At least she was free to explore the core of the house, if not the wings, and she knew the first place she wanted to see: the library. She asked a footman to direct her to the library, and as soon as she approached it, she smiled. She could hear laughter inside and was glad of the sound.
But the moment she opened the door and stepped inside, the laughter stopped. The room was full of men, all of them smoking huge cigars and reading newspapers or talking, and when they saw her, they halted. It didn’t take any great detective work to figure out that this was a “no females allowed” room. She backed out and nearly ran into the footman.
“I believe, miss, that you want the gold drawing room.”
She smiled at him in gratitude and followed him through three rooms. The house had been done in the Adam style and everywhere was the most exquisite detailing. The walls were covered in silk brocade, brocade so old that in places it was shattered, but it was still lovely. Several of the chairs that were placed here and there were obviously in need of repair.
The gold drawing room was so named because it was practically covered in gold leaf. Mirrors were framed in gold leaf, all molding was picked out in gold, and the furniture dripped gold. There were eight women in the room, all of them huddled by a meager fire, all of them bent over embroidery frames. From the looks of the worn covers on the chairs, their work was needed.
When Claire entered, the women had been talking in low voices, but they halted when they saw her. She had the distinct feeling that they had been discussing her. No one made any effort to include her in the conversation; no one seemed the least curious about her, so Claire smiled at them and walked about the room, hoping they would resume their talking. But they didn’t, and after a while she left.
She went back to her bedroom and told Miss Rogers she had decided to take a walk and that she needed her brown walking costume and her sturdiest shoes. Miss Rogers’s shock had registered on her gray face.
“Now what?” Claire said tiredly. “Am I not allowed to walk?”
“Her Grace says ladies should not walk in the morning when the dew is still on the ground. You must wait until the afternoon.”
“Well, I’m not going to wait until the afternoon. I’m going to walk now.”
Miss Rogers sniffed, letting Claire know what she thought of this insolence. As a result Miss Rogers could not find the dress Claire wanted to wear, nor could she find the shoes. Claire ended in finding her own clothes and dressing herself.
It was eleven-thirty in the morning before she was able to get out of the house. She stood outside the door and breathed deeply of the fresh, clean Scottish air, then began walking. Maybe it was her suppressed anger at herself, at all the people in the house, but whatever it was, she spent hours walking.
For all that the house needed a great deal of refurbishing, the gardens were divine. There was a wild garden, so called because it was meant to simulate nature, if nature were perfect, that is. There was a small garden of topiary animals that made her laugh. There were three enclosed flower gardens, an orchard, and there were two lovely buildings where one could sit and look out over the hills in the distance.
When she at last returned to the house at three-thirty, she was tired and hungry and happy. The outdoors and the exercise had renewed her spirits.
When she entered her room, Miss Rogers was waiting for her with her usual sour look. “I am starved,” Claire said happily.
“Luncheon is from one until two.”
“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry I missed it.” To herself she wondered if luncheon was as delightful as breakfast. “Have something brought to me on a tray.”
“Her Grace does not allow food taken to the rooms unless one is ill. It makes too much work for the staff.”
It was on the tip of Claire’s tongue to say that servants were there to work, but she restrained herself. “Then tell the staff I’m ill and have something brought to me. I’ve been walking for miles and I’m hungry.”
“I cannot go against Her Grace’s requests,” Miss Rogers said.
For a moment the two women looked at each other, and Claire knew that this small, withered little woman was going to win because Claire did not want to cause problems in the household. Claire’s intuition warned her that Harry would be told if she broke the rules and he would be displeased by her breaking of them.
“I shall get my own food,” Claire said in disgust, and stormed past the woman. At home in New York, in her parents’ house, she had often eaten in the kitchen after she’d come in from one of her long walks or from a ride in the southern part of the city.
It took her a while to find the kitchen. Every footman or maid she asked for directions looked as though she’d said something obscene. By the time she did find the kitchens, she was thoroughly frustrated and her head was hurting from hunger.
As soon as she reached the door that separated the staff quarters from the main house she heard laughter, and, smiling, she pushed the door open and went into the first room. The men with their sleeves rolled up, polishing the silver, stared at her in horror. The women washing the dishes gasped. By the time she reached the kitchen and saw the cook sitting on a chair reading, of all things, a newspaper, Claire was feeling as though she were a freak.
“I’ve been walking,” she said as firmly as she could manage, “and I’d like something to eat.”
No one seemed able to speak.
“I am hungry,” she said in exasperation.
It was at that moment that the butler appeared and very quietly but firmly escorted her from the kitchen.
“Might I suggest, miss, that you remain on this side of that door,” he said as though talking to a wayward child. “If you need anything, tell Miss Rogers and she will see that you get it.” With that he left her standing alone.
Claire wondered whether a tantrum of rage or tears would be better. She gave in to neither, but very quietly and sedately wandered into the hall and looked for some place to sit down. She couldn’t go to her own room or to the gold drawing room or to the library.