”

Colin grumbled but allowed her to continue administering to his wound. He sucked in through his teeth, his words strained. “I didn’t realize he was proficient in healing.”

“He is not, but he has ministered to many people and knows quite a lot. I would say he is fairly knowledgeable about most things.”

“Can he help me fill my house with servants again?” he muttered.

She paused, looking at him. “Do you mean it? ”

Colin blinked. “We will have more servants, Mercy. Did you think I meant to keep us without?”

“Not at all.” She dried his hand on a towel and reached for the wrapping. “If you need help finding servants, my father knows most of the people within the parish. He would know those who are in need of positions more than others, or who might be considered more dependable.”

“I hadn’t considered that. I provided Flint with a list of positions and wages and asked him to manage it.”

She applied her focus to tying his bandage. “You could try to bring back the servants who left.”

“Most of them are employed elsewhere now, I’d imagine.” His words were clipped, and she wondered if he felt a bit of sting at being abandoned.

“You cannot be blamed for not feeling charitable toward those who left in your time of need, Colin,” she said gently, raising her gaze to meet his eyes.

He shook his head, giving her a rueful smile. “I could not fault them for leaving a house that was falling apart. It has been somewhat dangerous to be here.”

“But your aunt’s money will change that, so you needn’t fret any longer.”

He stared at her, his eyes direct, like pools of heat boring into her skin. “Most women would not accept this situation, or this house, with such equanimity.”

She felt heat rise in her chest and turned away, emptying the dirty water into the pump’s drain. “Most women would not weed their own gardens or be intimately familiar with the stillroom, would they?”

He chuckled. “No. But that is my fault as well. I will hire enough servants that you needn’t ever step foot in the kitchen again. ”

“Then how will I ask Mrs. Johns for ginger biscuits?” she asked, hoping to lighten the thickness in the room. She had the feeling Colin wasn’t attempting to keep her from chores out of a sense of duty, but because he truly did not like her working in that capacity. To never feel the earth in her hands and have a turnip to show for it would be a pity. To never make her mother’s shortbread would be a shame. It was not the life she wished to have, and she hadn’t imagined Colin would care so deeply about keeping her idle.

No matter. With time, she could show him that it wasn’t unbecoming of her to help in small ways.

Mercy finished cleaning her workstation and putting away everything she’d used.

Colin led her through the door. She smiled at Mrs. Johns as they passed. The cook was chopping potatoes while something simmered on the stove behind her. She wore a white cap over curly black hair, and her plump cheeks were rosy. She gave Mercy a slight nod, which buoyed her spirits.

Mercy accepted Colin’s arm when they reached the staircase. “If you would like to engage my father’s assistance, I am happy to take your list of needed servants to him this afternoon.”

Colin didn’t respond. Had she done something else he didn’t approve of?

When they reached the top of the stairs, he faced her. “Very well. That would be agreeable to me. Flint has the list.”

She hesitated. “Surely it is acceptable for me to act in this capacity?”

“To visit your family? Of course.”

“To see to the hiring of servants,” she corrected. “My mother managed it in our home. ”

“This is not a vicarage, Mercy.”

What had a vicarage to do with anything?

Flint approached them, his steps certain. “You’ve a letter, sir.”

Colin took the folded paper from the salver and looked at the direction. A line formed between his eyebrows. “It is from my mother.” He glanced at the butler. “Thank you, Flint. Will you provide Mrs. Birchall with the list of servants we need? She is going to employ the vicar’s help to find people in need of positions.”

He dipped a nod. “I will retrieve it straight away. Though I have already sent Lucas to inquire with a local girl. The Turners’ niece.”

“That is more than acceptable,” Mercy said.

Flint left them. Colin opened the letter and flicked his eyes over the page. “She is coming to Bath and would like to see me.” He lowered the letter. “To see us , I suppose, though she might not know of our marriage yet. If she was traveling to Bath, she could have missed my letter informing her of the wedding.”

“If she’s unaware of our wedding, would she prefer you go to Bath alone?”

Colin tucked his chin in surprise. “You are my wife, Mercy. I’m certain she would expect you to be there.”

“Then I will come with you.”

“We will leave…” He looked at the letter again. “In three days. She has invited us to join her at the Upper Rooms for a Christmas ball.”

“Christmas is not for a sennight.”

He looked at the letter again. “She will not see us at Christmas, so she hopes to see us in Bath beforehand.”

She had not seen Colin’s mother in at least four years. Mercy was much changed, she hoped, and she imagined the same for Mrs. Birchall. What would the woman think about Mercy being married to her son?

“I will begin preparations for the journey. We ought to remain in Bath and travel home the next morning. I wouldn’t wish to travel on these roads so late at night.”

Mercy agreed.

Colin raised his hand and looked at the bandage. When he lifted his gaze to Mercy, there was something there she hadn’t seen before. Appreciation, perhaps? Or residual wonderment that she knew the stillroom so intimately. Oh, dear. Was he understanding she might have had a hand in putting the disorderly room to rights?

