Page 56 of Kidnapping Cordelia

―Excerpt of a letter from Her Grace, Georgina Seymour, The Duchess of Rochford to The Lady Cordelia Anderson.

22ndApril 1850, Brabster Farm, The Highlands of Scotland.

Delia laughed as Muir swung her down from the carriage, stealing another kiss before he let her go and making her blush for the carriage driver and the footmen were grinning broadly. She knew all her belongings had been transported to the farm earlier that morning along with her new maid, Ally. Lady Morven had arranged the hiring of the girl for her, assuring Delia she was a cheerful soul, hardworking and discreet, and to be relied upon. A fact Delia was heartily glad for after her own maid had disdained to come and live in Scotland.

She took Muir’s arm as he led her towards the front door, where the formidable Mrs Paterson was waiting with a face like thunder. Delia quailed somewhat but stiffened her spine.

“Ye can hire more staff if ye wish to,” Muir told her in an undertone as they approached the house. “I didnae feel the need for it with just me living here, but ye may do as ye see fit, and with the house, too. If ye wish to change anything, anything at all, I dinnae mind it.”

“Thank you,” she said, knowing he was trying hard to make her feel at ease. Delia, however, had an idea of what the trouble was with his irascible housekeeper and wasn’t about to take the easy way out. “You’re very kind, but I shouldn’t dream of changing anything without asking your opinion first,” she said with a smile.

“Ach, ye may if ye wish, but there’s nae need.”

Delia might have explained why it was necessary not to make sweeping changes without a word of discussion, but it was too late as they stood before Mrs Paterson.

“Mrs Paterson, ye have already met, but I shall present ye formally to yer new mistress. My Lady Cordelia Anderson, my cook and housekeeper, Mrs Paterson.”

Mrs Paterson bobbed a neat curtsy, her expression remaining one of displeasure.

“I’m sure we will get along nicely,” Delia told her firmly. “There is bound to be a time of adjustment for both of us, but I have seen enough of the house to know that you manage it wonderfully well, considering how little help you have for such a large property.”

“Aye, a laundry maid once a week and that little chit of MacTavish’s who’s nae better than she should be,” she said with a sniff. “It’s not what it ought to be, that much I have said repeatedly.”

“Well, I’m sure we can do better than that now Mr Anderson has a wife to take care of such details,” Delia said, holding her gaze, determined the woman see she was ready to help, but not to be bullied. “Once I am settled, we can discuss matters, and you may tell me all the things you feel need changing or updating. Between us, I’m sure we can put all to rights.”

“Aye,” Mrs Paterson said, her expression becoming a little less forbidding. “Well, there’s that range, for one thing. Mrs Baillie has one which is far bigger and more modern than mine, ye ken, for his lordship updated it last year.”

“Did he now?” Delia exclaimed, relieved her suspicions about where much of the woman’s resentment sprang from had been correct.

“Aye, and the one I have was installed when the house was built, nigh on thirty years ago,” she indignantly. “Not that anything I cook isnae every bit as good as anything that’s served at the castle,” she added, her chin going up.

“Oh, I should never doubt it. Muir has told me what a wonderful cook you are, Mrs Paterson, and I have tasted the truth of it myself, of course, for the picnics you’ve provided us with have been wonderful. The pies were especially delicious.”

Mrs Paterson straightened, her chest expanding a little as her eyes warmed a degree. “It’s been said I’ve a fair hand with the pastry, ’tis true.”

“Indeed, you do, and that a cook of your calibre has not a modern range to work with, really… Muir, what were you thinking?” she said, praying Muir would understand what she was about and go along with her.

He returned a sheepish look and shrugged, and she could have kissed him.

“I didnae ken it was that important, for I have had nae complaints about the food that arrives at my table.”

“That is hardly the point,” Delia said, giving him a stern look. “You ought to make Mrs Paterson’s life easier, when there is so much for her to do already.”

Delia reached out and squeezed the woman’s hand. “Don’t you fret, Mrs Paterson. You make me a nice long list of all the things you believe need changing or updating, and what staff you think the house should have to run smoothly. Then I will check that against the available budget, and you may be sure I will give you as much as I can. Thank you so much for making me feel so welcome. I am looking forward to working with you immensely.”

“Well, I… Indeed, as am I,” Mrs Paterson said, looking rather like she might mean it, and as if she wasn’t entirely certain what had just happened.

“If ye will excuse us,” Muir cut in hurriedly, before the lady could gather herself. Towing Delia past the usually indomitable woman, he swept her into his arms and carried her over the threshold.

Delia laughed and then protested as he refused to put her down, heading for the stairs.

“Muir, I can walk!” she said, pushing at his chest as he climbed the stairs.

“Not on yer life,” he replied, shaking his head. “I dinnae ken what magic ye just used on Mrs Paterson, but she was very near smiling at us, and that’s a sight I dinnae want in my head on my wedding night, thank ye very much.”

Delia snorted. “Don’t be dreadful,” she scolded him, though she had to admit a smiling Mrs Paterson was too disturbing to consider. “And the poor woman is just starved of attention. I don’t doubt you devour everything she puts before you and never set foot in the kitchen or ask her what’s for dinner. Everyone needs a bit of attention, Muir. You must take an interest and praise her efforts.”

“I always say thank ye and that it was a splendid meal,” Muir protested.