was not strictly true, he conceded. She was also kind and thoughtful. The way she looked after Reggie was admirable. The pair of them were constantly to be found in each other’s company. Ross rarely collided with her, and he had the distinct feeling that was deliberate. They corresponded through the maids, or little notes that she left atop his desk in the surprisingly flamboyant sloping handwriting that did not suit her repressed and dour character in the slightest. It was far too...effervescent—too devil-may-care for such a repressed and formal woman.
Despite her lack of sociability, he could not complain about her work ethic or her common sense. As a housekeeper she was a marvel. In the last fortnight Mrs Prim had made great inroads into transforming Barchester Hall from a wreck to a home. Pretty soon it would be a suitable home for his sister and mother. A nice, snug place where they would be safe for ever.
Parts of the house were beginning to look much better already. The morning room had been stripped, the paint and papers had quickly been selected for the walls, and a great deal of the shabby upholstery and rugs throughout the house had disappeared. He actually looked forward to coming home. Instead of the dank and musty smell of neglect, his house smelled of polish—and increasingly of fresh paint. It was beginning to have a cosy feel that was most comforting, thanks to Prim, and he made a point of taking a keen interest in each new change.
Why didn’t she like him?
Ross must have been scowling, because he noticed Reggie grinning at him smugly.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked as he stood up from the table.
‘You are.’ Reggie pointed at him with his fork. ‘You’ve got the hump because Mrs Prim don’t like you.’
‘Hardly,’ he replied peevishly, irritated that Reggie was a little bit right. Women were always charmed by him. He had the knack. Usually. ‘I could not care less either way.’
Why the devil did she not like him? Had he inadvertently done something to upset or offend her since he had moved in to Barchester Hall? And what on earth made her prefer Reggie to him? That was just insulting. Much as he liked the big oaf, he was certainly not as likeable and definitely not as handsome or charming as Ross was himself. Surely the woman was not still holding a grudge about their first meeting?
Ross marched out of the breakfast room and went off in search of his housekeeper, determined to make her re-evaluate her opinion of him. It had become a point of personal pride. People always liked him—well, most people liked him. He worked hard to ensure that they did. His business depended on it. If his housekeeper did not, then he simply had to change her poor opinion of him. It would give him something to do, if nothing else.
He spied her in her little office near the kitchen and marched towards her. The door was slightly ajar and she had not yet noticed him, but something about the way she sat made him stop and loiter in the passageway.
For a start, her floppy cap was not stuffed on her head and he got his first proper look at her. Her hair was thick, with an obvious natural wave to it, and, although it was secured in an austere knot at the back of her head, there was no disguising the fact that it was quite lovely. It seemed to run the gamut of shades of blonde. The fine tendrils that sat at the base of her swan-like neck were pale golden, the rest was a swirl of honey, wheat and bronze.
Stranger still was the fact that her unattractive spectacles had been carelessly discarded, despite the fact that she was busily recording numbers in a large ledger. She clearly did not need them for close work either, it seemed. All in all she was a very tidy little package.
Ross leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded. ‘Morning Prim,’ he said cheerfully, and watched her nearly jump out of her skin and hastily turn towards him.
Without the glasses and the lace cap she was a very pretty woman indeed. Her pink lips formed a startled ‘O’ as she blinked at him in surprise. Her eyes were not even slightly frog-like. They were large, though, deep blue, and framed in lovely long lashes.
He gave her an assessing half-smile. ‘Somebody has been hiding their light under a bushel,’ he drawled appreciatively, and then he smiled again as she grabbed her cap and plonked it ruthlessly on her head and scrambled for her glasses.
‘I think we both know that you don’t need those,’ he said, and at the same time he reached out and plucked the wire frames off her small nose. He held the offending glasses up to his eyes and then put them on. ‘Good grief, these are thick. Did they belong to a blind person?’ He tentatively took a few steps around the small office, his flailing arms outstretched for comic effect. ‘No wonder you always look over the top of them. Do they give you a headache?’
They did. Hannah had taken to removing them at every opportunity—hence her current predicament. ‘Give those back!’ she hissed, and she could feel a virulent flush of embarrassment sweep over her face.
‘You do not need them to read,’ he responded suspiciously, ‘and you constantly peer over them—never through them. In actual fact, I suspect that they are not even yours.’
She was glowing beetroot-red now, and clearly flummoxed. Obviously he had sailed dangerously close to the truth. Ross leaned over her and peered through the glasses. ‘Why do you wear them? Are they a disguise?’ He wiggled his dark eyebrows, as if greatly intrigued by the mystery.
His canny comment left her momentarily speechless. Her mouth opened to issue a denial, and then closed as she realised that she had been caught red-handed. ‘Yes—I suppose they are,’ she finally whispered, certain that the game was up. But he was still smiling... Then an idea struck. ‘I did not think you would employ me if you realised how young I actually am.’
His dark head tilted to one side and his mouth curved slightly in amusement. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Most housekeepers are well into their fortieth or fiftieth years. I am not yet thirty.’ If she was going to keep her position she had to tell him some of the truth. It was not as if he did not have concrete evidence of the fact staring back at him.
‘Is that why you wear the ugly cap as well?’ he asked, glancing at the top of her head. ‘Because if it is you should probably take that off too.’
Hannah reached up guiltily and pulled the mob cap off and placed it on the table. Then she stood primly facing him, with her hands folded in front of her. He was still wearing her aunt’s reading glasses and was peering at her over the top of them with a friendly smile on his face. He should have looked ridiculous—instead he appeared handsome. Her stupid heart gave a little flutter as he regarded her thoughtfully for a few moments.
‘You are very good at your job, Prim, so you have nothing to worry about. Already this house is beginning to look significantly better, and I should probably thank you for that. I have been very remiss in not doing so sooner. You have done a splendid job of organising the staff and the tradesmen—so much so that I am more than happy to let you get on with it despite your obvious lack of years.
‘I quite admire your tenacity. You saw an opportunity and you seized it. I cannot be angry at that—I have done it a time or two myself, in fact. You have proved yourself to be more than capable of running this house, despite your lack of age. Not to mention your obvious talent for choosing the correct colours and furniture for each of the rooms. It is a relief to be able to delegate that task to you and trust in the outcome. You seem to instinctively know what is best for this place—far better than I do. I am quite clueless, really. I could not ask for a more competent housekeeper, and already I feel that I would be lost without you.’
He
