Chapter 14
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The breakfast room was warm and sunlit, and thus revealed to be south facing. The shutters had been folded back so cunningly, that if she hadn't seen them closed the night before, she'd hardly have noticed their presence. A pretty garden lay before the door and windows, with another heavily windowed room visible in a building wing that stretched along its eastern edge to a tall brick wall opposite the breakfast room. The garden was apparently open on the west side.
"The kitchens," Mark told her, indicating the windows on the other wing. He informed Devons that his bride wouldn't be eating breakfasts currently, but asked that snacks be made up to be available anytime she wished to eat. Elizabeth was offered tea while Mark ate. "Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked.
"If there is juice available, perhaps?" suggested Elizabeth.
Devons inquired, and returned to say that there was not, but that on following mornings, there would be.
"Excuse me, my Lord," Devons said a little while later.
Mark looked up inquiringly.
"The staff are all extremely curious, so I thought rather than having everyone trying to sneak glimpses around corners for days, perhaps we might have a formal introduction to our new Marchioness?"
Mark hesitated, and Elizabeth asked, "Would that be alright? Even though I'm not quite your wife yet?"
Mark looked at her consideringly, and said, "Yes." He added wryly, "I'm sure they already know everything and have concocted dozens of rumors besides."
Devons nodded, and bade them to give him a few moments. Apparently the entire household was eager to meet their new Lady, for everyone was assembled for the introduction in the main entry hall within a quarter of an hour.
Mark made the introductions.
Andrew Fyording, his secretary, as she knew. Ford Harley, his valet, as she had also learned. William Devons, the butler, also known to her. Then the two footmen, Arthur Westing and John Collins, addressed as Arthur and John. Then Mrs. Whitmoor, the robust middle aged housekeeper, who offered her new lady a welcome smile and a deep curtsy. The two maids, Colleen Bennett, and here Mark faltered "Sarah?" he ventured.
"Sophie, my Lord," answered the maid, "Sophie Tell."
"Perhaps I should be having Devons make the introductions," Mark said ruefully.
Elizabeth shook her head. "It reassures me a little, if you make mistakes, I'm less terrified of trying to remember everyone and getting it wrong." To the assembly she added, "I hope that you will all kindly remind me when I do address you wrongly."
Everyone nodded, and Mark went on. The two pages were next, Susie and Cory.
"A girl page!" exclaimed Elizabeth with surprise.
"It was my mother's idea," said Mark, "as we have no scullery maids, for our chef won't allow women in his kitchen."
Elizabeth approved of the idea of girl pages.
The opinionated, but excellent chef and his assistant were introduced next. Pierre LaFolnse, and young Rufus Peeling.
"Where is your other assistant," inquired Mark curiously.
" 'E is gone to take a position as chef in another house," the chef replied in heavy accents. "As I encouraged 'im to," he added. Saying that had he been aware that the Marques intended to return with a bride, he would have had the man wait until a new assistant had been found. But as it was, and since the man had learned all that he could teach, he had encouraged him to accept the position immediately.
Mark indicated his understanding.
The chef said that he would acquire another assistant soon. At this however, the page Cory piped up. He would like to apply for the new kitchen assistant post, instead of going on to be a footman in a few years, he said. The Marques told his page that while he did not object to the plan, the matter was to be left to Chef LaFolnse to decide, later.
Then the head gardener, Mr. Whitmoor, was introduced. "Mrs. Whitmoor's Mr. Whitmoor?" asked Elizabeth.
The man nodded cheerfully. "Indeed m'lady," was the reply. His two assistants were the last of the household servants to be introduced.
Then were the stable master, and three more grooms in residence. But there were 12 grooms in total, explained Mark, and they rotated between London and the country estate. For there was only room for 12 horses at most in the London stable, but room for 40 more in Essex.
Mark asked that the curricle be brought around for their outing, with a groom up behind as tiger, to hold it when they disembarked.
He consulted with Devons, Andrew and Harley on where to take Elizabeth for new clothes. Elizabeth told them which modiste her mother frequented. But Mark discarded that suggestion for two reasons, the modiste might think to send word to her parents, and he wanted more fashionable, and as Elizabeth pointed out fretfully, much more expensive gowns for his wife.
"My love," Mark said, holding her hand as she climbed into the curricle beside him, "you seem oblivious to the fact that I am quite a catch." His eyes twinkled merrily. "I can easily afford to buy you a hundred gowns a year." They set off in the sleek, beautifully curved vehicle, swiftly leaving the quiet residential district and joining the bustle of London traffic.
