Cassandra had heard mention of a family of Butterworths in Black Jack, but to her recollection, she’d never encountered any Butlers. “From your mama’s side?”
Luke bent his head closer to hers. “Why are we whispering?”
“So he won’t hear. I wouldn’t want to offend him. People can’t help being strange, now, can they?” She patted Luke’s arm. “You needn’t feel funny about it. We’ve all got a strange relative or two, haven’t we? My uncle Aristotle bats at cobwebs that don’t exist, and my mama’s sister Colleen frequently converses with leprechauns. Once she even caught one, but before he could reveal the whereabouts of his gold, he bit her finger and got away.”
Luke blinked. Twice. Then he cleared his throat and straightened. “You don’t say?”
“Not that we believe she really caught a leprechaun,” Cassandra hastened to inform him.
He looked relieved to hear that.
“After all, everyone knows they’re extremely difficult to catch, and Aunt Colleen isn’t exactly quick on her feet. Arthritis in the toes, you know. It’s so bad, she wears shoes two sizes too large, and they flop when she walks. Papa says she couldn’t catch a cold, let alone one of the little people.”
“Have you ever seen one?” he asked in an odd voice. “A little person, I mean?”
“Not yet,” Cassandra admitted. “But then, I’ve lived my whole life in America, and not many little people immigrated here. A few, of course. The one at Aunt Colleen’s was snooping in her trunk, unbeknownst to her, and she accidentally locked him inside. When she arrived in New York and lifted the lid to unpack, he hopped out. He wasn’t very happy about having been moved against his will to America, and he’s been plaguing her ever since.”
“I see.”
He looked so appalled that Cassandra felt obliged to say, “You mustn’t worry. She lives far away in Boston, and little people aren’t fond of traveling. They have a tendency toward dyspepsia, you know. Because of the small size of their stomachs.”
“You don’t really believe in such things, do you?”
Cassandra gazed up at him, astounded that a worldly man like Luke Taggart possessed such an unfortunate gap in his education. “Of course. Don’t you?”
Before he could reply, a door at the end of the hall swung open, and a woman in a serviceable black dress and spotless white apron appeared. Cassandra recognized her from church. “Mrs. Whitmire!” she cried, extremely pleased to encounter a familiar face. “How nice to see you.”
The kindly widow smiled warmly. “Cassandra Zerek.” She flashed a questioning glance at Luke. “What brings you here?”
In all the excitement of seeing the house, Cassandra had nearly forgotten about her papa and brother. Guilt washed over her in a crushing wave. “The way gossip travels, I’m sure you heard about the spot of trouble my papa and Ambrose got into last night.”
Mrs. Whitmire’s smile faded. “Yes, dear, I did. I’m so sorry.”
“Well,” Cassandra went on, “their being in jail put me and Khristos in an awful pickle, and Mr. Taggart has rescued us by offering me a job. His generosity will enable me to pay Papa’s and Ambrose’s fines, plus keep me and Khristos off the streets until they’re released and can go back to work.”
The older woman looked surprised for an instant before her gaze flickered toward her employer. “Well, we can certainly use another pair of hands. It’s a large house. What position is she to fill, Master Taggart? We lost a kitchen girl last week, so we’ve a place for her there, and Deirdre is forever complaining she could use another girl upstairs.”
Luke met Mrs. Whitmire’s gaze evenly. “Miss Zerek has contracted to be my paid companion, Martha. I’d like you to show her upstairs, arrange for her to bathe and then get her settled in for an afternoon nap. I’ll be requiring her company this evening, and I’d like her to be well rested. She’ll be using the suite that adjoins mine. I trust it’s prepared for occupancy as I requested?”
Mrs. Whitmire’s warm smile seemed to freeze on her lips. She stared up at Luke for what seemed to Cassandra an endlessly long moment. “Miss Zerek is the young woman you’ve hired to be your…your paid companion, sir?”
“That is correct,” he replied tersely, drawing his watch from his pocket. After flipping it open to check the time, he fixed Mrs. Whitmire with another cool stare. “While you’re getting her comfortably settled into her suite, I’ll write you up a list of instructions. You’ll find it on my desk in the library. Please see to it that all is accomplished before my return, exactly as I’ve specified. I have some errands to run, and I’ll be away for at least three hours, possibly longer.”
