Page 52 of Impetuous

“Miss Yorke?” Joanna looked as if a bad odor had crossed under her nose. “The…housekeeper?”

“Mmm. I suppose one could call her that, but she is primarily in charge of the children’s education. Mrs. Watson does the housekeeping.” She rose to her feet. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I must tend to that, and, of course, I must tell Henri about the picnic lunch.” She looked a bit daunted by this idea. “I don’t know how I shall get across to him what I want. I don’t believe the man speaks a word of English. I cannot imagine why Philip brought him here—except, of course, that his sauces are really quite delicious. And his desserts! Lady Neville loves them, you know, so I suppose it is a good thing.” She sighed. “But I find him so intimidating. I try to tell him what I want, and he starts babbling in French, and I cannot understand a thing he says. He waves his arms about and gets all red in the face. So generally, of course, I just let him do as he pleases, and that seems to work well enough. But I’m not sure he would quite understand a ‘picnic.’”

“I am sure Cassandra could talk to him,” Joanna volunteered. “She knows French.”

Cassandra glanced at her cousin, surprised. Joanna was not in the habit of pointing out anyone else’s accomplishments. Then she realized that Joanna was probably hoping to relegate Cassandra to the level of the staff, to embroil her in running the household and keep her out of the drawing room, giving Joanna free access to Philip’s company.

“Do you really?” Violet turned to Cassandra, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Yes, I do, and I would be happy to talk to him, if you’d like.”

“That would be wonderful!” Violet beamed. “I do hate to impose on you, but…”

“It’s no bother at all,” Cassandra assured her, rising.

“Wonderful! Come along, then.” She started toward the door, motioning to Cassandra. “Let us go right now, and you can translate everything I say for him. This will be marvelous! You are a jewel to do this for me.”

Cassandra suspected from the look on Joanna’s face that she had not intended for Lady Neville to go with Cassandra to the kitchen. She had probably envisioned Cassandra making her way like one of the staff to the kitchen while Violet remained in the sitting room with them, grateful to Joanna for suggesting it.

They found Henri in the kitchen, overseeing the preparations for luncheon. He looked none too happy to see them, but bowed humbly and released a spate of French. Violet looked immediately unhappy and worried. Cassandra quickly returned the chef’s effusive greeting, and his eyes lit up.

“Mademoiselle!” he cried as if she had just offered him a chest of gold, and launched into an even longer speech.

It took her only a few minutes to sympathize with the man’s frustration and homesickness and to assure him as to Lady Neville’s delight with his food. He perked up a good bit at Cassandra’s fulsome words of praise, and when she then conveyed the special request for the noon meal the next day, he answered with a careless wave of his hand that it would be no trouble at all, merely another challenge for his culinary skills.

They had just left the vast kitchen and were making their way toward the front of the house when a side door opened and Sir Philip stepped in.

“Mother! Miss Verrere. Just who I wanted to see.”

“How sweet of you, dear.” Lady Neville presented her cheek to him to kiss. “We have been talking to your chef. Miss Verrere knows French. Isn’t that clever?”

He grinned at Cassandra. “Miss Verrere is a very clever girl, I find.”

“Hardly a girl,” Cassandra corrected, striving to keep her voice cool. Her heart had leaped in her chest at the sight of him, and she had to struggle not to return his grin. But she was determined not to let him charm her into being another one of his victims. She was not some man-crazy thing like Joanna nor deluded enough to think that she alone would be the one woman whom he married rather than abandoned.

Philip raised a brow at her tone, but said only, “If you are not in need of Miss Verrere’s services any longer, Mother, I had promised to show her the library today.”

“Of course not, dear, go right ahead. I must send Miss Yorke an invitation, anyway.”

“Invitation to what?”

“You explain it to him, dear,” Violet told Cassandra, already walking away from them.

“Explain what to me?” Philip turned to Cassandra.

“We are picnicking tomorrow at something called Linning Broad.”

“Egad. All of us?”

“Yes, including your Miss Yorke.” Cassandra kept her voice and face aloof.

Philip groaned. “I should have known that Mother would think she needed to entertain us. Ah, well, we had better get to work, if we are going to waste tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Of course.”

He glanced at her oddly, but guided her along the hallway to where it branched and then on to the library. Cassandra gasped when she stepped inside. It was an enormous room, rising to the height of two floors, with a small balcony on the second floor. A winding metal staircase rose up to the balcony. One wall was a line of windows on both floors, flooding the room with light, which was augmented by sconces on the walls and shaded reading lamps on a desk and two small tables. There were several comfortable chairs near the lamps, creating small, cozy areas in which to read. But most of all, there were books, rows and rows of books. Wooden bookcases were built from floor to ceiling on both levels, filling almost three entire walls of the room.

“Oh! How beautiful!” Cassandra turned, looking all around her. “I have never seen a lovelier room!”