His Countess (Victorian Decadence Book 3) Page 8

  “Now, which one of you lads is the glazier?”

  ☐ ☐ ☐

  Gideon was studying the layout of Foxrun’s farms when a sharp knock made him look up.

  It was Lady Taunton, and she was frowning. She was also dressed for the evening in a spectacularly unmodish gown. “Will you be coming to dinner tonight, my lord?”

  Gideon squinted at the clock. “At six o’clock?”

  “Yes, my lord. Six o’clock.”

  “Good God. Who dines at six o’clock?”

  “That is the dinner time that has always been observed. If you wish to change it, perhaps you might do so after tonight, as cook has already prepared the meal.”

  He frowned at her snappish tone. “Very well, very well—don’t fly into a pelter. Have Cook hold it half an hour and I shall rush my toilet, if that is all right with you?” He gave her a snappish look to match her tone.

  She huffed and spun on her heel.

  Jackson was waiting for him when he made his way to what was called the family wing.

  “Did you know dinner was at six?” Gideon asked as he pulled off his cravat and shrugged out of his coat.

  “Yes, my lord.” Jackson had a face that could earn him a decent living at any gaming house in the country. He’d hardly even twitched an eyelash upon learning Gideon was an earl. Indeed, Gideon suspected the man had known of his ascension to the peerage before he had.

  Jackson had Gideon shaved, washed, dressed, and down in the dining room—after two wrong turns—a mere thirty-eight minutes later. Hell, it was his damned house; he’d show up at the table whenever he wished.

  He arrived in the dining room—a Teutonic cavern that brought to mind boars roasting and pewter tankards of beer along with bearded thanes and lusty wenches—to find Lady Taunton already seated.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, my lady. You may serve,” he told Tickle, who was hovering near the door.

  A footman pulled out Gideon’s chair before taking his position behind it. He looked at Lady Taunton, who was at the foot end of the table. “Do you always dine this way?” he shouted.

  “I usually dine alone.”

  He digested that while his footman filled his glass with something red. Gideon took a sip and almost spewed it all over the table. “Good God! What the hell is this?”

  She’d just taken a drink—and apparently swallowed it—and frowned at him. “It is from the cellar.”

  “Yes, but did it come in a bottle? Or was it scraped off the floor?”

  Lady Taunton frowned. “I’m sorry it doesn’t meet with your standards, but it is what we have.”

  He harrumphed and made a mental note to add wine to his list of items to purchase. Which reminded him. “So, how did the household inventory progress, my lady?”

  She brightened at the change of subject. Gideon had noticed she looked happier any time Foxrun was mentioned. It seemed an odd attachment, especially for a woman who would have to leave whenever he decided to get married—not that he saw that ever happening. But what did he know about women like her? Perhaps such an attachment to their husband’s houses and lands was a common affliction.

  “I’ve drawn up lists for your inspection. Separate ones for bed linens, draperies, new carpets in—”

  Gideon grimaced. “Lord. I don’t need to look at them or hear about them. Just order what you want and have the bills sent to me.”

  Her lips parted and he immediately thought of what he’d like to put between them. He snorted; little chance of that ever happening.

  “You don’t want to look at pattern cards? Samples?”

  “I’d rather drive a rusty spike through my forehead.”

  Her jaw threatened to unhinge.

  Gideon sighed and forced himself to speak less carelessly. “I beg your pardon. What I meant to say is that I trust your judgement.” He smiled in what he hoped was a conciliating manner. “I daresay it is irreproachable.”

  Instead of returning his look, she regarded him through a lens of disapprobation and suspicion, even more so than most women did. She clearly sensed something was not right with him—that he was not suitable cloth from which to fashion an earl—and she was correct in her assessment.

  Gideon doubted she would ever do much more than tolerate him and that for the good of Foxrun.

  Well, he would milk that weakness shamelessly.

  “You may consider yourself officially in charge of all items and issues that occur beneath the roof and between the walls of Foxrun. So, carpets, furniture, linens, frippery, et cetera, et cetera. Are we agreed?”

