am sure I will,” she replied, so promptly that it was obvious this was her training as a well-bred young woman talking and not any special enthusiasm.
He guided the horses around the bend in the road, but they were so used to taking this route that he hardly needed to twitch the reins at all. They passed through the front gate and wound their way up the drive to the house.
They traced the semicircle around the front and drew to a halt before the front porch. He paused a moment, savoring the feeling of the wind. His ranch had the advantage of being on a bit of a hill, the only raised part of earth for miles around on the prairie. This location gave a great view of the patchwork fields down below, some green and others brown, depending on what was growing and what had been harvested.
He jumped down from the seat and walked around to her side of the carriage. He extended his hand to help her down. “Well, what do you think?”
* * *
Ada took his hand, gathering her skirts as best she could in her other hand, and then leaped down from the carriage. As soon as she gained purchase, she dropped his hand quickly. She might be his wife in theory, but too much physical contact was unsavory, given the reality of their situation. She glanced up at the house, shading her eyes from the sun.
“It’s very pretty,” she said mechanically. Although, to be honest, pretty was an inadequate word. How best to describe this house? She was used to imposing, majestic brick facades, usually with tendrils of ivy clinging to the walls. Jack’s house was very large, too, but airier. It was a two-story structure, painted white, with bottle-green shutters framing each window. A large, curving veranda wrapped around the front of the house, supported by tall columns. Wooden lacework, also painted that same snowy shade, peeked around the columns and was tucked underneath the eaves of the roof. The comparative elegance of the house contrasted sharply with the rough-and-ready Texas terrain. “I don’t understand why your father-in-law finds it inadequate for your daughter.”
“The St. Clairs are snobs,” he replied tersely. “I’ll bring your trunk in. You’ll be staying in the spare bedroom.”
“Thank you.” She meant it, too. What a relief to finally be in her own room after what seemed an eternity of travel.
He nodded and retrieved her trunk and her valise from the bed of the carriage, and she hastened to open the front door for him. He brushed past her, carrying her trunk as easily as if it were no heavier than a small sack of cotton. As she followed, she clutched the banister for support. A heavy layer of dust stained her gloves.
The stairs creaked as they ascended. At the top of the stairs, Jack made a right turn and opened a door off the hallway. “It’s a little unkempt,” he admitted, tossing her trunk at the foot of an iron bedpost. “But it’s got a nice view of the fields.”
Ada glanced around, taking off her gloves. She schooled her features into blank politeness, but inwardly she was shocked. How on earth did a room get so dirty? Cobwebs hung in the corners of the ceiling, and dust had settled over all of the surfaces. The window was gray, lending a kind of grubby filter to the view of the fields outside.
“Do you have a maid?” She kept her voice as even as she could under the circumstances.
“Yes, two of them,” he responded. If the soiled state of the house appalled him, he was good at hiding his dismay.
“Do they have other duties besides taking care of the house? Do you share their services with anyone else?” That would be the only way such slipshod cleaning could possibly happen.
“No, they’re both employed to take care of the house and make meals,” he replied. “Speaking of which, I think you must be pretty tired and hungry by now. I can find Mrs. H. and have her make us something.”
“Aren’t meals served at regular times?” At this point, it was no longer possible to avoid arching her eyebrows. Two servants, a filthy house, meals served haphazardly—this place was in need of serious management.
“Naw, just whenever I am starving enough to ask them to rustle up some grub,” he replied, flashing a bewildered grin. “After all, it’s just me here. No need for them to go to any kind of trouble for a widower.”
Why employ anyone, then? What exactly did two maids do all day? They obviously didn’t keep themselves busy by cleaning the house. Should she throttle him for expecting so little out of life or feel sorry for him for his lonely bachelor existence? Ada forced a smile. “Well, that’s going to change. No wonder your father-in-law doesn’t want Laura to stay here. This place is ridiculously filthy.”
The grin faded from his face. “When my wife was alive, the house was spotless, and the only time he came here was when Emily was still living. So you can’t hang this one on my poor housekeeping skills.”
Ada tossed her gloves onto the dresser, raising a small cloud of dust. “You married me for one purpose—to be a wife, which means running your household. I need a home, too, and I want it to be nice. So, if you have no objection, I shall get started without delay.”
His square jaw tightened. “Be my guest,” he replied curtly. “I need to see to the horses.” He brushed past her and closed the door with a snap.
Ada sat on the bed, removing her hat pins with hands that trembled. Her life had taken such an odd turn the moment she’d stepped onto the train platform that morning. She opened her valise, removing her silver-backed hairbrush-and-mirror set. She unwound her hair and began brushing it with long, smooth strokes to remove the travel dust.
If Jack had known they were going to be married when he came to fetch her that morning, then this house was in the kind of condition he expected her to appreciate when he brought her home as his bride. That was absurd, for no woman would delight in a wretchedly ill-kept house. On the other hand, he seemed genuinely startled and then offended when she pointed out that regular meals and a clean environment must be maintained in a home when raising a child.
She wound her hair back up in its coil, pinning it into place, and changed from her traveling dress into a clean housedress. She removed her boots, which had started pinching her toes, and reveled in the feel of her slippers, so soft and accommodating for tired, achy feet.
Well, there was nothing for it. She would have to seek out the maids and put them to work. Otherwise, she would find her newfound life too tinted with squalor. She made her way downstairs, avoiding the banister, and crossed the front vestibule.
The entryway was covered in dust, as was the parlor and the dining room. There was no sign of anyone else in the house. Her slippers didn’t make any sound as she drifted from room to room. It was almost as though she had imagined this whole scenario and would soon find herself in New York again.
The house was larger than it had looked from the outside, with high ceilings and arched hallways. The furniture was—all of it—mahogany. Painted glass ceiling fixtures, with prisms dangling, were covered in filth. This could be a very fine home. Why, it was prettier than Aunt Pearl’s—at least what she’d glimpsed of Aunt Pearl’s house. If only it were cleaned up and made to look as gracious as it truly was.
She passed through the dining room and onto the back veranda. A small outbuilding caught her eye, as it had a very large chimney. Perhaps the kitchen was separate from the house. That would make sense. After all, in this heat, having a kitchen inside would make the living areas almost unbearable.
She ventured across the yard, holding her skirts above the grass. An older