Elizabeth protested that a hundred gowns was ridiculous. "I would never be able to wear them all, unless you have some strange notion that I should never be seen in the same gown twice, like some novel character," she told him.
"Perhaps," he admitted, "but I should think at least 30 or so the first year, to establish any sort of sufficient wardrobe."
Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the idea. Though in fairness, if she counted up all her existing gowns, including the two she'd sold, there were nine, and her family was not especially extravagant. But the most that had ever been purchased in the same year was five, from her coming-out at eighteen.
All of a sudden she gave a start, and froze against Mark's side. He glanced at her, and then looked around them, but though there were several other vehicles on the sunny street they were traveling down, and a number of pedestrians, he saw nothing obvious to startle her.
"What is it Elizabeth love?" He asked.
"I just saw my cousin, in front of that milliner's shop we just passed, that group of three young women," she answered. "I don't think she saw us, but what if someone else we know sees us? And what on earth is she doing in town already?"
"Weren't you worried about your aunt hearing the bans? I assumed it meant she lived in town," he replied calmly.
"That's my other aunt, my aunt Babs, who does live in town, and goes to services every day," Elizabeth said worriedly.
"It's alright love," he said soothingly, "most people who see us won't know that we aren't out with your parents permission, and if you like, we can use the coach instead until we're safely married."
She nodded, and his lips quirked in a smile, but he didn't mention that the way she pressed against his side was perhaps less than decorous and more likely to catch attention than her identity.
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The breakfast room was warm and sunlit, and thus revealed to be south facing. The shutters had been folded back so cunningly, that if she hadn't seen them closed the night before, she'd hardly have noticed their presence. A pretty garden lay before the door and windows, with another heavily windowed room visible in a building wing that stretched along its eastern edge to a tall brick wall opposite the breakfast room. The garden was apparently open on the west side.
"The kitchens," Mark told her, indicating the windows on the other wing. He informed Devons that his bride wouldn't be eating breakfasts currently, but asked that snacks be made up to be available anytime she wished to eat. Elizabeth was offered tea while Mark ate. "Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked.
"If there is juice available, perhaps?" suggested Elizabeth.
Devons inquired, and returned to say that there was not, but that on following mornings, there would be.
"Excuse me, my Lord," Devons said a little while later.
Mark looked up inquiringly.
"The staff are all extremely curious, so I thought rather than having everyone trying to sneak glimpses around corners for days, perhaps we might have a formal introduction to our new Marchioness?"
Mark hesitated, and Elizabeth asked, "Would that be alright? Even though I'm not quite your wife yet?"
Mark looked at her consideringly, and said, "Yes." He added wryly, "I'm sure they already know everything and have concocted dozens of rumors besides."
Devons nodded, and bade them to give him a few moments. Apparently the entire household was eager to meet their new Lady, for everyone was assembled for the introduction in the main entry hall within a quarter of an hour.
Mark made the introductions.
Andrew Fyording, his secretary, as she knew. Ford Harley, his valet, as she had also learned. William Devons, the butler, also known to her. Then the two footmen, Arthur Westing and John Collins, addressed as Arthur and John. Then Mrs. Whitmoor, the robust middle aged housekeeper, who offered her new lady a welcome smile and a deep curtsy. The two maids, Colleen Bennett, and here Mark faltered "Sarah?" he ventured.
"Sophie, my Lord," answered the maid, "Sophie Tell."
"Perhaps I should be having Devons make the introductions," Mark said ruefully.
Elizabeth shook her head. "It reassures me a little, if you make mistakes, I'm less terrified of trying to remember everyone and getting it wrong." To the assembly she added, "I hope that you will all kindly remind me when I do address you wrongly."
Everyone nodded, and Mark went on. The two pages were next, Susie and Cory.
"A girl page!" exclaimed Elizabeth with surprise.
"It was my mother's idea," said Mark, "as we have no scullery maids, for our chef won't allow women in his kitchen."
Elizabeth approved of the idea of girl pages.
The opinionated, but excellent chef and his assistant were introduced next. Pierre LaFolnse, and young Rufus Peeling.
"Where is your other assistant," inquired Mark curiously.
" 'E is gone to take a position as chef in another house," the chef replied in heavy accents. "As I encouraged 'im to," he added. Saying that had he been aware that the Marques intended to return with a bride, he would have had the man wait until a new assistant had been found. But as it was, and since the man had learned all that he could teach, he had encouraged him to accept the position immediately.
