It Started with a Scandal by Julie Anne Long Read Free Book Online

she’d worn her dark green wool dress this morning not entirely because it was warm. She knew what it did for her complexion and her eyes. As if he’d ever notice such a thing.
    “You will not defeat me, Lavay,” she muttered darkly.
    Muttering so soon, and it was only her first day on the job.
    Jack was her invincibility. She thought of Jack and she gave herself a little shake, as if she’d been shot with quills by Lavay and was now shedding herself of them.
    “Thank you, Mary,” she said warmly as she passed the maid, who was trimming another pair of candles. Mary nodded to her and offered up a tentative smile.
    Elise was heartened. She could charm. She could inspire. She would win over everyone in this bloody house, the dour Lord Lavay included. Perhaps all they needed was appreciation and guidance and affection.
    The farther away from Lavay she got, the more her mood elevated. The scent of lye preceded her before she reached the kitchen, along with a gust of crisp air—the windows had been partially opened in order to allow things to dry.
    The maids were hunched over, scrubbing diligently, Kitty at the stove, Dolly at the floors, swirling a mop with the same vigor a soldier would use for stuffing gunpowder into a cannon. Both had their sleeves pushed up, and both were putting their all into it, sweating. Both gave every appearance of having done this before, given that the kitchen already looked cleaner. The table had been wiped clean of the remnants of the game of five-card loo, cheroot ashes, violated Sevre china plate, and cheese rinds included. Sand had been sprinkled over the hearth.
    “Excellent work, ladies,” she said warmly, in her best, encouraging schoolteacher voice.
    Kitty peered over her shoulder but didn’t stop moving. “Thank you, Mrs. Fountain.” She offered a smile.
    Dolly fixed her with those glittery eyes. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Fountain,” she said sweetly. “We aim to satisfy.”
    Perhaps she had been just that inspirational.
    And perhaps Dolly was mocking her.
    Elise sighed.
    As long as they were cleaning.
    And at least she had permission to give Dolly the sack if necessary.
    Taking advantage of the filtered sunlight pouring in through the windows, she sat down at the spotless table and unfolded the budget handed to her by Lavay.
    Apart from the slightly shaky penmanship—did the man have an issue with drink?—on figures and lists of items, the budget was virtually a work of art. A thing of beauty. Precise and specific and absolutely rigid.
    So like the man himself.
    Her heart sank again.
    He had thought of everything—from candles to cheese to coffee, from linseed oil to lye, to eggs and wheat and boot blacking, and, of course, salaries, which were sufficient, just barely.
    She’d not thought to ask what he might like for dinner, and the notion of approaching him again so soon was daunting. Like going out in the sun again while still sporting a vicious sunburn.
    “Dolly, what does Lord Lavay eat for his evening meal?”
    “Anything put in front of him, Mrs. Fountain.”
    She tried again. “Has he expressed a preference for any particular kind of food? Perhaps . . . cakes? Peas in sauce? Partridge? A ragout of beef? A nice steak? Filet of unicorn?”
    “He expresses himself by swearing, Mrs. Fountain.”
    “Surely he has more refined appetites than that.”
    Dolly paused. “Canna speak to the lordship’s . . . appetites . . . Mrs. Fountain. But he eats what I puts in front of him.”
    Elise looked up at her sharply again, eyes narrowed.
    Dolly’s eyes were just sliding away from her. She had a sly little smile on her face.
    Did Dolly always sound insinuating, or was it deliberate? Perhaps it was a regional accent, that tone? Perhaps everyone from, oh, Dorset, sounded insinuating?
    It had begun to sound like they hurled food into his room and fled, like animal keepers in a menagerie.
    “What does he like to drink or eat in the morning?” she continued, her