Or perhaps he had never before gone into it and had no idea it had even been improved.

“Thank you, Mercy,” he said finally.

She sensed there was more he wanted to say, so she waited quietly for him to continue.

“I will see you at dinner. Six o’clock.” He emphasized the six.

“Have I been late?”

He blinked.

Incredulity snaked through Mercy. Her handsome husband suddenly resembled the clock troll her parents had threatened her with in her youth. “Good heavens, Colin. Are you upset by my lack of punctuality?”

“No, not upset.”

“But it is not how things are done?” she guessed.

“We dine at six,” he said simply.

“And that is the time I have entered the dining room each night. ”

“Yes, but in order to dine at six, one must be seated prior to that.”

She had no ready response.

He looked uncomfortable. His hazel eyes were looking between Mercy and the floor behind her. If he was not so perfectly attired, she imagined this would be a moment he would run his hands through his hair in agitation, but as it stood, he was nearly impeccable—save for the dirt on his knees—and his motions equally unflappable.

“I understand.” She dipped in a curtsy, eager to end this conversation. “I will see you at dinner.”

“Are you—” He cleared his throat. “I don’t wish for you to grow ill, Mercy. You ought to remain indoors.”

She nodded before turning to leave. Mercy honored his wishes and did not return to the garden, but it only took a half-hour to discover there was nothing to occupy her time. She found herself exploring various rooms in search of the library with a duster she’d collected from belowstairs. Colin had mentioned it was overly dusty—surely she could dust and still remain the great lady of Winterbourne Park?

She found the library on the first level, tucked behind a cozy music room. The library itself was no larger than her bedchamber, with dark paneled bookcases lining the walls and a large globe in the corner. It smelled of leather and old paper. Mercy ran her fingers over the long turkey feathers of her duster, bundled together at the base with twine. She proceeded to clean the globe, surprised by the disuse evident in the thick layer of dust. She moved on to the bookcase, pulling each book from the shelves and dusting them thoroughly before making a neat stack. She cleaned the shelf before returning the pristine books, then moved to the next level .

It was tedious work, but she didn’t mind it. Her hands much preferred having something to occupy them, and it allowed her mind a task so it would not wander overly much toward Colin.

If she was being honest, she hardly thought of anything else. The man was a mystery. He had lived alone at Winterbourne for four years, all the while managing the farmland and the house without support. He wasn’t seen much about town except for church on Sundays and the occasional town event, but he was well liked and invited occasionally to different homes for dinner that the Caldwells had also been invited to.

Mercy had often been envious of the life Colin led—his freedom, his beautiful home. Now that she had a close look at what life has looked like for him—the silence, the dust, the servants and his mother abandoning him for better places to live—she felt compassion for his circumstances in lieu of jealousy. She wanted the house to be restored to brilliance that he might once again live in a clean, safe environment. Perhaps he would smile more and worry less.

The door to the library opened and a woman appeared. She was young, her flaxen hair pulled back and fastened beneath a white cap. She wore a maid’s gown, her hands clasped lightly in front of her and her gaze lowered to the carpet at Mercy’s feet. She looked to be a few years younger than Mercy, though she was a stranger. In Mercy’s position as a daughter to a clergyman, she had the unique fortune of being well known to all the members of their parish, both the genteel and the poor. It wasn’t often she didn’t know someone in the area.

“May I help you?” Mercy asked .

The woman looked at her. “I’m Dorothy Turner, ma’am. I’ve been asked to be your new lady’s maid.”

“Turner. Mr. Flint mentioned he sent Lucas to inquire with your uncle.” The Turners lived on the far side of town and didn’t attend church often, so she had yet to meet their niece. She looked at the clock, surprised to find four hours had passed in this library, and that this woman had been able to accept the offer of work so quickly. Oh, drat. Was it after five already? Colin was not going to be happy. “Welcome to Winterbourne, Miss Turner.”

“Oh, call me Dorothy, madam.”

“Very well. I must change for dinner.”

“I can help you, madam.”

Mercy had never had a lady’s maid, and she never—except for her wedding dress—had needed help dressing before. She’d always had her sisters or mother or another maid nearby if she found herself in need of assistance. Since coming to Winterbourne, she had refrained from wearing anything that required another person so she would not have to live through the embarrassment of seeking Colin again. Having Dorothy would make it possible for her to wear her nicer gowns to dinner.

“Shall we hurry?” she asked, putting down the feather duster to mark the place where she would be leaving off. “Mr. Birchall appreciates a punctual household.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mercy led the way to her bedchamber. This would take a great deal of adjusting, but it would be worth the effort if it meant making Colin happy. If Mercy had learned anything in her five short days of marriage thus far, it was how much her husband desired order. His expectations were clear and, thus far, she had not been living up to them.