The Arrangement by Joan Wolf Page A

door closed behind her, I let out a long, slow breath and went to sit in the window seat, my mind awhirl.
    Once, I had thought Devane Hall was the height of luxury. But Devane Hall was like a peasant’s cottage compared to this place.
    I did not want even to contemplate what the Earl of Savile must have thought of my ramshackle establishment.
    Then I thought defiantly, Why the devil should I care what the Earl of Savile might think?
    Another thought struck me, and I grinned. Don’t become too awestruck, Gail. Remember, you had the owner of this magnificent pile painting your extra bedroom!
    * * * *
    My portmanteau was delivered and I unpacked it in my dressing room, which contained a modern dressing table made of rosewood banded by yellow satin wood, a large rosewood wardrobe with brass knobs in the form of lion masks, and a brass-trimmed cheval glass. I washed my face and hands in the hot water that Mrs. Ferrer had provided and scrutinized my silk evening dress, thankful to see that it had collected a minimum of wrinkles. I hung it up in the wardrobe, put on my dressing gown, and went to sit in the window seat and look out at the snow.
    Tonight I would meet George’s wife for the first time. Of course, she was not his wife any longer, I corrected myself. Now she was his widow.
    I knew that my hatred of Harriet Melville was irrational. It was not her fault that George had married her for her money. But strong emotions are never rational, and I did hate her.
    I had been delighted when her three children turned out to be girls.
    Was this petty? Yes, it was.
    Was this un-Christian? Yes, it was.
    Was this honest? Yes, it was.
    Was I looking forward to seeing her face when George’s bequest to Nicky was read out by the solicitor? Yes, I was.
    I looked at the clock on the mantel and realized that I had better get dressed if I was to be ready when the footman came to fetch me.
    I put on my evening dress and sat at the dressing table, thinking about what I might do with my hair. I had few options, as I kept it cut short and close to my head. In the end I just threaded a blue velvet ribbon through my feathery curls and fastened my only jewelry, my mother’s small, diamond drop earrings.
    When I looked at myself in the full-length mirror I thought I looked presentable.
    The footman, a tall young man in the blue and gold livery of the Earl of Savile, arrived. He led me back down the bedroom passageway, through the small parlors and the ballroom, down the stairs into the Great Hall, through what appeared to be the music room, and into a splendid-looking formal drawing room done all in pale blue damask, where a group of people were gathered before the coal fire.
    “Mrs. Saunders! Do come in,” said Lady Regina, advancing to meet me. She took my hand in a friendly way and began to draw me forward.
    The earl was standing with his shoulders against the wall next to the ornate fireplace and he gave me a nod and a pleasant, “I hope you have recovered from the rigors of our journey, Mrs. Saunders.”
    I looked at him. He was wearing evening dress: white shirt and neckcloth, perfectly fitted black coat, and tight-fitting black trousers. He smiled at me but his eyes looked somber.
    “Yes, thank you, my lord,” I replied, “I have.”
    “Allow me to introduce you to my cousin Lady Devane,” Lady Regina said next, and I turned to look at the woman seated in a Sheraton chair at a little distance from the fire.
    The first thing I noticed was that she was rather stout. The second thing I noticed was that the corners of her eyes drooped oddly, as if she were fatigued. The third thing I noticed was that she was looking at me with undisguised suspicion.
    “Saunders?” she said to me. “Are you any connection to Squire Saunders from Hatfield?”
    I could feel Lady Regina snap to attention next to me.
    “I am his daughter-in-law,” I returned with dignity. “Or rather, I was his daughter-in-law. My husband died some six years