“You won’t forget to have someone go fetch Khristos?” Cassandra reminded him with a smile that wobbled only a little. “At the schoolhouse, at two o’clock. Remember?”
“I remember,” Luke assured her, his gaze lingering on hers for so long that her cheeks grew warm and her heart danced a flutter step in her chest.
“Master Taggart,” Martha whispered, her gaze sliding from his face to Cassandra’s and back again, “this girl is barely out of the schoolroom. How can you possibly…your paid companion, sir? Surely not.”
Luke’s gaze turned frosty, and the room seemed to chill. Cassandra resisted the urge to hug herself. “Not another word, Martha, to me or to Miss Zerek,” he said in a low, commanding tone. “You’re overstepping your boundaries to presume it’s any of your affair. The same applies to every other servant in this household, so pass the word. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”
The woman bowed her head. “Yes, sir. I apologize.”
Luke turned to Cassandra, his dark face creasing in a smile that thawed the ice from his expression. Taking her hand, he bent toward her. “Look forward to the evening, Cassandra. Martha’s staff sets a lovely table, and Cook prepares meals so succulent, they fairly melt in your mouth. After supper, we’ll—” He broke off and held her gaze for a moment. “I’m sure it will be the first of many unforgettable nights. I’m looking forward to enjoying your…companionship with more anticipation and enthusiasm than I’ve felt in a good long while.”
He seemed so confident she would prove to be good company that it made her a little anxious. “Shall I plan some activities? I don’t want to bore you.”
His amber gaze glinted like banked embers. “What sort of activities do you have in mind?” he asked huskily.
Cassandra’s mind went totally blank. “I, um…” She shrugged. “Do you like to play games?”
“With such a beautiful lady? I would love to play some games.”
“What kind?”
The creases at each corner of his mouth deepened in a slow grin. “Use your imagination, little one, and surprise me.”
He bent his tawny head and touched warm, slightly moist lips to the back of her hand. The caress was like silk brushing against her skin. A tingle coursed up her arm, radiating out from her shoulder to ribbon down her spine. Cassandra still had goose bumps when he released her and disappeared through a doorway to her right.
Mrs. Whitmire had a stricken expression on her face when Cassandra looked back at her. Summoning a cheerful smile, Cassandra said, “Please don’t worry, Mrs. Whitmire. Just because there’s a difference in our ages doesn’t mean I won’t make Mr. Taggart a good companion.” She hesitated. “Exactly how old is he, anyway?”
“I don’t know exactly, miss. Right around thirty, I would say, give or take a year.”
Cassandra knew of women her age who were married to men far older than that. “There, you see? That’s not so great a difference. I’m nearly nineteen.”
The woman quickly averted her gaze. “Yes, well…” she said, gathering up her skirts. “If you’ll just follow me, dear, I’ll take you to your rooms.”
Cassandra bent to pick up the satchel Luke had left on the floor and hurried on the heels of the older woman to go upstairs. At the landing, Mrs. Whitmire turned right. At the third door on the left, she stopped, sorted through the keys hanging
from her waist, and inserted one into the lock. As the door swung open, she beckoned for Cassandra to follow her and disappeared inside.
Cassandra came to a dead stop at the threshold, scarcely able to credit her eyes. Never had she seen such a beautiful room. Decorated in brilliant red with gold accents, it was fit for a princess. The huge bed stood on a raised area that Mrs. Whitmire called a dais, and it had a coverlet of plushly quilted crimson silk. Sheer, shimmery gold curtains swept down from the ceiling in splendorous swags. They were affixed to the walls at either side of the white headboard with ornate gold brackets that contrasted richly with the red rugs and flocked red velvet wallpaper.
Oh, and the furniture…Cassandra had never seen its like. All of it was impossibly dainty, the stark white finish offset with delicate gilt on all the edges. Even the drawers had fancy handles, ornate little gold things that reminded her of miniature door knockers. As she moved into the room, she felt as though she were stepping into a dream.
“Oh, my…” she whispered.
“Gaudy, isn’t it?” Mrs. Whitmire observed.
