"I'm going to try my best." Alexandra handed Mrs. Oliver a biscuit and moved on.
Although the housemaids had all been called Mary, only one bore that actual name. There were so many that Alexandra despaired of remembering them all as she worked her way down the line, smiling and exchanging pleasantries.
A middle-aged maid named Peggy bobbed a curtsy as she accepted a biscuit. "Will you be needing a lady's maid, my lady?"
She looked kind and friendly, with pale green eyes and a mop of slightly graying brown curls beneath her starched cap. Alexandra returned her smile. "Why, yes, as a matter of fact. I shared my maid with my two sisters." She looked to Mrs. Oliver for approval, and when the older woman nodded, turned back to Peggy. "Would you like the position?"
"I should be honored, my lady. I served the last Lady Hawkridge. I'm very good with hair."
"I'm very pleased to hear that," Alexandra assured her and moved on to meet everyone else.
When the introductions were finally complete, she handed her basket to the cook, a plump woman in her forties with a button of a nose and pale blond hair pulled back in a severe bun. "Will you all share the rest, Mrs. Pawley? And I hope you won't mind me invading your kitchen now and again. I do adore making sweets."
Mrs. Pawley's merry blue eyes looked surprised, but she quickly hid that with a smile. "I do adore eating sweets, my lady."
"Then we should get along famously," Alexandra said.
Tris took her by the hand. "Shall I show you the house?"
She'd forgotten to replace her gloves, and her fingers tingled in his, reminding her of what was to come tonight. The servants hurried past them, returning to their tasks as she stepped into her new home for the first time.
The entry led straight into the great hall, a beautiful rectangular room with a floor of black and white marble squares. Above Alexandra's head, a large octagonal opening in the ceiling was railed all around, so those standing above could see down to where she stood. It lent a height and grandeur to the room that made it that much more impressive.
Before she could say as much, though, a huge dog came bounding down the stairs. It slid across the marble floor, jarring their hands apart as it rammed straight into Tris.
"Oof!" he said with a laugh. "This is Rex. Rex, your new mistress. Shake."
Fawn colored with a black mask and ears, Rex obediently raised the most enormous paw Alexandra had ever seen. She shook it, wondering if it were her imagination or if the canine looked mistrustful. "He must be twice my weight! You never said you had a dog."
"He's not my dog. He came with the house."
Rex was trotting happy circles around him. "He seems to have adopted you. Did your uncle name him, then?"
"Yes. But it's not as though he had a choice. According to family lore, there has always been a mastiff named Rex at Hawkridge Hall."
"And why is that?"
"I asked the same question, but Uncle Harold didn't know. That didn't stop him from naming this one Rex, though. The Nesbitts are big on tradition."
Looking around the room, she could see what he meant by that as well as his earlier comment that the house was seventeenth century down to the furniture. Indeed, although the various tables and chairs were lovingly cared for—beautifully carved, polished to a high sheen, and reupholstered in rich fabrics—they were heavy pieces compared to modern furniture. And the gorgeous paneling on the walls, though recently refinished, obviously dated from earlier times as well. "Goodness. Is everything just the same as when the house was built?"
"Tradition," he repeated with a smile. "But if you look carefully, you'll see some recent improvements."
Alexandra's gaze followed his gesture to a lamp attached to the wall, containing a yellowish open flame protected from drafts by a glass chimney. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Gas lighting? Indoors?" Although gas was increasingly being used to illuminate London's streets, she'd never seen it in a house.
"Yes," Tris said proudly. "Installed it myself. With help from two of the Johns." He shook his head. "Make that one John and Ted."
She smiled, appreciating his willingness to adapt—not just his attitude toward the servants, but to the latest advancements. She supposed she shouldn't find it surprising that a man who employed progressive farming techniques, a man who built things like pumps, would also implement gas lighting. "Did you design the lamps yourself, too?"
"No, but I believe I've improved on the original design some." He showed her the key mechanism by which she could turn the gas on and off or adjust the height of the flame, and he watched her practice until he was satisfied she understood. "You catch on quickly."
"It's not difficult. Where does the gas come from?"
"I'm burning coal in a closed iron vessel outdoors, a safe distance from the house. The resulting gas is piped inside."
"How very clever."
He shrugged. "This is a small system, conceived as an experiment. Now that it's proved successful, I'm currently building a large gasworks that will be used to supply the entire village. When it's finished, all the streets and businesses—and homes, should people like—will be lit by gas. And once that's complete, I hope to form a group to pursue an enterprise wherein we approach larger towns and cities to build gasworks and supply them via gas mains."
He was so different from the other men she knew. "A gentleman doesn't aspire to enterprise," she teased. "Such an undertaking would limit his time for amusements."
Too late she realized he wouldn't be welcome in any gentlemen's clubs or the other places men frequented to amuse themselves. But he seemed as determined as she was to avoid thinking of such unpleasantness tonight, because he just shrugged again in a genial manner. "I'm afraid I'm tainted by my common roots."
Though she loved his dry humor, her smile was mostly one of
