No matter. He had his plan all laid out, no matter what she said.
“When word arrives, I shall make sure that Wadsworth knows you are to have a carriage at your disposal, and a servant to ride along.” Her gaze was making him distinctly uneasy. Somehow, it was as though she had the upper hand. The only way to win back control was to return to his sarcastically amused self. “So. Now that’s been decided. Join me for tea in a few moments in the library.”
“I must refuse your invitation, Mr. Holmes. I shall retire to my room and ring for tea when I am ready for it.” She gave another brief curtsy that signaled—more clearly than speech—that he was being summarily dismissed.
Should he press on? Make her come down to tea? After all, he had wanted to speak with her about Juliet’s upbringing. She was in his employ. He glanced at the set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes. No. Better to leave while he still had some modicum of authority.
He’d give her time to cool off, and then they would speak sensibly. Becky Siddons was supposed to solve his problems and make life easier for him. But already she was causing more trouble than he’d ever dreamed.
The dress was hers, all right. Becky gave herself a brisk mental shake to clear her mind and held her arms up in the air as the servant—Kate, her name was Kate—draped the fabric over her shoulders and tied the tapes in place. But it was the only familiar thing in this room. Kellridge was not her home yet, not after just one night here.
How very odd that someone besides her sister was helping her dress. In the mornings, Nan would come to her aid and then she would help Nan turn about. She’d shiver from the early morning drafts blowing in from the opened window, and Nan would be scolding her for lollygagging. Then they’d rush downstairs to eat a hurried breakfast before opening the shop.
But in her new room at Kellridge, a fire crackled in the grate, warding off the morning chill. Kate, with deft fingers, worked quickly to help her dress without badgering her one bit. Soon she would be enjoying a delicious breakfast, brought up to her on a tray, no less.
She should be happy. What luxury this new position was bringing to her workaday life. What refinement.
And no nagging, scolding sisters.
Sudden tears stung her eyes and she bit back a sob. If only she could go home to Nan. Prosaic and practical as she was, at least she was familiar. There was quite a difference between dreaming up a new life for oneself and living it out. Paul had been so horrid, so high-handed and lord-of-the-manor-ish. Of course she’d only seen his carefree and joking side when he came to Goodwin. Now that she knew how stern he could be, she couldn’t escape it by simply ducking out of the room when he came to call. She was not only living in his home, she was his employee. If she was going to succeed in this new life, she had to become comfortable with the unfamiliar and learn to bear Paul’s domineering ways.
Kate fluffed out the skirt of her gown and took a step backward.
“You look very nice, miss. You wear white quite well. It’s such a good contrast to your dark hair and eyes.” Kate clasped her hands behind her back and beamed. “Did you do that embroidery yourself?”
“Yes.” Becky smiled. It was always so nice to have others appreciate her efforts with the needle. “Thank you for noticing.”
“Well, I did hear that you and your sisters have a millinery shop, so I figured you must design your own clothes.” Kate tilted her head to one side and surveyed the hem of Becky’s skirt with a critical eye. “My ma was a nimble hand at drawn thread work, and she taught me to appreciate it. Never could do it well myself, though.”
“Was your mother in service here at Kellridge?” Perhaps by reaching out to Kate, she could begin to navigate this new world she’d cast herself into.
“Yes, she worked for Mr. Holmes—not my master, but his father. And of course, Mrs. Holmes, who died three years after Miss Juliana was born. I grew up with Miss Juliana and worked as her maid, so my family has been part of Kellridge for many years. In fact, my sister works in his home in London.” Kate flicked a bit of dust off Becky’s sleeve and gave a brisk smile. “Shall I bring your breakfast up?”
“Certainly. Thank you for your help.” Becky watched as Kate quit the room, closing the door gently behind her. The frost had melted just a little when Kate spoke kindly and familiarly to her and all at once, this journey didn’t seem so insurmountable. In fact, she was charged with a renewed vigor to see this new adventure through to the end. A little kindness and compassion worked wonders in life.
Becky glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. She was a nursemaid now, and she had someone that she must care for. She tucked and coiled her hair up on top of her head and stabbed it into place with a dozen hairpins. If even a little touch of friendliness made this much of a difference in her outlook, how much of a change would it make in the life of a child? Why, it could mean the world to a scared little girl who’d just lost her mother.
That settled it. Whether he felt it necessary or no, she must convince Paul to come with her to meet Juliet at the docks. A personal plea, one from the heart. Surely if he heard how much it would mean to Juliet, he would relent. She must tell him, face-to-face, this morning. That meant tracking him down to tell him so, without delay.
How long would it take a servant to bring her breakfast? And where would the master of the house be at this hour of the morning?
She had no idea. But she was Juliet’s voice in this house, and hers was a voice that must be heard.
She gathered her skirts and quit the room. Kellridge was a puzzle to her still, even after Paul’s brief tour the day before. She couldn’t very well go knocking on every door looking for Paul, but she could at least rule out the east wing. He had made it quite clear that that part of the house was for the nursery only.
The best course of action would be to go downstairs and into the west wing of the house. She rushed down the stairs, brushing her hand against the satin-smooth walnut banister. Then she crossed through the vestibule, the thick Aubusson carpet muffling the sound of her slippers. Funny, for a home so thoroughly staffed, not one servant passed by as she made her way to the west wing. And the silence in the house was deafening. Not even the ticking of a clock marred the absolute quiet of the hallway.
The rooms—how perfect and still they were. Each one had its door flung open to the world, and admitted a view of balance and precision. The music room fairly glowed with instruments polished to a high gleam, yet those very instruments sat mute, crying out to be played. A billiard room, handsomely masculine yet vacant. A small sitting room, pretty and elegant but as blank as a canvas awaiting an artist’s touch.
She paused in the doorway of the library, a room redolent of aged leather and paper, and breathed deeply. Shelves lined the room from floor to ceiling, and on those shelves rested books. Books that marched up and down the shelves in perfectly ordered precision, grouped by binding color as well as by size. The overall effect, in contrast with the sweet and musty smell she breathed in, jarred her nerves. The contents of this room were surely well-loved, judging by the age of some of the volumes on the shelves. Order was an affront to its dignity. An old beloved library should be cozy, or at the very least, some disorder should mar its sterile perfection.
She stepped into the room and crossed over to a large, round mahogany table that commanded her attention. A massive arrangement of roses and chrysanthemums rested on
