Virtue's Reward by Jean R. Ewing Page A

saying good-bye. Of course, it didn’t mean the same to him as it had to her. Men had their needs and women accommodated them. If he had been skilled enough that she had been so moved by it, that meant only that he was experienced.
    What had she overheard his father say? “Why not set her up in a place in London like your other mistresses?”
    Men did the very same thing with their mistresses, didn’t they? She must not let it disturb her. Yet it did. Very much! In fact, she couldn’t bear to think that he would act that way with any other woman. Good Lord! Was she falling in love with him?
    In something akin to panic, she looked up at Mrs. Hood.
    “I should like to see the house right away,” she heard herself say calmly. “Shall we begin downstairs?”
    They began in the hallway. Helena had hardly noticed the previous night, but the entrance was simple and elegant, even with its ornate Jacobean ceiling. Several doors led off into the formal rooms.
    As they passed through them, Mrs. Hood flung wide the wooden shutters and let the bright sunshine stream in. Yellow beams danced over shrouded chairs and sofas and desks, over the dining table, the sideboards, the leather spines of the books in the library.
    “Everything seems to be in very good order,” Helena commented eventually. “You have surely not kept up all this by yourself?”
    “Oh, no, my lady. We get a gaggle of girls up from the village every week to scrub and polish. Of course, Hood does all the silver himself, and no one else is allowed to touch the books or paintings but ourselves.”
    “Then let us see if any of those girls are in need of a permanent place. Eventually we shall need a complete staff, but for now I shall put it in your hands to hire on a minimum complement of servants until Viscount Lenwood returns. But I would like this blue drawing room usable right away.”
    The room was lovely. French windows looked out over the back of the house. From what she could see, there was a mass of white roses flowing over a wicker arch that framed the entrance to a stone patio. She must have a room to use until Richard returned, and how could she guess when that might be? And the housekeeper and butler could hardly take care of the house alone now that there was family in residence.
    Or would it be only herself? Would Richard come back at all?
    “This can be my retreat for now,” she said serenely.
    Mrs. Hood nodded and continued to lead her through room after room. No wonder her husband loved this house! It was neither enormously grand nor pretentious, but each chamber had classic proportions that welcomed and lifted the spirit.
    They left the family apartments, and Helena followed the housekeeper through the workrooms: the cool sunken buttery with its marble counters; the laundry with its huge copper cauldron; the pantry, stillroom, and wine cellar. Nothing had been allowed to gather dust.
    Upstairs was the same. Helena inspected bedrooms and withdrawing rooms and dressing rooms. She even took a look at the servants’ quarters in the attics. By the time Mrs. Hood served her a light luncheon in the kitchen, they had inspected every room in the house, except, of course, Richard’s bedroom and his study. No one but Hood himself saw to the master’s rooms.
    The next day the village girls arrived and made their nods and curtsies to the new mistress. Dust covers began to be folded and disappear into the labyrinth of storage rooms. Under Mrs. Hood’s capable direction the house started to reappear like a butterfly from the chrysalis.
    Helena left her at it and, tying on her straw bonnet, went out into the garden. In a few moments she was sitting beneath the bower of roses and castigating herself thoroughly for allowing silent tears to slip down her cheeks.
    How could Richard have gone off to London without her? How long did he intend to leave her here? And why, in heaven’s name, should she suddenly care so much?
    It had been not much more than a week