expect nothing less and, frankly, I’m hurt that you would suppose otherwise.”
“Hurt! You must know that I think you in possession of the finest mind in all of England. That doesn’t mean I cannot marvel at it from time to time. Nor should you fly into a miff if one of these days, something does not go according to plan.”
“Such as the reason you stalked in here in high dudgeon this morning?”
“I shall ignore the gibe about ‘high dudgeon’ and inform you of the problem at once, before another thirty servants march about like pawns upon your chessboard. Cousin Blaylock had declined our invitation because his wife is increasing, but I’ve just got a note saying that they’ll be arriving after all, and are only a posting-house away. They’ll be here within the hour.”
“That’s hardly a catastrophe. He’s the most kindhearted parson of my acquaintance, and his young wife is a dream.”
“Did you not hear me say she’s also increasing? Blaylock’s note says she wishes to join us for luncheon, but her stomach cannot abide the sight or smell of fish. I’m guessing salmon is one of the very things the kitchens have spent the morning preparing.”
“An exceedingly good guess.” Salmon was her brother’s favorite dish, and since he attended luncheons so infrequently, Amelia strove to always have it present when he did. “Just a moment, please.”
Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper, hurried toward them from down the corridor. She dipped a curtsey when she reached the parlor. “You rang, my lady?”
Ravenwood narrowed his eyes at Amelia. “You rang? When did you ring? I’ve been standing right next to you!”
“She rang a quarter past, I’m afraid.” The housekeeper’s cheeks flushed. “There was a small to-do with Miss Catalini’s tea, but it is all settled now.”
“You did quite right by attending to our present guests first,” Amelia thanked her warmly. “Now then. Please instruct the cook that we will substitute sirloin of beef instead of fish at luncheon today. The rest of the dishes will remain unchanged. I trust there will be no problem?”
“None at all, my lady. The beef is very nearly done already, and I must say it all smells delightful. Your guests will be quite pleased.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brown. That is all.”
Ravenwood held up his hands. “When did you— How—?”
“The moment I read Aunt Blaylock’s letter.” Amelia gestured at the neatly stacked piles of correspondence atop the cherrywood table as she settled into her wingback chair. “Do have a seat.”
He sank into the chair opposite as if he barely registered its presence. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
Amelia laughed. “Reams of things. I haven’t the least idea how many attend Parliament, for example, or what the new issues will be for 1816. That is your domain. But I do consider it my responsibility to know everything there is to know about anything that could be considered my domain. I believe I am quite adept at the management of people and events.”
His green eyes twinkled. “You’ve certainly managed me since the day I was born.”
“I was but three years old when you were born,” she protested. “I didn’t start managing you for at least another year.”
Before her brother could reply, the underbutler strode into the parlor with a tray bearing two biscuits and a single glass of port.
Ravenwood’s shock gave way to humor. “You’re drinking spirits now? I would too if I had to play puppet-master all day in this household. In fact, it’s quite bad of you not to have at least ordered a matching glass for me. I do intend to steal one of those biscuits. Cinnamon raisin is my favorite.”
The butler presented him with the tray. “For you, my lord.”
Ravenwood cut his gaze to his sister. “You can’t be serious.”
She arched a brow. “As it happens, the staff is on standing order to bring this specific refreshment at once, should you enter the yellow parlor while I am
“Hurt! You must know that I think you in possession of the finest mind in all of England. That doesn’t mean I cannot marvel at it from time to time. Nor should you fly into a miff if one of these days, something does not go according to plan.”
“Such as the reason you stalked in here in high dudgeon this morning?”
“I shall ignore the gibe about ‘high dudgeon’ and inform you of the problem at once, before another thirty servants march about like pawns upon your chessboard. Cousin Blaylock had declined our invitation because his wife is increasing, but I’ve just got a note saying that they’ll be arriving after all, and are only a posting-house away. They’ll be here within the hour.”
“That’s hardly a catastrophe. He’s the most kindhearted parson of my acquaintance, and his young wife is a dream.”
“Did you not hear me say she’s also increasing? Blaylock’s note says she wishes to join us for luncheon, but her stomach cannot abide the sight or smell of fish. I’m guessing salmon is one of the very things the kitchens have spent the morning preparing.”
“An exceedingly good guess.” Salmon was her brother’s favorite dish, and since he attended luncheons so infrequently, Amelia strove to always have it present when he did. “Just a moment, please.”
Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper, hurried toward them from down the corridor. She dipped a curtsey when she reached the parlor. “You rang, my lady?”
Ravenwood narrowed his eyes at Amelia. “You rang? When did you ring? I’ve been standing right next to you!”
“She rang a quarter past, I’m afraid.” The housekeeper’s cheeks flushed. “There was a small to-do with Miss Catalini’s tea, but it is all settled now.”
“You did quite right by attending to our present guests first,” Amelia thanked her warmly. “Now then. Please instruct the cook that we will substitute sirloin of beef instead of fish at luncheon today. The rest of the dishes will remain unchanged. I trust there will be no problem?”
“None at all, my lady. The beef is very nearly done already, and I must say it all smells delightful. Your guests will be quite pleased.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brown. That is all.”
Ravenwood held up his hands. “When did you— How—?”
“The moment I read Aunt Blaylock’s letter.” Amelia gestured at the neatly stacked piles of correspondence atop the cherrywood table as she settled into her wingback chair. “Do have a seat.”
He sank into the chair opposite as if he barely registered its presence. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
Amelia laughed. “Reams of things. I haven’t the least idea how many attend Parliament, for example, or what the new issues will be for 1816. That is your domain. But I do consider it my responsibility to know everything there is to know about anything that could be considered my domain. I believe I am quite adept at the management of people and events.”
His green eyes twinkled. “You’ve certainly managed me since the day I was born.”
“I was but three years old when you were born,” she protested. “I didn’t start managing you for at least another year.”
Before her brother could reply, the underbutler strode into the parlor with a tray bearing two biscuits and a single glass of port.
Ravenwood’s shock gave way to humor. “You’re drinking spirits now? I would too if I had to play puppet-master all day in this household. In fact, it’s quite bad of you not to have at least ordered a matching glass for me. I do intend to steal one of those biscuits. Cinnamon raisin is my favorite.”
The butler presented him with the tray. “For you, my lord.”
Ravenwood cut his gaze to his sister. “You can’t be serious.”
She arched a brow. “As it happens, the staff is on standing order to bring this specific refreshment at once, should you enter the yellow parlor while I am
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