Mark indicated his understanding.
The chef said that he would acquire another assistant soon. At this however, the page Cory piped up. He would like to apply for the new kitchen assistant post, instead of going on to be a footman in a few years, he said. The Marques told his page that while he did not object to the plan, the matter was to be left to Chef LaFolnse to decide, later.
Then the head gardener, Mr. Whitmoor, was introduced. "Mrs. Whitmoor's Mr. Whitmoor?" asked Elizabeth.
The man nodded cheerfully. "Indeed m'lady," was the reply. His two assistants were the last of the household servants to be introduced.
Then were the stable master, and three more grooms in residence. But there were 12 grooms in total, explained Mark, and they rotated between London and the country estate. For there was only room for 12 horses at most in the London stable, but room for 40 more in Essex.
Mark asked that the curricle be brought around for their outing, with a groom up behind as tiger, to hold it when they disembarked.
He consulted with Devons, Andrew and Harley on where to take Elizabeth for new clothes. Elizabeth told them which modiste her mother frequented. But Mark discarded that suggestion for two reasons, the modiste might think to send word to her parents, and he wanted more fashionable, and as Elizabeth pointed out fretfully, much more expensive gowns for his wife.
"My love," Mark said, holding her hand as she climbed into the curricle beside him, "you seem oblivious to the fact that I am quite a catch." His eyes twinkled merrily. "I can easily afford to buy you a hundred gowns a year." They set off in the sleek, beautifully curved vehicle, swiftly leaving the quiet residential district and joining the bustle of London traffic.
Elizabeth protested that a hundred gowns was ridiculous. "I would never be able to wear them all, unless you have some strange notion that I should never be seen in the same gown twice, like some novel character," she told him.
"Perhaps," he admitted, "but I should think at least 30 or so the first year, to establish any sort of sufficient wardrobe."
Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the idea. Though in fairness, if she counted up all her existing gowns, including the two she'd sold, there were nine, and her family was not especially extravagant. But the most that had ever been purchased in the same year was five, from her coming-out at eighteen.
All of a sudden she gave a start, and froze against Mark's side. He glanced at her, and then looked around them, but though there were several other vehicles on the sunny street they were traveling down, and a number of pedestrians, he saw nothing obvious to startle her.
"What is it Elizabeth love?" He asked.
"I just saw my cousin, in front of that milliner's shop we just passed, that group of three young women," she answered. "I don't think she saw us, but what if someone else we know sees us? And what on earth is she doing in town already?"
"Weren't you worried about your aunt hearing the bans? I assumed it meant she lived in town," he replied calmly.
"That's my other aunt, my aunt Babs, who does live in town, and goes to services every day," Elizabeth said worriedly.
"It's alright love," he said soothingly, "most people who see us won't know that we aren't out with your parents permission, and if you like, we can use the coach instead until we're safely married."
She nodded, and his lips quirked in a smile, but he didn't mention that the way she pressed against his side was perhaps less than decorous and more likely to catch attention than her identity.
The breakfast room was warm and sunlit, and thus revealed to be south facing. The shutters had been folded back so cunningly, that if she hadn't seen them closed the night before, she'd hardly have noticed their presence. A pretty garden lay before the door and windows, with another heavily windowed room visible in a building wing that stretched along its eastern edge to a tall brick wall opposite the breakfast room. The garden was apparently open on the west side. "The kitchens," Mark told her, indicating the windows on the other wing. He informed Devons that his bride wouldn't be eating breakfasts currently, but asked that snacks be made up to be available anytime she wished to eat. Elizabeth was offered tea while Mark ate. "Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked. "If there is juice available, perhaps?" suggested Elizabeth. Devons inquired, and returned to say that there was not, but that on following mornings, there would be. "Excuse me, my Lord," Devons said a little while later. Mark looked up inquiringly. "The staff are all extremely curious, so I thought rather than having everyone trying to sneak glimpses around corners for days, perhaps we might have a formal introduction to our new Marchioness?" Mark hesitated, and Elizabeth asked, "Would that be alright? Even though I'm not quite your wife yet?" Mark looked at her consideringly, and said, "Yes." He added wryly, "I'm sure they already know everything and have concocted dozens of rumors besides." Devons nodded, and bade them to give him a few moments. Apparently the entire household was eager to meet their new Lady, for everyone was assembled for the introduction in the main entry hall within a quarter of