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concessions to vanity were the delicate tatting peeping out of her collar and the thin chain of braided silver that disappeared beneath it. Max’snatural curiosity made him wonder what dangled at the end of it. A cheaply painted miniature of Mr. Spencer perhaps?
    “I trust you had a pleasant journey,” she said, lifting one delicately arched brow in an inquiring manner.
    Max glanced down. Water was still dripping from the hem of his greatcoat to soak the carpet beneath his feet, and fresh mud was caked on the once-supple calfskin of his favorite pair of Wellingtons. He returned his gaze to her face. “Oh, it was simply divine.”
    Just as he had expected, his sarcasm was wasted on her. “I’m so very pleased to hear that. I’m afraid there are some who find our climate less than hospitable.”
    “Indeed,” he said drily, his words underscored by a fresh rumble of thunder. “That’s certainly difficult to imagine.”
    “If you’ll allow me, I shall introduce you to the rest of the staff.”
    If he hadn’t been distracted by the velvety timbre of her voice, Max would have informed the housekeeper the only thing he was interested in being introduced to at that moment was a tumbler of brandy and a warm bed. The cultured note in her speech shouldn’t have surprised him. The upperservants of a household might hail from the local villages, but they commonly affected the accents of the ladies and gentlemen they’d been hired to serve. Most were talented mimics. It seemed his new housekeeper was no exception.
    “These are the housemaids,” she informed him, gesturing toward the row of young women. “Beth, Bess, Lisbeth, Betsy, and Lizzie.”Mrs. Spencer had just reached the end of the row when a sixth maid came racing into the drawing room, skidding to a halt at the far end of the row. “And Pippa,” Mrs. Spencer added with somewhat less enthusiasm.
    While her fellow maids had at least taken the time to pin up their hair and don aprons and caps, young Pippa looked as if she had just stumbled out of bed. Her gown was rumpled, its collar gaping open at the throat, and she hadn’t even bothered to hook the buttons on her scuffed half boots.
    The other maids bobbed dutiful curtsies; Pippa yawned and scratched at her wild, dark tangle of hair before mumbling, “Your grace.”
    “ My lord will be sufficient,” Max said. “I won’t be your grace until my father dies, and the man is in such vigorous health he may very well outlive me.”
    “If we’re lucky,” the young footman muttered beneath his breath.
    “Pardon?” Max shifted his frown to the boy.
    Mrs. Spencer’s smile tightened as she reached to give the lad’s ear a fond tweak. “Our head footman, Dickon, was just saying how fortunate we are to have a new master here at Cadgwyck Manor. We’ve been quite adrift since the last one took his leave in such haste.”
    “Aye,” Dickon muttered, rubbing his ear and giving her a resentful look from beneath his tawny lashes. “I was just saying that, I was.” As far as Max could tell, the lad wasn’t just the head footman. He was the only footman.
    “Called back to London on some urgent bit of business, was he?” Max was not yet willing to let on that he knew the last master of the house had fled the premises in terror, pursued by some dread specter from his own imagination.
    “We can only assume,” Mrs. Spencer replied, calling his bluff with an unruffled stare of her own. “I’m afraid he didn’t linger long enough to give us any reason for his abrupt departure.” She turned away from Max, her voice softening. “I would be quite remiss in my introductions if I left off the captain of this fine ship we call Cadgwyck Manor—our esteemed butler, Mr. Hodges.”
    A muffled snore greeted her words. Max craned his neck to discover the man who had let him in the door had slumped into a faded Hepplewhite chair and dozed off. His chin was tucked against his chestlike a plump pigeon resting its beak in