A Mother For His Family. Susanne Dietze

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      Perhaps Helena had mistaken their appointed time. She smiled at the plump woman of middle years, who carried with her the fresh smell of rosemary. “Do I take you away from an urgent matter?”

      “Not at all, milady.”

      A fudge if ever Helena had heard one. The housekeeper’s sullen expression did not come close to matching her words.

      Helena began to open her mouth to ask if another time was more convenient, or question if something had happened to upset the housekeeper.

      This staff does not respect you yet. Make them. Mama’s words resounded through her mind.

      “Then let us begin.” Heavens, Mama’s voice wasn’t just in her head. It was in her mouth, too. But her tone created the desired effect. Mrs. McGill had the grace to blink, although her mouth remained set in a pout.

      “Aye, milady. Where should you like to start?”

      Helena folded her hands over her waist. She knew how to run a household. Time to prove it. “Anywhere you wish, so long as I view it all.”

      Mrs. McGill stepped back, sending the keys on the silver chatelaine pinned to her waist to jingling. Helena passed her through the threshold.

      If Mrs. McGill thought to bore her by showing her every last nook and cranny, she was in error. Helena found the stillroom to be clean and organized, perfumed with lavender and rosemary drying from hooks, and she expressed her approval of the supply of tinctures, vinegars and balms prepared by the stillroom maid. She exclaimed over the spotless house, and nodded in appreciation at the well-stocked larders and cupboards. Candles, cheese and meats awaited future use, and a closet fragrant with the sweet scent of dried apples coaxed a pang of hunger from Helena’s stomach that was only heightened when they visited the savory-scented kitchen.

      She’d eaten so little in the past few weeks, it was a relief to feel hungry again.

      At tour’s end, she ordered tea delivered to the morning room, along with a small plate to assuage her appetite until dinner.

      “Anything else, milady?”

      Now it was Helena’s turn to frown. No amount of praise could charm a smile from the housekeeper. So do not praise, Mama’s voice said.

      Helena fixed her smile in place. Froze. Prepared to dismiss Mrs. McGill as Mama would.

      But I’m not Mama. Nor am I Catriona. Helena could only be herself, and she wanted the housekeeper’s affinity. Their duties kept them in one another’s spheres, so it was best if they got along.

      Helena let her smile crack. “Nothing further, but I’m grateful for your efforts. Thank you for executing your responsibilities so well.”

      Mrs. McGill’s frown altered into a confused curl.

      After the housekeeper curtsied and left, Helena’s mouth relaxed. She’d done it, soothed the housekeeper’s frown. A rush of triumph shot through her veins.

      It had been a rough first day, perhaps, but not all bad. Louisa tossed a ball, the housekeeper defrosted a degree and her husband would be pleased that she’d dismissed the unskilled applicant for the children’s governess. All in all, she’d accomplished a great deal on her first day as the Lady Ardoch.

      She welcomed the tea’s arrival and poured herself a full cup. If one day’s success was any indication of the years to come, she’d count herself blissfully married, indeed.

      * * *

      His wife had done what?

      John set his fork onto the rim of the Wedgwood plate with a soft chink. Astounding he hadn’t dropped the utensil altogether. “Pardon me, but I didn’t quite hear that last bit.”

      Helena nibbled her food, unable to answer until she swallowed.

      Across the gleaming mahogany expanse of the dining table, she made the perfect picture of a lady, all berry-colored silk and proper deportment. Her jeweled combs and pale hair glowed in the candlelight, a glittering contrast to the matte of the marine-blue wall behind her. She looked every bit the daughter of a duke. A lovely daughter of a duke.

      John retrieved his fork. He’d known she would be fair of face, of course. Her parents were fine in looks, and apples tended to not fall far from the trees on which they sprouted. But perhaps it might have been preferable if Helena had been, well, plain. It seemed rather disrespectful to Catriona to have married such a beautiful woman.

      John’s grip on the fork tightened. So his new wife was attractive. There was no shame in finding her so. As long as he did not act on an attraction, he would be a man of his word.

      Perhaps these...feelings...had more to do with dining in the company of a lady again. He had not done so in a long time. Longer even than the three years Catriona had been gone. Although his conversation with Helena, who detailed her first day as his wife like his man of business listed cattle prices, was nothing like dining with Catriona.

      She swallowed, patted her lips with a linen serviette and smiled. “I said the ragout of celery is divine. So is the salmon. What a delicate leek sauce.”

      Any taste of leeks lingering on John’s tongue had disintegrated to sawdust. “Before that. About the governess?”

      “Unsuitable was the word I used.” She forked another bite of salmon.

      “How so?” At Helena’s furrowed brow, he lifted a hand. “Perhaps you were not aware how desperate the children’s need is. Our last governess left without warning.”

      “I was acquainted with that information.” Her mouth turned down in a fair imitation of her father’s disapproving grimace. “From the children.”

      How did the bairns know about Miss McManus and Mr. Robertson? John’s stomach twisted. It seemed the servants had not shown restraint, gossiping in front of his children. Here was yet another reason why he needed a lady in the house to oversee things.

      “I share your displeasure over the matter. However, I had expected to remedy the problem of a governess today, as we discussed this morning. Could we have not made this one work?”

      “No.” She started to chew her lip, then pressed her lips together instead. “What the children require is a governess of character and education. This woman today did not even use a handkerchief. I do not think she owns one.”

      Was that all? “We provide our servants with handkerchiefs.”

      “We’d need to provide her more than that before she could teach Margaret anything. She lacked knowledge of globes, French or history.” Helena’s eyes sparked. “But she knew plenty about flogging. I know it happens at boys’ schools, but I never expected to hear of it as a disciplinary option from a governess.”

      Neither did John. “Are you certain she said that? Mayhap you misheard—”

      “I did not mishear her.”

      “But she could be instructed of how things are done at Comraich—”

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