To Cassandra, it was gorgeous. Better, even, than patent leather slippers. Of course, she loved things that sparkled and shone, and in this room, things sparkled everywhere she looked. Even the ceiling. She dropped her head back and stared at her reflection. The entire ceiling was covered with mirrors. She’d never seen so many in one place. Never. Not even the time Papa had taken them to the carnival, and she’d gotten lost in the mirror maze.
“Oh, Mrs. Whitmire, I love it,” she whispered, twirling around and staring upward at her reflection. “It’s so bright and shiny and gay. Although I must say it may be hard to sleep in here. I’ll feel as if someone’s watching me.”
“As might well be,” Mrs. Whitmire sniffed. “This room wasn’t designed with sleep in mind, missy.”
Cassandra couldn’t have agreed more. This room had been designed to dazzle, and it was accomplishing that. She couldn’t believe it was actually going to be hers. Dropping her satchel, she rushed to the ornate armoire and pulled open the doors. The clothing rod inside was four feet long if it was an inch, and it would be all hers. With only two dresses, she didn’t need nearly so much space, of course, but maybe, after she paid Papa’s and Ambrose’s fines, she could buy herself a couple of gowns. Really pretty ones, befitting the occupant of such a beautiful room.
Cassandra saw several garments pushed to one end—odd-looking things, one of black lace, another with broad white ruffles. Forgotten by another guest, she supposed. Later, she would tell Luke they were there so he could return them to their rightful owner.
As she closed the armoire, she said, “Oh, Mrs. Whitmire, am I dreaming? Pinch me so I’ll wake up!”
The woman sniffed again. “Let’s leave the pinching to Master Taggart. He’d be the expert.”
That suited Cassandra. If she was dreaming, she didn’t want to be pinched any time soon. She gave the room another slow appraisal, then hugged her waist and shivered. “I can’t believe I’m here. I just can’t believe it.”
Mrs. Whitmire’s blue eyes took on an odd glint. “That’s two of us,” she said before stepping over to close the door that led to the hall. “Well, now, what’s done is done, I suppose. We both have our orders.” With a deep sigh, she turned back to face Cassandra. “The bathing chamber is through that door behind you. Peel off those clothes, and I’ll find you a sleeping gown to put on after you bathe.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ve got my own in my satchel.”
Mrs. Whitmire advanced on her. Bending to open the satchel, she plucked out Cassandra’s nightgown and held it up for appraisal. “This won’t do,” she said haughtily. “It won’t do at all.” Her lips drew into a thin line as she put the gown back into the bag and straightened. “I’m sure there are one or two nightgowns in the bureau. Master Taggart’s guests are forever leaving things behind.”
Trying not to feel stung by Mrs. Whitmire’s reaction to her nightgown, Cassandra began unfastening her bodice. “Does he have a lot of company?”
The older woman jerked a bureau drawer open. As she rifled through the contents, she said, “Yes, well, he’s a bachelor, isn’t he? That makes for loneliness.”
“Not anymore,” Cassandra replied, letting her dress fall to the floor. Tugging at the tapes of her dingy petticoat, she added, “Not for the next year, anyway. I’ll be here to keep him from being lonely. Poor man. Can you imagine his feeling that he must pay someone to be his companion? He’s so wonderful, I’d happily do it for free.”
Mrs. Whitmire made an odd sound at the back of her throat. When Cassandra glanced up, the older woman looked as if she’d accidentally swallowed a fly. Cassandra smiled at her.
“I know he was terse with you downstairs a minute ago, Mrs. Whitmire, but I’m sure he didn’t mean to be. It’s probably an embarrassing situation for him, don’t you think? Worrying what people will think when they find out about our little arrangement? I mean…well, it’s just so awfully sad.”
“Sad.” Mrs. Whitmire’s voice took on a strangled quality. Trying to hold back her tears, Cassandra suspected.
“Yes, sad.” Cassandra sighed, her own eyes prickling. “Imagine, a fine, handsome man like that, feeling he has to pay someone to be with him. I think it’s the most pathetic thing. For him to be that lonely. Why, it fair breaks my heart.”
Mrs. Whitmire spun around and disappeared into the bathing chamber. A second later, Cassandra could have sworn she heard water running. After gathering up her clothing and laying it, neatly folded, on a chair, she followed the older woman to investigate.