  She nodded slowly, her expression still one of suspicion.

  “I sent a telegram this morning. There will be two master carpenters arriving along with DuValle, my chef. I’ve also sent one of my associates, Mr. Smith, a request to hire a butler, housekeeper, and four footmen who have been trained to exhibit discretion.” He didn’t tell her he would station the men around him so that his libertine tendencies wouldn’t inadvertently slay the locals with shock.

  “Mr. Smith has the best run house I’ve ever seen, so he’s a perfect man to make such important selections. If you can think of any positions that require skills you won’t be able to satisfy from the local populace, let me know and I’ll send another request.”

  “Oh, special skills? Perhaps more chambermaids?” she asked, her treacly sweet sarcastic tone one he’d not heard before—and also one he quite liked.

  He gave her a lazy smile. “I am always on the lookout for a good chambermaid,” he admitted.

  She made a strangled, choking sound, her nostrils flaring.

  Gideon’s cock thumped at the spark of barely restrained anger in her dark eyes. For some reason it aroused him to know that she knew what he got up to in the room right next to hers. Yes, it aroused him a great deal. It was likely that Lucy and Susan would get very little sleep tonight.

  But that was for later.

  Gideon dragged his attention back to business. “I’d like to hire the rest of the servants from the surrounding area,” he said, reluctantly leaving the matter of chambermaids behind for the moment. “If you could make it known that I will be interviewing for every position other than housekeeper, cook, and butler I should be much obliged.” There, he could see that information made her happy and erased thoughts of chambermaids from her mind. At least for the moment.

  “Of course, my lord. I must admit we’ve been losing a shocking number of our young women and men to jobs in the cities.”

  “Well, agriculture is dead, and it shall not be coming back soon,” he said, picking up his wine, recalling what was in the glass just in time, and setting it back down.

  “I thought tariffs were being considered?”

  Gideon snorted. “You’ll not see such under Gladstone, and it’s just as well: agriculture in Britain is on its way to extinction. We are a nation of industry now; it is for others to grow our wheat and corn.”

  She set down her glass, her forehead furrowing in a fetching fashion “But I thought you meant to make improvements to the tenant farms.”

  “Oh, I do—make no mistake about it. But Foxrun will never subsist on her rents again, not with the ever-decreasing prices of agricultural goods.”

  “Then . . . why?”

  He smiled. “My dear Lady Taunton,” there was her lovely blush again, “Foxrun is my country estate and I will operate it as such. That means it must have farms because country estates have farms. That does not mean I’m so deluded as to believe it will ever support itself.” He shrugged. “That is what my business is for.”

  The door opened and Tickle entered with another footman and two maids, all bearing platters.

  As they set the dishes out on the table, he felt his face shifting into a frown. Everything—every single dish—appeared to be some shade of color between gray and dun. Gideon poked at a nearby item that resembled paper pulp slathered over a block of wood. He looked up to find Lady Taunton regarding him with a questioning expression.

/>   He laid down his fork, his eyes flickering over the horrifying number of brown dishes. He’d always been a fussy eater—even when being fussy had meant going without—and his stomach roiled as he looked around at the food on this table.

  “I cannot eat this.”

  All eyes focused on him, yet nobody spoke. Gideon wondered if this was what it felt like to be king—commanding such utter attention? The thought cheered him.

  “I’d like bread, cheese, and perhaps some fruit.” He directed the words at Tickle and enunciated them clearly.

  The old man’s jaw dropped—not nearly so handsome an expression on an ancient man as it was on Lady Taunton—and he hesitated, his eyes flickered from Gideon to the food to the countess to Gideon. It seemed like the old gaffer might run the circuit all night long but, fortunately, Lady Taunton stopped him.

  “I believe his lordship prefers a light dinner, Tickle. Please inform cook to add some of our excellent ham and a flagon of cider along with the rest.”

  The old man nodded shakily and left the room, his expression lost and shaken.

