She would be able to charm everyone from cranky infants to curmudgeonly colonels. “I shall have to learn the art of supervising a large household. Can we afford more servants? The three here aren’t really enough for an establishment this size.”
He nodded. “The same card game where I won Hartley Manor also yielded a nice amount of money. With care there will be enough to staff the estate properly and make improvements. If the manor is managed well, it will produce a respectable income.”
Mariah frowned, not liking the reminder of how her father had acquired the manor. “The gentleman who lost the estate, was he left destitute?”
“George Burke comes from a wealthy family, so he won’t starve.” Charles shrugged. “He shouldn’t have gambled if he couldn’t afford to lose.”
Though she could not be as dismissive of Burke’s fate as her father, she didn’t pursue the subject. As a small child, she’d lived with her great-grandmother, who had gypsy blood. After Granny Rose’s death, Charles had taken Mariah with him everywhere. Though she loved her father, she’d never enjoyed their life on the road, where his charm and skill at cards had produced a sometimes erratic living.
When Charles’s wallet was particularly flat, Mariah had told fortunes at village fairs, a skill she’d learned from her grandmother. Mariah couldn’t see the future, but she was good at reading people, so they left feeling happier about their lives and prospects.
Fortune-telling was not a pursuit that Miss Clarke of Hartley Manor would ever admit to! Luckily, she wouldn’t have to do that again. “I’ll look for the estate account books so I’ll understand our finances better.”
“My practical little girl,” Charles said with amusement. “You’ll have this place in order in no time.”
“I certainly hope so.” She pulled a holland cloth cover off the nearest piece of furniture, revealing a wing chair upholstered in blue brocade. Like most of the furniture left in the house, it was worn but serviceable. Every room and wall had gaps where George Burke had removed the more valuable pieces. No matter—furniture and paintings could always be replaced. “With so few servants, neither house nor garden were as well cared for as one might wish.”
“Burke preferred spending his money on a fashionable life in London.” Charles looked at her with the regret revealed when he thought of the mother she couldn’t remember. “You will be a splendid lady of the manor. But I’d best warn you now that as soon as we’re settled, I must leave for a few weeks.”
She stared at him, dismayed. “Is that necessary, Papa? I thought now that we have a home, we will stay in it.”
“And so I will, Mariah.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I am not so young as I was, and the thought of a comfortable home is very appealing. But I have…some family business to take care.”
“Family business?” Mariah said, startled. “I didn’t know we had any relatives.”
“You have whole clutches of them.” Her father’s gaze shifted away from her to contemplate the sea again. “I was the black sheep and my father disowned me. With justice, I might add. Now that I have achieved respectability, it’s time to mend fences.”
Family. What a very strange concept. “You have brothers and sisters? I might have cousins?”
“Definitely cousins. Not that I’ve met any of them.” He sighed. “I was a very wild young man, Mariah. I didn’t start to grow up until I became responsible for you.”
She tried to imagine what it would be like to have family beyond her father. “Tell me about your—our—family.”
He shook his head. “I will say no more. I don’t want you to be disappointed if I am still forbidden the family home. I really have no idea what I’ll find there.” His expression was bleak.
“Surely at least some of your relations will welcome you back.” She tried not to sound wistful when she added, “Perhaps I can visit them?”
“I’m sure that even relations who still disapprove of me would be pleased to meet Miss Clarke of Hartley Manor.” He grinned. “Now let’s visit the kitchen. I’ve found that Mrs. Beckett is a most excellent cook.”
She followed happily, ready for some of the bread she’d smelled baking. It would be worth missing her father for a fortnight or two to finally have a family.
Hartley Manor, several weeks later
Mariah awoke with a ridiculous smile on her face, as she did every morning now. She slid from the bed, wrapped a robe around herself, and padded to the window to look out at the shimmering sands that bordered the sea. She still had trouble believing that this lovely estate had become her home. Granted, much work needed to be done, but every day there was some improvement. When her father returned, he would be surprised and pleased by her efforts.
A gentle rain drifted across the landscape, soft and magical. The dampest corner of England wouldn’t have been her first choice for a home, but no matter. Now that she was here, she loved every raindrop and twist of fog.
Hoping that she would receive a letter from her father today, she dressed, doing her best to look like her dignified imaginary sister. She began to comb out her hair while mentally listing her tasks for the day. After breaking her fast, she would go into the village. First she would call on the vicar, who had promised to suggest men who might make good outside servants.
Her thoughts lingered on the vicar. Mr. Williams was single and attractive, and she had detected warmth in his gaze whenever they met. If he was looking for a wife, he would want a Sarah, not a Mariah, but she was making progress at being respectable.
After visiting Mr. Williams, she would take tea with her new friend, Mrs. Julia Bancroft. Knowing a clever, amusing female near her own age was in some ways even better than the vicar’s admiration.
The local midwife, Julia was a young widow who was also the local substitute physician since there were no real doctors for miles around. She treated minor injuries and ailments and knew something of herbs.
They’d met after a church service and immediately struck up a friendship. Granny Rose had taught Mariah a great deal about herbs. Mariah wasn’t a natural healer like Julia, so she was pleased to pass on her great-grandmother’s knowledge to a woman who appreciated it.
When the snarls were out of her hair, she twisted a neat knot at the back of her head. Sarah approved. The young maid of all work arrived with a tray containing toast and a cup of hot chocolate and helped Mariah dress. Mariah felt like quite a grand lady.
After finishing her light repast, she pulled on her gloves and cloak, collected her straw bonnet, then headed down the stairs, whistling cheerfully. She stopped before reaching the kitchen. She was quite sure that Sarah wouldn’t know how to whistle.
“Good morning, miss.” The cook, Mrs. Beckett, spoke with a Cumbrian accent so thick that Mariah could barely understand it, but no matter. She was a good plain cook, and she welcomed the new owners because they were living in the house. For years, Mrs. Beckett had been a general housekeeper and sometime cook on the rare occasions when the previous owner had chosen to visit. It was good to have a steady position, she’d confided, but she’d missed having people about.
“Do you need anything from the village shops?” Mariah asked.
The
