Forever My Love(62)
"Now?" Rand repeated, giving her a genuine frown of displeasure. "And miss the hunt?"
"I don't know what else to do with Mireille. She will not spend one more night on the Sackville estate. You know I dislike hunting anyway, and I certainly dislike most of the women whose company I would have been forced to endure."
"Do you realize how it will appear if you turn around and return home, leaving me alone?"
"If you really cared what people thought, youwouldn't have married me in the first place," Rosalie said softly, stroking her fingers along the back of his hand, soothing his ire as only she could. "And though I dread the idea of sleeping apart from you for a night or two, I am already looking forward to welcoming you back." She stood on her toes as she murmured into his ear, "… and I promise to make up for all of this on the eve of your return."
"How?" Berkeley inquired, characteristically concerned about specifics, and she smiled slowly before whispering a few well-chosen words to him. Her promise earned the guaranteed response, for he offered no further argument.
* * *
Chapter Seven
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Surrounded by green grottoes and thick woods, Berkeley Hall presented the picture of a well-ordered fantasy. It graced Warwickshire like a perfectly cut diamond, poised between the land and the sky with vaulted arches and neatly finished crenellation that formed the base for pinnacles that seemed to pierce the clouds overhead. Trefoil-shaped windows and fluted pillars lent the house an air of lighthearted grace. As Rosalie and Mira were helped out of the carriage and escorted into the hall by two footmen, Mira discovered that the interior of the house was even more beautiful than the exterior, adorned with imported yellow Siena marble, shining mahogany, bronze railings, and richly framed portraits.
"Lady Berkeley!" came a pleased exclamation, and a stout woman who appeared to be the housekeeper approached them. She was followed by two maids, one of whom looked to be considerably chastened. "You've returned home earlier than expected."
"Yes, Mrs. Grayson," Rosalie replied. "There were some unforseen difficulties…" She stopped and frowned as she noticed the tear-streaked face of one of the maids. "My goodness, Nell, why are you crying?"
"We're having a problem of discipline," Mrs. Gray-son said grimly. "Nell would rather gossip and chatter all day than do her work."
Despite the fact that she had her own problems to worry about, Mira looked at the slumped shoulders of the maid and nearly smiled with sympathy. Apparently Rosalie felt the same twinge of pity, for her voice was gentle as she addressed the girl. "I had hoped that the last time we discussed your gossiping would have done more good, Nell. I would like to speak with you as soon as I see to the comfort of my guest."
"Yes, mum," the girl replied, shooting a baleful glance at the triumphant housekeeper.
Mira was to learn later that although Mrs. Grayson was a militant and effective housekeeper, Rosalie played a significant role in the running of Berkeley Hall. She attended to countless problems and decisions, used all the wiles of a seasoned diplomat to keep the servants in harmony with each other, and never lost her temper… she was active in charity projects, maintained close friendships with neighbors and relatives, spent a considerable amount of time each day with her child, and above all, she saw to the needs of her husband. And though her days were sometimes long and trying, her voice was never loud or sharp, her manner was always gentle and kind. How did she manage to make it all seem so effortless?
Most of the servants and tenants who lived on the Berkeley estate usually attempted to approach Rosalie first with their problems, since it was well known that not only would she be sympathetic and understanding but also she had the power to influence her husband as no one else was able to do. The guests and relatives who spent time with the Berkeleys also besieged her for time and attention, basking in her company and endeavoring to monopolize her for as long as possible. All of this was done behind Rand Berkeley's back, as discreetly as possible, for it was common knowledge that he was a fiercely protective and jealous husband, and the demands made upon his wife by others never failed to irritate him. He made it very clear that he was Rosalie's first responsibility, and heseldom tolerated anyone daring to interfere with their time together.
A footman and two other maids hovered around Rosalie now, all attempting to speak at once. "Mireille, I know you are exhausted," Rosalie said, apparently unruffled by the small crowd in front of them. "I apologize for the disturbance"—she sent a meaningful look to the group, whose clamoring subsided somewhat—"but there are a few matters I must take care of. Would you care for a hot cup of tea while I attend to them?"