  Gideon felt a bit like a pillock for sending him hoofing. “Couldn’t somebody else—perhaps somebody more youthful—do the fetching and carrying around here?” he asked.

  “That’s an excellent idea, my lord. Perhaps we might discuss that,” she said, giving the two remaining servants a significant look.

  Gideon frowned. “Discuss what?” he asked rudely

  “That item on your list you asked me to address?” she prodded. “Along with the inventory?”

  Oh, the pensioner matter.

  “Ah, yes, that,” Gideon said, feeling rather thick. “Leave us,” he told the footmen. “Go bring up whatever Tickle finds—don’t let him carry anything heavy,” he added.

  Lady Taunton waited until the door closed before speaking.

  “Now, you were saying?” he asked.

  “First, I apologize for the food. I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed quite how much Cook had slipped.” She caught her plump lower lip with even white teeth and shook her head.

  Gideon’s gaze riveted to that pillowy lip.

  She released it and her spell along with it. “Er, what?” he said.

  “I said I hadn’t noticed the quality of Cook’s meals.”

  “You eat this every night and yet you didn’t notice?”

  “Oh, no. I usually eat some gruel, toast, and tea in my room.”

  Gideon shivered. “Good Lord! That’s dreadful,” he said, aghast.

  “I don’t think everyone places as much importance on food as you might, my lord. Most people around here are largely concerned with getting enough of it.”

  Amazingly, Gideon felt his face heating. “Yes, Lady Taunton, I’m aware of what most people think about food—I spent the better part of my formative years in an orphanage.” It was gratifying to see her face darken. “But I’m now a revoltingly wealthy man and one of the things I like to spend my money on is food that will not cause me to become ill. DuValle will arrive shortly, but until then, I’d rather go without food than face this,” he gestured to the rapidly cooling and congealing dishes.

  “You won’t have to go without, my lord. I shall pass the word along to cook.”

  “While you’re at it, you might as well tell her she’s about to be pensioned off.”

  She hesitated and then asked. “Might I tell her the, er, details of such a pension?”

  Gideon shrugged irritably. “Do whatever is usual.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “How the devil should I know?” he demanded, vaguely aware he was behaving like an irascible arse. “Surely your husband allowed some servants to retire? Or did they all just die with a platter or dust mop in their hands?”

  Her lips parted in shock and it reminded his cock of this morning. Heat and tingly pleasure gathered in his groin as he stared at her mouth.

  “That was horrid, my lord.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “What you just said about the servants—it was horrid.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, not really meaning it. After all, he suspected he’d be using the memory of the way her face looked right now as a masturbatory aid later on in the evening.

  Just what the devil was it about this woman? Whatever it was, he found it excessively irksome that thoughts of her seemed to be the key to his orgasms at present. He was the only person who should be in charge of his orgasms.

  Yes, bloody irritating.

  “That was most callous,” she said, stabbing at something on her plate with a fork and probably wishing it were his head.

  Gideon frowned—what the devil had he said? Ah, yes, now he remembered. “I already begged your pardon. Here, I’ll do it again: I beg your pardon—and that of the servants I wronged with my callousness. Am I forgiven now?”

  Luckily the door opened and Tickle entered with the two footmen, both bearing trays loaded with fruit, bread, and, yes, some slabs of ham. Well, that looked rather good. His stomach growled.

  Gideon rubbed his hands together. “Thank you, Tickle, this is perfect.” He looked up and raised a brow at Lady Taunton, who was watching him with her judgy, frowny look. Gideon wondered what she’d say if he told her exactly how he planned to employ the memory of that expression when he was alone.

  Instead he turned to the butler, “Oh, Tickle,” he said as the old man shuffled toward the door. “In the future please set Lady Taunton’s cover beside mine. I’m liable to become hoarse shouting down the table.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The door snicked shut behind him.

  Gideon sawed off a chunk of ham and popped it into his mouth, groaning with pleasure as he chewed. The barbaric response drew both a blush and, surprisingly, a smile.

  “It is cider-glazed ham. A specialty here. As is the apple cider.”

