On a Wicked Dawn

'So we actually have a number of suites. Helpful, especially when we have older guests.' Amelia made a note on the tablet she carried.

A deep bong resonated through the house. Higgs lifted her head. 'That's the luncheon gong, ma'am.'

Amelia turned for the stairs. 'We'll continue this afternoon.'

She stepped into the front hall as Luc entered from the long corridor of the west wing. In breeches and hacking jacket, he appeared the epitome of an English country gentleman; the planes of his face, the long lines of his body more definitively declared his status.

Higgs bobbed, then bustled past him, heading for the servants' hall. Luc raised a brow at Amelia as he joined her. 'Have you seen all?'

'Barely half.' She led the way into the family dining parlor. 'Higgs and I will continue after lunch.'

She took her seat, once more on his right; she refused to sit at the end of the table when they were alone. Cottsloe appeared to agree with her; he'd set her place as she'd wished, even though she'd made no request. Shaking out her napkin, she glanced at Luc. 'Is there any particular' — she gestured—'element of household management you'd like to see changed?'

He sat, clearly gave the matter thought while Cottsloe served. When the butler stood back, Luc shook his head. 'No. Over the past years, we've reorganized virtually everything.' He met her gaze. 'Now Mama has handed over the reins, control of household matters is entirely in your hands.'

She nodded. Once they'd both started to eat, she asked, 'Is there any aspect of the estate presently on your plate you'd like me to take over?'

A delicate question, but Minerva wasn't young, and Luc was Luc. While his mother had undoubtedly fulfilled her duties unstintingly, she knew he would have transferred as many responsibilities as possible from Minerva's shoulders to his.

Again, he considered, then went to shake his head — as she'd fully expected — but stopped. 'Actually' — he glanced at her—'there are a few things you could take over.'

She nearly dropped her fork. 'What?' She hoped her eagerness wasn't too transparent. It was essential to her long-term strategy that she establish herself as his wife, not only in the eyes of the staff and estate workers, and all others, but in Luc's eyes, too.

'The Autumn Gathering — it's an… estate party for want of a better name, held in late September.'

'I remember,' she replied. 'I've been here for one, years ago.'

'Ah, but you wouldn't have been here for one in my grandparents' time. Now those were parties.'

She met his eye, grinned. 'I'm sure we could match them if we try.'

'Cottsloe was a footman, and Higgs was a parlor maid — they'd remember enough to resurrect some of the more unusual events.'

His eyes remained on hers; she inclined her head. 'I'll ask and see what we can organize.' She laid down her fork, reached for her glass. 'Was there anything else?'

Luc hesitated. 'This is more prospective. Mama visited the tenants, and I'm sure you'll do the same, but we're taking on more workers, not just on the home farm but on the tenant farms, too. There's a lot of children about. Too many to eventually work the farms in their fathers' stead.'

He picked up his glass, sipped, leaned back. 'I've heard good reports from various estates where schools have been set up for the workers' children. I'd like to institute something along those lines here, but I simply don't have time to look into it properly, let alone do the necessary planning.'

And if Devil and Gabriel had their way and co-opted him into the Cynster investment cartel, he'd have even less time for such activities.

He was watching Amelia carefully; he saw the spark of eagerness in her eyes.

'How many estates do you have?'

'Five.' He named them. 'Each is productive, and the returns are sufficient to justify the time and effort to keep them running smoothly.'

'That won't leave you much time for anything else.'

He inclined his head. 'I travel to each estate at least twice a year.'

She looked at him. 'I'll be coming, too.'

No question. Pleased, he inclined his head again.

'Your other estates — are any big enough to justify a school?'

'In the next few years, it's likely all will have sufficient numbers.'

'So if we trial the concept here, and work through all the problems, then we can later expand to your other estates.'

He met her now overtly eager gaze. 'It'll take time and considerable effort in each case. There are always prejudices to overcome.'

She smiled. 'I'll have more than enough time — you may leave the matter with me.'

He acquiesced with a nod, masking his satisfaction. The more she became enmeshed in his life, in the running of his estates and his household, the better.

His ride about the estate had brought home how many repairs and improvements were under way — works she'd undoubtedly think were being paid for by her dowry.

Convention stated that no woman had any right to know her husband's business.

Regardless, he couldn't imagine not telling her the truth.

That her dowry was a drop in the ocean compared to his wealth, that he'd known it from the dawn she'd offered herself — and her dowry — to him, that he'd been careful to allow no hint of the truth to reach her, even to the point of corrupting her father and making a pact with Devil…

Could he rely on her temper to blind her to the real revelation therein?

He inwardly grimaced; she was a Cynster female — he had too much respect for her perspicacity on such subjects to risk it.

He had until September to make his confession.

Sufficient unto the day the evil thereof.

'My lord?'

He looked up to see Cottsloe standing by the door.

'McTavish has just come in. He's waiting in the Office.'

Luc laid down his napkin. 'Thank you.' He glanced at Amelia. 'McTavish is my steward. Have you met him?'

'Yes. It was years ago, however.' She pushed back her chair; a footman started forward — rising, Luc waved him back, drew out the chair.

Amelia stood and faced him, smiled into his eyes. 'Why don't I come with you and you can reintroduce us, then I'll leave you to your business while I continue with mine?'

He took her hand, set it on his sleeve. 'The Office is in the west wing.'

After meeting McTavish and casting a curious glance over the Office, Amelia rejoined Mrs. Higgs, and they continued their inspection. While the house was in excellent condition, and all the woodwork — floors and furniture both — gleamed with beeswax and care, virtually every piece of fabric was in need of replacement. Not urgently, but within the next year.

'We won't be able to do it all at once.' They'd completed their circuit of the reception rooms; in the main drawing room, Amelia scribbled a note putting the curtains in that room at the top of her list. Followed by the curtains in the dining room. And the chairs in both rooms needed to be re-upholstered.

'Will that be all, ma'am?' Higgs asked. 'If so, would you like me to get your tea?'

She raised her head, considered; unlikely that Luc would wish for tea. 'Yes, please — send the tray to the small parlor.'

Higgs nodded and withdrew. Amelia returned to the parlor off the music room.

Leaving her notes — a considerable pile — in the desk, she retreated to relax on the chaise. A footman appeared with her tea tray; she thanked and dismissed him, then poured a cup and slowly sipped — in silence, in isolation, both very strange to her.

It wouldn't last — this had always been a house full of people, mostly females. Once Minerva and Luc's