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

patience fraying.
    “Coffee,” Kitty said eagerly, happy to be able to supply the answer to at least one question.
    “Does he often receive visitors?”
    “The Earl of Ardmay,” Kitty provided eagerly, on a reverent hush. “And the countess. Miss Violet Redmond!”
    Elise nearly choked.
    Of course he’d receive an Earl . He was a bloody prince of the House of Bourbon. And hadn’t she heard that he’d served as a privateer along with the Earl of Ardmay on a ship?
    “And ladies, too,” Dolly added laconically.
    Ladies, was it?
    “Ladies?” she repeated, hoping for clarification.
    “Aye,” Dolly said.
    Elise didn’t think this part of Sussex teemed with prostitutes, so perhaps Dolly meant it when she said “ladies.” Likely she meant Mrs. Sneath and company, who would descend upon any new residents in Pennyroyal Green, particularly surly lords, radiating goodwill and charity, and bearing preserves.
    “And what do you feed the visitors?”
    “If there are cakes, we feed them cakes.”
    “If? There should be no ‘if.’ There should always be cakes.” It was the role of the housekeeper to make sure of it.
    “Are there cakes now?” she heard her volume and pitch escalating.
    “Cakes and the like be the job of the housekeeper, Mrs. Fountain,” Dolly explained on a patient drawl, as if Elise was hopelessly daft. “ ’ave a look inside the storeroom.”
    Elise got up and did that quickly. It would have given Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard a bit of competition for meanness. A few sad potatoes attempting to reproduce, their eyes sprouting, a scattering of rapidly wrinkling apples, sacks of flour and grain, some jars of preserved meats, pickled and dried vegetables, sugar, a wildly disproportionate number of jars of preserves for the number of people who lived in this house, half of what appeared to be a purchased loaf of bread wrapped up, a wheel of cheddar, hacked into already.
    She began to feel a certain sympathy for the man, who, for heaven’s sake, was entitled to a few expectations. He didn’t have to eat as though he was on a ship.
    She sat down and looked at the budget again. She did her own swift calculations.
    There wasn’t a ha’penny in there for anything one might construe as a “luxury.” Then again, in some homes, soap was a luxury, not to mention footmen.
    Her failure was built right into the budget.
    As if they’d heard her thoughts, the footmen ambled into the kitchen, laughing and jostling each other.
    They both looked startled to see her. Clearly they’d temporarily forgotten a new housekeeper had been installed.
    “The five-card loo game has been cancelled permanently,” she said pleasantly.
    They eyed her cautiously, as if they’d been out for a stroll and stumbled across an unfamiliar mammal and were uncertain as to whether it would bite.
    They, she was forced to admit with despair, did not look like footmen, though they were each certainly tall enough. Footmen ought to match, and they were only an inch or so apart in height. Their coats were clean, though they were different cuts and colors. She couldn’t detect any loose buttons. She saw no iron mold on their neck cloths.
    Surprisingly, their boots shone.
    “Your boots are very shiny,” she dubiously allowed. “Your neck cloths are white.” As if they’d heard the whole of her thoughts up until then.
    “I’ve me own receipt for blacking. Me secret’s vitriol and egg white,” Ramsey declared proudly.
    “I use cream of tartar and salt for marks on the neck cloths. My own family receipt,” James countered, as though in competition. “Not that His Highness notices or cares. The Redmonds and Everseas, now the livery they wear . . .”
    He trailed off wistfully.
    “Elegant as the devil,” James said to Ramsey, and Ramsey nodded in wistful accord.
    They heaved identical sighs.
    “You will call him Lord Lavay,” Elise corrected reflexively, somewhat sternly. “Not ‘His Highness.’ ”
    Ramsey blinked.
    Hmm.