  Gideon washed his food down with a mouthful of said cider. “Ah, that’s right—famous Taunton cider.” Gideon noticed her eyes flickering over his sumptuous repast and stood, quickly reorganizing a platter until it held samples of everything, and then strode toward her, pleased by the way her eyes widened. Oh, she was a lovely woman, condescending looks, or not.

  “Here, I’ve plenty to share.” He plunked the tray down beside her, enjoying the weight of her eyes as they flickered over his person. Gideon knew the cutaway tailcoat flattered his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped build more than any other style, and his black, slim-fit trousers did nothing to hide his tumescence.

  Her throat tightened convulsively as her eyes moved up his body. “Thank you,” she said, her voice somewhat ragged as their eyes locked.

  Gideon forced himself to give her a cool smile and limp back to his chair.

  Chapter Six

  It was Jackson who told Gideon about the peep hole.

  It was his third night at Foxrun. He’d been out inspecting the tenant cottages and had not finished until after dark. He’d sent word to the house that Lady Taunton should dine without him and had, instead, taken his meal at a pub called The Jolly Taxpayer.

  He’d made his rounds today with a local builder named Mr. Pendleton, a man who’d grown up in the area and was familiar with the cottages and most of their inhabitants. It had been Pendleton who’d suggested the pub.

  “They’ve got a cider that can’t be beat and the innkeeper, Mr. Thomas, makes his own cheddar.”

  Gideon had felt every eye on him when they walked into the taproom, which had hushed with comical celerity.

  A chap in a crisp apron—who’d turned out to be none other than Mr. Thomas—rushed out from behind the bar to greet him.

  “What an honor, my lord,” he said after Pendleton introduced them, bowing low.

  Gideon had received the same marked deference all day from his cottagers but didn’t believe he’d ever become accustomed to it—not that he didn’t enjoy it. No, he enjoyed it immensely, but it still left him feeling oddly uncomfortable.

  He and Pendleton had taken what must have be
en the table of honor—near the cavernous hearth. Over the next hour the villagers—many his tenants—had come to pay their respects.

  Gideon had instructed Mr. Thompson to put all the drinks for the evening on his bill and had left to loud and happy cheers.

  He’d returned to find Foxrun shut down for the evening. He’d not wanted to miss dinner with Lady Taunton, but it was probably for the best as he seemed destined to misbehave around her. He’d been unable to resist going to the same window—again in his birthday suit—the second morning. He’d been disappointed to find himself without an audience.

  But then tonight Jackson informed him of the peep hole.

  He was undressing Gideon when he told him the news, his lips barely moving, his words almost inaudible. Gideon had stiffened and only just kept himself from stalking from the dressingroom to stare at the peep.

  “Over the bed, you say?”

  “Actually, it is tucked into the scrollwork in the headboard.”

  Gideon shook his head as he dropped into the dressing room chair and Jackson removed his boots. He’d worn breeches and riding boots today but had—fortunately—not needed to display his horrid equestrian skills as Mr. Pendleton had arrived with a gig—yet another countrified mode of transport Gideon would need to master.

  “Good God, Jackson. How did you discover this?” Gideon asked.

  “I was coming back up with your lordship’s laundry earlier in the evening when I saw one of the panels in the hallway move. Rather than enter your chambers I entered the room across the hall—an unused suite of rooms—and waited.” Jackson’s lips curved ever so slightly—perhaps the first time Gideon had seen the man get even close to a smile in over a decade. “I waited for a quarter of an hour before the panel slowly opened.”

  “And,” Gideon prodded, annoyed by his valet’s sudden lapse into theatricality.

  “Lady Taunton glanced up and down the hallway before stepping out and hastily closing the door. She then went to her chambers. It took me three or four moments to find the catch.” Gideon heard the smugness in his voice. “The corridor passes behind both your and her ladyship’s chambers. A small stool stood in one area, which is how I discovered the peep. There is another one down the hall a—peep, not stool. I looked through it and saw it was indeed in roughly the same position in her ladyship’s bedchamber.”