The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(46)
“You no longer need to show guests to the door, Your Grace,” Nikolai said as they began their climb up the wide staircase with its elaborate, scrolled iron banisters. “One of the English servants can see to that.”
He pronounced the word “English” with a slight sneer, and gave a backward glance at Montmorency who was walking toward the servants’ stairs below them. The butler’s back became stiffer.
Meagan spoke in a brisk tone. “In this case, they were not guests; they were my parents. ’Tis a different thing.”
“If you say so, Your Grace.”
“I do say so. Lead on, Nikolai. I am certain His Grace does not like to be kept waiting twenty seconds longer than he must.”
Nikolai’s lips twitched. “As you say, Your Grace. He is in the Asia Hall.”
“Is that the room with pillars carved like palm trees?”
“No, Your Grace, that is the India sitting room. The Asia Hall has the Chinese furniture. You will soon learn to distinguish them.”
“Only if I do not grow weary on all these stairs,” Meagan said, struggling to keep up with Nikolai’s long-legged stride. “The staff must be wonderfully fit.”
“Another reason you do not need to see people to the front door, Your Grace.” Nikolai waited on the landing for her to catch up. “You need only move between the first and second floors, that is all, except for large ceremonial occasions such as balls. You never need to descend, unless you are going out.”
Meagan looked up the line of the staircase which rose two more floors above them. “And what is up there?”
“The third floor houses His Grace’s son’s nursery, where small Alex is looked after by his nanny and tutors. Above that are the servants’ rooms, and you need never climb there.”
“I see.” Meagan smoothed the railing under her hand. At home, she was used to dashing up to Rose’s attic room to fetch forgotten things while Rose attended to Simone’s toilette. As a girl in Oxfordshire, Meagan had often sneaked to the maid’s rooms to play card games in the middle of the night.
The third floor landing looked elegant and lonely. Alexander’s son had attended the wedding but had been whisked away when they’d returned to the festivities here. Meagan had kissed his sticky cheek under the sneer of an ambassador’s wife, before he was carried away out of sight.
“This way, Your Grace,” Nikolai said, sounding anxious.
Meagan reluctantly turned and followed Nikolai around the gallery to double doors halfway along it. With the exception of her bedchamber, Alexander’s study, and the upstairs ballroom where the wedding breakfast had been held, this was the first she’d see of the house’s grand rooms.
The Asia Hall was decorated in hues of bright yellow, Chinese red, and lacquer black. Yellow silk with a red fan pattern covered the walls, the U-arm black-lacquer chairs were upholstered in scarlet, and the cabinetry and tables were japanned or inlayed with mother-of-pearl. Windows draped in Chinese red faced the street which lent fog-shrouded dusky light to the candlelit room.
At least a dozen people, both Nvengarian and English, stood in a semicircle in the middle of the room. Dominic anchored one end, and a thin woman in dull gray with a long nose and a shrewd stare anchored the other. Nikolai took his place next to Dominic.
Alexander waited before them, standing straight. Although he’d changed his military coat with the medals for a plainer one, still blue, he’d retained his sash of office. Meagan wondered whether he wore the sash to remind his English staff who he was, or to remind himself.
Alexander watched her enter with his usual inscrutable coolness and no hint of the distraction she’d sensed in him at the altar. He was once more Grand Duke Alexander, in command of himself and everyone around him.
When Meagan reached his side he slid a hand to her waist and gave a nod toward the assembled staff. As one they bowed or curtseyed then eyed Meagan with frank interest. Some she’d already met—Mrs. Caldwell the housekeeper, Dominic her bodyguard, the lady’s maid Susan, Nikolai, Gaius and a few of the Nvengarian footmen who’d served guests this afternoon.
Alexander began without preliminary. “These are your personal staff, and they will report to you. Some have been culled from my own staff, and others are new. They will assist you in your various duties and help you become familiar with your role as hostess.”
Mrs. Caldwell, the lady in gray on the end, curtseyed. “Your Grace,” she said, her words as tight as the gray bun on her head. “You will report your needs to me, and I will see that your wishes are carried out. I will also assist in planning the menus for all your meals and making arrangements for social activities in the house. Mr. Edwards …” She indicated a trim, rather nondescript man at her side. “He will be your secretary, assisting with your correspondence and any written communications you require. You have met Susan, your lady’s maid. She is French.”
Susan—many servants took an English name regardless of their nationality—curtsied again. Though she tried to keep a haughty demeanor as befitted a lady’s maid, her brown eyes held eager excitement and her mouth kept curving into a smile.
Mrs. Caldwell continued. “The footmen in the middle are Brutus, Gaius, and— Oh, I can never remember the other one.”
“Marcus,” Nikolai said helpfully.