“Oh, my lands!” Cassandra gaped at the claw-foot bathtub. Water streamed into it from a brass spout, and clouds of steam rose toward the ceiling. “Hot, running water? Where on earth does it come from?”
“There’s a water vat in the attic, kept heated by a furnace,” the woman said as she tested the water temperature against the back of her wrist. “Do you want bath salts?”
Cassandra giggled. “May I have pepper as well?”
Mrs. Whitmire lifted an eyebrow. “Bath salts are little crystals to make the water smell nice.” She took a blue bottle from a small shelf above the tub. “Yea or nay?”
“Yes, please.” Cassandra couldn’t imagine water that ran hot with the turn of a knob, let alone salts to scent it. Hugging her naked breasts, she stared in fascination as Mrs. Whitmire sprinkled granules over the water.
“There you be,” the woman said. “May as well climb in.”
“Where might I find a towel?” Cassandra asked, not wanting to drip all over the beautiful red rug when she finished bathing.
“I’ll have Deirdre send a girl up to assist you. She’ll bring in towels and see to it you have everything else you need.”
A little over an hour later, Cassandra lay on the deliciously soft bed, staring at herself in the looking glass directly above her. The ceiling seemed such an odd place to hang mirrors. She stuck one leg in the air to examine the bottom of her foot, which she’d never really gotten to study at length before. She had a fat big toe.
She sighed and let her leg flop. She missed her papa and Ambrose. Inside her chest, there was one little spot that ached, even when she wasn’t thinking about them. Her papa and brother, locked up in a room without windows. It broke her heart to think of it, and tears welled in her eyes.
She quickly blinked them away. Papa would want her to make the best of this situation. He didn’t cotton much to snivelers. Put on a cheerful face, he would say. Cassandra smiled at herself in the mirrors. She looked kind of like Lycodomes did when he snarled.
Taking a nap in the middle of the day seemed even odder than mirrors on the ceiling. She yawned and sighed again, not at all sure she could sleep. After a moment, she turned onto her side and punched the pillow. The silk pillowcase emitted the scent of lavender. She snuggled her cheek against it. As luxurious as it felt, she wasn’t sure she liked it. Silk was slick, and the pillow kept getting away
from her. She liked to roll hers into a ball and hook her chin over the lump.
The nightgown wasn’t comfortable, either. Cassandra had never seen so many ribbons on one garment. Up each side, instead of a seam, there were ties to hold the cloth together, which left slits in between. More ribbons ran down the front. It made her feel like a gaily wrapped package under a Christmas tree. She would have changed into her own comfortable gown, but while she’d been in the tub, Mrs. Whitmire had taken all her clothes. Cassandra could only assume the housekeeper meant to wash them.
What Cassandra would wear until her clothing all dried, she had not a clue. The girl who’d helped with her bath had just shrugged and said, “Not to worry,” every time Cassandra asked. Surely they weren’t expecting her to wear any more left-behind clothing from other guests.
A sudden thought had her stifling a giggle. What would the good sisters say if she were to arrive tomorrow in time for daily Mass in a dress held together with ribbons? Oh, lands, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Another yawn stretched her mouth wide. She blinked drowsily and then let her eyes fall closed. Maybe…just maybe…she could drift off, after all.
Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that she needed to ask Mrs. Whitmire if there was a checkerboard in the house. Cassandra hoped so, for, aside from games she’d made up to entertain Khristos, checkers was one of the few things she knew how to play.
She needed to plan lots of activities. Given the way she’d been raised, with only her immediate family, the nuns in various convents in the towns where they’d lived, and a long line of parish priests as her companions and teachers, Cassandra was aware that her knowledge of the world was limited. Her conversational skills were bound to seem lacking, if not downright dull, to her new employer. It wouldn’t do to bore Luke Taggart to tears her first night on the job.
SEVEN
Luke braced a hand on the newel post’s gleaming finial and stared upward, his jaw clenched. “Damn the woman,” he muttered before spinning on his heel to resume his pacing. Back and forth he prowled, from one end of the foyer to the other, his heels clicking an impatient rhythm on the tiled floor.