The Lady In Question by Victoria Alexander

presented himself, although she was fairly confident there would indeed be men interested in a young, wealthy widow. She did hope they were not as dull as those who had courted her before her marriage. No, surely such respectable, boring gentlemen would honor the restrictions of mourning and give her a wide berth. She brightened at the thought. The type of man she wished to become experienced with would not give such things as the rules of convention a second thought.
    “Will that be all for tonight, ma’am?”
    She looked up. Gordon stood towering over her. He had already cleared the plates from what could only optimistically be called supper. Again, she noted his height. He did seem to tower rather a lot.
    “I believe so.” She sighed again and got to her feet.
    It had been a very long day. She and Gordon had evaluated each and every room in the house save for Mrs. Miller’s, MacPherson’s and the other servants’ quarters on the upper floor, Gordon’s room on the main floor and the kitchens belowstairs. She was certain those would all need, at the very least, a fresh coat of paint. She had no idea how he’d managed, but Charles had had only the two servants when they’d married. The furniture she was getting rid of elsewhere in the house was still more than serviceable and perhaps could be employed for use in the servants’ rooms. When she had servants, that is. She picked up her glass and started toward the library. She’d already replaced the book of poetry she’d given Gordon with the copy Charles had given her, the only thing she’d thus far removed from her trunks. Beyond that, and a handful of other books she’d already read, she’d yet to find anything of interest on the shelves. Still, there were a great number of books and surely there was something that might strike her fancy. She was too restless to retire and hoped that the later she put off bed, the more soundly she would sleep. She did not want to ever again awake in the middle of the night gripped by nameless fears and apprehensions.
    “If there is nothing else, then, my lady…”
    “Not a thing.” She would spend an hour or so perusing the library’s offerings until she was tired enough to sleep. A thought struck her and she paused. “Gordon, do you play backgammon?”
    “On occasion, ma’am.”
    “Would you care for a game?”
    He hesitated.
    “I know that once again I am wandering past traditional boundaries of our respective stations and, well” — she drew a deep breath — “damn it to hell, Gordon, I am bored and lonely and I cannot sleep and I shall go stark-raving mad if I have to talk to no one but myself for one more minute, and…and —”
    “Then I shall consider it my duty to join you.” He paused. “On one condition.”
    “Another condition, Gordon?” She shook her head in amusement. “And I thought I was the one overstepping my bounds.”
    “You are, my lady,” he said in his all-too-proper butler manner. “However, as you are, I should like to request you refrain from the use of expressions such as damn it to hell. I find it most distressing and not at all becoming in a woman of your position.”
    “You are absolutely right.” She stifled a smile. It was obviously her newfound sense of independence that provoked such language, even if both she and her sister had on occasion employed less-than-proper language and had discovered a wicked sense of satisfaction in doing so. Still, given his age and experience and sense of propriety, she could not fault him for chastising her. “I shall contain myself in the future.” She turned again toward the library, glancing back at him. “I should warn you, however, while I do understand the game and have played now and again, I am by no means very accomplished at it.”
    “Excellent, my lady.” He skillfully stepped around her, opening the library door before she reached it. His speed and agility never failed to amaze her. “As I am really quite good.”
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