an hour. Mark made the introductions. Andrew Fyording, his secretary, as she knew. Ford Harley, his valet, as she had also learned. William Devons, the butler, also known to her. Then the two footmen, Arthur Westing and John Collins, addressed as Arthur and John. Then Mrs. Whitmoor, the robust middle aged housekeeper, who offered her new lady a welcome smile and a deep curtsy. The two maids, Colleen Bennett, and here Mark faltered "Sarah?" he ventured. "Sophie, my Lord," answered the maid, "Sophie Tell." "Perhaps I should be having Devons make the introductions," Mark said ruefully. Elizabeth shook her head. "It reassures me a little, if you make mistakes, I'm less terrified of trying to remember everyone and getting it wrong." To the assembly she added, "I hope that you will all kindly remind me when I do address you wrongly." Everyone nodded, and Mark went on. The two pages were next, Susie and Cory. "A girl page!" exclaimed Elizabeth with surprise. "It was my mother's idea," said Mark, "as we have no scullery maids, for our chef won't allow women in his kitchen." Elizabeth approved of the idea of girl pages. The opinionated, but excellent chef and his assistant were introduced next. Pierre LaFolnse, and young Rufus Peeling. "Where is your other assistant," inquired Mark curiously. " 'E is gone to take a position as chef in another house," the chef replied in heavy accents. "As I encouraged 'im to," he added. Saying that had he been aware that the Marques intended to return with a bride, he would have had the man wait until a new assistant had been found. But as it was, and since the man had learned all that he could teach, he had encouraged him to accept the position immediately. Mark indicated his understanding. The chef said that he would acquire another assistant soon. At this however, the page Cory piped up. He would like to apply for the new kitchen assistant post, instead of going on to be a footman in a few years, he said. The Marques told his page that while he did not object to the plan, the matter was to be left to Chef LaFolnse to decide, later. Then the head gardener, Mr. Whitmoor, was introduced. "Mrs. Whitmoor's Mr. Whitmoor?" asked Elizabeth. The man nodded cheerfully. "Indeed m'lady," was the reply. His two assistants were the last of the household servants to be introduced. Then were the stable master, and three more grooms in residence. But there were 12 grooms in total, explained Mark, and they rotated between London and the country estate. For there was only room for 12 horses at most in the London stable, but room for 40 more in Essex. Mark asked that the curricle be brought around for their outing, with a groom up behind as tiger, to hold it when they disembarked. He consulted with Devons, Andrew and Harley on where to take Elizabeth for new clothes. Elizabeth told them which modiste her mother frequented. But Mark discarded that suggestion for two reasons, the modiste might think to send word to her parents, and he wanted more fashionable, and as Elizabeth pointed out fretfully, much more expensive gowns for his wife. "My love," Mark said, holding her hand as she climbed into the curricle beside him, "you seem oblivious to the fact that I am quite a catch." His eyes twinkled merrily. "I can easily afford to buy you a hundred gowns a year." They set off in the sleek, beautifully curved vehicle, swiftly leaving the quiet residential district and joining the bustle of London traffic. Elizabeth protested that a hundred gowns was ridiculous. "I would never be able to wear them all, unless you have some strange notion that I should never be seen in the same gown twice, like some novel character," she told him. "Perhaps," he admitted, "but I should think at least 30 or so the first year, to establish any sort of sufficient wardrobe." Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the idea. Though in fairness, if she counted up all her existing gowns, including the two she'd sold, there were nine, and her family was not especially extravagant. But the most that had ever been purchased in the same year was five, from her coming-out at eighteen. All of a sudden she gave a start, and froze against Mark's side. He glanced at her, and then looked around them, but though there were several other vehicles on the sunny street they were traveling down, and a number of pedestrians, he saw nothing obvious to startle her. "What is it Elizabeth love?" He asked. "I just saw my cousin, in front of that milliner's shop we just passed, that group of three young women," she answered. "I don't think she saw us, but what if someone else we know sees us? And what on earth is she doing in town already?" "Weren't you worried about your aunt hearing the bans? I assumed it meant she lived in town," he replied calmly. "That's my other aunt, my aunt Babs, who does live in town, and goes to services every day," Elizabeth said worriedly. "It's alright love," he said soothingly, "most people who see us won't know that we aren't out with your parents permission, and if you like, we can use the coach instead until we're safely married." She nodded, and his lips quirked in a smile, but he didn't mention that the way she pressed against his side was perhaps less than decorous and more likely to catch attention than her identity.
