said, “Hello.”
The two women mumbled their greetings. The older woman had keen brown eyes and gray hair scraped back into a serviceable bun. The younger woman had two long braids of blond hair, one over each shoulder, but the same brown eyes as her older counterpart. Mother and daughter, perhaps?
“I am Miss W— I beg your pardon, I meant to say Mrs. Burnett.” She gave them each a polite smile in turn. “I believe you work for Mr. Burnett?”
“Yes.” The older woman crossed her arms over her chest. “We do.”
“Is it just you two?” Although Jack had assured her he only employed two maids, she had no inkling of just how to open the conversation. How should one approach upbraiding the women for the deplorable condition of the house? An idea began to form in the back of her mind. “That’s not very many servants for such a large house. Are you, perhaps, overworked?”
The older woman eyed her with skepticism. “No, ma’am. We can handle anything.”
The younger woman nodded, keeping her gaze turned toward the ground.
“Well, I have half a mind to tell my new husband off.” She shook her head with mock indignation. “Men! The idea that two women would be adequate staff for cleaning such a large house, not to mention providing meals in a timely manner, is preposterous.” She gave them both encouraging smiles. “Thank you for all you have done. I suppose I should begin hiring more staff tomorrow. Do you know of anyone who would be willing to help?”
The younger woman spoke up. “Yes, ma’am. One of my friends, Cathy Chalmers, was let go from the Hudson place when they packed up and moved back east. She’s a good maid and a deft hand with laundry.”
“Excellent. Can you get word to her? I’d like for Cathy to start this week.”
The younger woman nodded. She wasn’t smiling, but she did seem somewhat less abashed.
Ada pressed on. “Both of you have me at a bit of a disadvantage. Would you please tell me your names, and how long you’ve been in service to the Burnett family?”
“I’m Loretta Holcomb, but you can call me Mrs. H. or Betty. My daughter here is Maggie. We’ve been working for the Burnetts since the first Mrs. Burnett passed. All her servants went back to Charleston.”
“I see.” So both women had come on board when Jack’s life had been utter chaos and confusion—dealing with his wife’s death, losing his child, having to placate his father-in-law. No small wonder, then, that they had been allowed to do such a poor job. Perhaps they even thought they were doing credible work. After all, Jack was a widower and spent most of his time, in all likelihood, outdoors.
That was going to change.
“It’s very nice to meet you both. I am not from Texas, so I am sure I shall rely on you to help me as I learn what life is like out here.” Now that she had introduced herself and found out more about the women, it was time to get to work. “Mrs. H., are you the cook, primarily?”
“Yes.” Her posture relaxed somewhat, though her arms remained crossed over her chest.
“Very good. Well, I need you to make a good dinner for us tonight, to be served in the dining room.” She turned to Maggie. “And I will require your help on cleaning the dining room. Bachelor living, you know.” It was as close as she could reasonably come to pointing out the disastrous condition of the house. She needed these women to stay, and she needed the assistance of even more servants. She would accomplish nothing by using heavy-handed tactics.
“Mr. Burnett usually takes a plate and goes to the barn,” Mrs. H. replied, looking distinctly mulish.
“How appalling.” The words slipped out before she could check herself. She must not offend the two women who could help her in this bizarre arrangement. “Dining in that fashion certainly does your cooking no credit, Mrs. H. We shall rectify that. What are we having for supper?”
The older woman hesitated a moment. “I was just going to make him a sandwich.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Seeing as how you’re here, though—”
“Actually, a sandwich platter sounds delightful. Nice and cool on such a hot day. Do we have any vegetables to go with?”
Mrs. H. nodded slowly. “Yes. Early cucumbers and green tomatoes. I picked some in the garden this morning.”
“Perfect.” Ada gave her an encouraging smile. “Let’s go with that for tonight. Perhaps tomorrow we can begin making up a menu for the week. Come, Maggie, let’s see what we can do with the dining room.”
Ada strode back toward the house, with Maggie trotting along behind her.
No one could say she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. Jack Burnett was going to eat dinner at a proper table instead of in a barn.
* * *
Jack sat in his chair in the dining room. It was hard not to feel rusty and stiff, at least when surrounded by such grandeur. Mrs. H. came bustling in, bearing a large china tray of small sandwiches, cut into triangles. Behind her, Maggie trailed along, carrying a large bowl of some kind.
Ada thanked both women, who bowed awkwardly.
“We’ll come check on you in a few minutes,” Mrs. H. remarked.
“Just a moment. Mrs. H., have you had your supper yet? Has Maggie?” Ada looked over at both women, her eyebrows drawing together.
“No, ma’am. We were getting yours ready.” Mrs. H. sounded a little self-righteous about that. Jack stifled a grin. How would Ada handle that kind of tone?
“Do go ahead and eat. I’ll ring the bell when the dishes are ready to be cleared.” Ada waved to indicate a small silver bell sitting on a nearby table. As she moved, Jack caught a glimpse of a bandage wound tightly around her hand. “There’s no need for you two to have to wait on your meal just because of us.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Burnett.” Mrs. H. curtsied awkwardly and then prodded Maggie’s shoulder, forcing her to follow suit. They left the dining room, closing the door behind them.
He was impressed. Ada didn’t allow herself to be needled into an argument, and she showed concern for others. Both of those were good qualities in a woman.
Ada picked up the bowl. “Would you care for cucumber and tomato salad?”
“Sure.” He brushed against her as he reached for the bowl, and a shock went through his arm at the unexpected contact. He drew back sharply. It was not acceptable to have any kind of attraction to Miss Westmore—nope, she was Mrs. Burnett now—for she was here for one purpose only. If she felt the same way, she kept her composure, merely leaning forward to help him. He caught a glimpse of her bandaged hand again as she spooned the salad onto his plate. “What happened there?”
She snatched her hand back, the color rising in her cheeks. “I had a bit of a run-in with a glass candy dish.”
He expected her, if injured, to cry and carry on or, at the very least, grow faint. Instead, she seemed downright embarrassed by the situation. “You going to be all right?”
“Of course, Mr. Burnett.” She gave him
