It was too bad Bradford and his darling puppy hadn’t been available to drive her; such a proposition would have taken much less time than cycling and would have been far more agreeable.

She always enjoyed her conversations with Bradford, filled as they were with discussions about her latest recipe, how he most recently repaired a tricky engine problem, and stories of her previous life in Cornwall, raising her daughter and managing Mr. Puffley. She could have snuggled little Myrtle in her lap whilst he drove, for Mrs. Bright was severe in her rule that the puppy was not allowed into the house—despite Peter’s freedom to go where he chose—and as Mrs. Puffley rarely left the kitchen, she had far less opportunity than she liked to cuddle the soft and fluffy canine, who was utterly the sweetest dog she’d ever met.

Mrs. Puffley sensed that Mrs. Bright’s banishment of Myrtle was more due to her dislike of Bradford than the actual dog herself, although, she allowed, it was likely a close thing. Mrs. Puffley had no idea why the housekeeper was so put off by the chauffeur. The man was polite and interesting, and he always complimented her on whatever she served him at the table. Even if it were just the heel of a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheddar, he was grateful and unassuming.

Not that Mrs. Bright didn’t properly compliment her work in the kitchen. She certainly did—for if she didn’t, Mrs. Puffley would have been looking for a new position, as Harriet Puffley was fully aware of her worth.

Had there ever been a delayed meal—except on the occasion of murder, which, of course, she had no control over—or a disastrous course? Had there ever been an accident created by one of her maids that she hadn’t been able to put right—most of the time without Mrs. Bright even knowing? Had there ever been waste in the kitchen or supplies gone missing or a menu not be perfectly suitable for event or guests?

Of course not.

Still, the way Mrs. Bright lifted her chin and spoke in a lofty manner whenever she encountered Bradford puzzled Mrs. Puffley. She simply couldn’t understand why Mrs. Bright didn’t set her cap for the man. He was civil and intelligent and, if not precisely handsome, he was, at least, deliciously broad-shouldered and muscular, though a bit dark for Mrs. Puffley’s personal taste. Though he would be a bit much to manage, she allowed, in the way of husbanding. Certainly not as easy as her dear Mr. Puffley had been.