That Despicable Rogue. Virginia Heath
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tell you about Reggie now,’ he confided in a hushed tone, a little too close to her face, ‘because he is going to take a bit of getting used to.’
When they were well out of earshot he stopped walking and faced her.
‘He’s a good-natured sort, and keen to help, but he does not have the sense that you or I take for granted. Until he gets his bearings I would appreciate it if you could keep an eye out for him. Make sure he doesn’t stray too far from the house and give him plenty of little jobs to do. Nothing that involves common sense, of course, because he certainly does not possess any—but he loves to help. Even if he is not being particularly useful I like to make him think he is. Could you also alert the rest of the staff to my wishes? Sometimes people can be cruel to people like Reggie. Let them know that I will not tolerate that in this house.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Hannah had certainly not been expecting this to be the first order that she took from her new employer. Despite his black heart he obviously had a soft spot for his poor servant. It was a great shame that he did not have the same concern for all the people whose lives he had ruined—of which she was sure there were many.
‘I am going to take Reggie for a tour of the house first—after I have fed him, of course,’ he said with a smile. ‘Perhaps we can have a chat this afternoon about my plans? I believe that we have a great deal to do, Mrs Preston.’
His po-faced housekeeper smiled tightly and then scurried off. She really was a most humourless woman, he thought as he watched her disappear back into the house. All the other servants appeared to be quite friendly, but Mrs Preston reminded him of an icicle—cold, hard and sharp. He hoped that the woman was at least good at her job; it might well be her only redeeming quality.
Well, that was not strictly true, he realised. Ross had always had a talent for spotting potential in things—especially things that were attractive in a woman. Behind the ugly glasses was quite a pretty face. With a little effort he suspected that she might scrub up quite well. There might even be a reasonable figure under that shapeless sludge-coloured dress as well. It was difficult to tell.
Her letter of application had stated that she was a widow, although she did seem a little young to be one. But he knew only too well that life could be hard, and that some people dealt with its harshness by becoming bitter. Perhaps her attitude would soften towards him in time. And, then again, perhaps not. He had not exactly made the best first impression on her. She probably saw him as a lecher—or worse. The shock on her face at the sight of Francesca reclining on his bed had been quite impressive. But in his experience people thought exactly what they wanted to—regardless.
‘Come on, Reggie,’ he called cheerfully. ‘Let me show you around.’
Several hours later Ross left Reggie washing pots happily with Cook and went off in search of his prim housekeeper. He found her hovering not far from the kitchen, notebook already in hand, and he ushered her into the large study and sat opposite her at the enormous desk he had brought with him from London.
‘I think I should be brutally frank, Mrs Preston, and let you know now that I have absolutely no idea how to manage a house or staff. I am not completely sure, if I am honest, exactly what a housekeeper does. In that regard, I was hoping that you could let me know what exactly I need to attend to first.’
Ross watched her blink at his admission, but her face did not soften. Instead she pinned him with her scary frog stare, then tilted her head to one side.
The motion dislodged a curling tendril of golden hair from her lace cap, which she stuffed back in ruthlessly. The fact that it was such a lovely shade of blonde surprised him. He had not even considered that she might have hair. Not that he had thought her hairless, of course, but he had assumed that it would be nondescript and colourless—much as his housekeeper appeared to be. But now that he knew that she had such luscious-coloured locks he could not help wondering why she covered it all up in that dreadful mob cap.
Out of habit he smiled flirtatiously at her. Usually that garnered a faint blush at the very least. Mrs Prim-and-Proper Preston, though, was clearly made of granite, and she pursed her lips slightly in disgust at the overture. Then she launched into another lecture.
‘The role of a housekeeper is to ensure the good running of all things domestic. I will need a budget to buy the necessary day-to-day supplies, such as candles, then there are costs such as staff wages, linens, brandy and wine, et cetera. Obviously all expenditure will be logged properly by myself, in the household accounts ledger. Occasionally, as you are not married, I will have to consult with you about menus and such things—usually a housekeeper would go to the mistress of the house for that. Unless there is a mistress I need to be apprised of?’
He could tell by the insolent raising of her eyebrow that that comment was meant to allude to Francesca or a similar type of woman. He did not care for her opinions on his morality.
‘No mistress at the moment,’ he replied with a wolfish smile. ‘Married or otherwise. But I am always open to the possibility.’
He watched her lips thin and stifled a smile. He was actually enjoying irritating her. Something about disapproving people always brought out the worst in him, and as a self-defence mechanism he preferred to find humour in that disapproval rather than allow it to bother him. Mrs Preston was as prickly as a cactus. So far he knew that she disapproved of fornication and flirting, so he had plenty of ammunition already to use to rile her and he had only known her for a few hours.
‘I think we should start by deciding upon the new household budget, sir,’ she said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘What figure did you have in mind?’
Ross did not have a clue. ‘My solicitor advised me on costs when the property deed was stamped, but as I have never owned or lived in a grand house with a full staff before I shall have to defer to your expertise.’
The housekeeper blinked, and allowed herself the merest huff of exasperation before answering. ‘That depends on how much you are willing to spend, sir. At the moment the budget really only pays the servants’ wages and provides the basics. Some houses are run on a tight budget, and some of the grandest houses require vast sums of money—especially if the owner does a great deal of entertaining.’
‘Mrs Preston, I work with numbers. Would you be so kind as to clarify, in pound notes, exactly what you mean by “tight” and “vast”?’
Her sandy eyebrows drew together as she considered this, and she chewed her bottom lip for several seconds. ‘Realistically, with new servant costs included, the minimum yearly budget would have to be around five hundred pounds, sir. But that would mean that I’d have to be particularly thrifty. I suppose we could reduce that if we closed up part of the house in winter and reduced fuel costs. We could also purchase the cheaper cuts of meat.’
Ross screwed his face up in disgust. ‘We do not need to be “thrifty”, Mrs Preston. Give me a figure that will not leave me cold and chewing on gristle.’
She smiled ever so slightly at that, but quickly covered it. Underneath all that frost she might possess a sense of humour at least. Of course it might have been wind. The expression had been so fleeting he could not be sure.
‘A sensible budget of around eight hundred pounds a year is probably more than enough—assuming that you do not want an army of servants, sir?’
‘Heavens, no! There is only me—and in a few months my mother and sister will be coming to live here. I have no need of an army.’
Hannah could not hide her surprise. ‘You have a mother and a sister?’ She had not discovered that titbit in all her research.
He regarded her with amusement. ‘Of course I have a mother. Did you assume that I had been created by some other miraculous method?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ she said hastily, ‘but I had not considered the possibility that you had a family.’
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