think this might fit." Quickly, Lucinda took out a white dress with delicate blue flowers scattered across it. The bodice was rather low and daring. Lucinda had never worked up enough courage to wear it. And when the dressmaker had made it, she had cut it a little too short. It would be perfect for Krystyna.
She held the dress up against Krystyna and saw her smile. The fabric was not nearly as fine as those Krystyna was used to, but after having spent two days without changing, anything would be a welcome respite. She accepted the dress gratefully.
"There are some combs and ornaments on the commode. You may use them on your hair, if you'd like." Lucinda gestured toward the mahogany cabinet. She nervously touched the severe bun she wore. "I ... I don't really use anything myself."
Krystyna cast a quick glance at her hostess and smiled warmly. There were great possibilities there. "Perhaps I could help you with that, later," she offered. The hair style was far too old for the young face beneath it, she decided. But the woman was obviously afraid to try anything different. Perhaps I can change that, Krystyna mused, if I am forced to stay awhile.
"That would be nice," Lucinda murmured, stepping out of Krystyna's way. She pointed toward a basin and a pitcher of water. "I'll leave you alone now."
Quickly, she hurried away.
Krystyna shook her head as she watched the woman disappear in the mirror, then turned her attention toward her own toiletry.
Chapter Eight
Jason had no time to take the bath he so sorely craved. Since the elder McKinley was expected at any moment, he had to hurry. His father hated to be kept waiting for dinner.
Father hates to be kept waiting for anything, Jason thought as he painfully scraped away the last of his beard. The face that looked back at him from the small, oval mirror that hung above the basin was lean, with a strong nose and high cheekbones. He found himself wondering if what he saw would please Krystyna. He knew a clean-shaven face would please his father far more than a bearded one. Unlike most men in the area, his father had a strong distaste for facial hair.
He had barely managed to don a clean shirt when the dinner bell rang. His father was home. "Speak of the devil," Jason muttered to himself. He wondered how the older man, with his dislike of anything that had to do with aristocracy, would react to Krystyna. This first meeting between the two should prove to be interesting, Jason thought.
Adjusting his waistcoat, he went downstairs to join the others.
Savannah was already seated in the dining room. Arranged is more like it, Jason decided. She always looked as if she were preparing to hold court. Practicing, no doubt, for the future. At her side was her fiance. Jason shook his head. He detested Winthrop Rutherford. The man was an annoying fool. With all the land the McKinley family had to offer, not to mention Savannah's physical attributes and the fact that women were scarce in the Colonies, one would have thought she could have done better for herself than this overconfident popinjay.
But Savannah was passionately interested in titles, and Winthrop's family could boast of many in their ancestral tree, both near and far. He was assured of a post in the government here, and he had broadly hinted that he was in line for a dukedom in England, albeit somewhat remotely.
If enough people conveniently died for him, the man would attain a place in the House of Lords. It is almost enough to make one feel sorry for the British, Jason thought.
He studied his sister with an unbiased eye. She was petite and slender, well formed at waist and hip, and had a full, high bosom. Her long blond hair was swept back from her pale, oval face and held in place by a network of ribbons and pins. Winthrop fairly drooled over her whenever they were together. Why Savannah couldn't open her eyes and see the man for what he was, a whining, weak-willed bully, Jason couldn't begin to understand. But that was
She held the dress up against Krystyna and saw her smile. The fabric was not nearly as fine as those Krystyna was used to, but after having spent two days without changing, anything would be a welcome respite. She accepted the dress gratefully.
"There are some combs and ornaments on the commode. You may use them on your hair, if you'd like." Lucinda gestured toward the mahogany cabinet. She nervously touched the severe bun she wore. "I ... I don't really use anything myself."
Krystyna cast a quick glance at her hostess and smiled warmly. There were great possibilities there. "Perhaps I could help you with that, later," she offered. The hair style was far too old for the young face beneath it, she decided. But the woman was obviously afraid to try anything different. Perhaps I can change that, Krystyna mused, if I am forced to stay awhile.
"That would be nice," Lucinda murmured, stepping out of Krystyna's way. She pointed toward a basin and a pitcher of water. "I'll leave you alone now."
Quickly, she hurried away.
Krystyna shook her head as she watched the woman disappear in the mirror, then turned her attention toward her own toiletry.
Chapter Eight
Jason had no time to take the bath he so sorely craved. Since the elder McKinley was expected at any moment, he had to hurry. His father hated to be kept waiting for dinner.
Father hates to be kept waiting for anything, Jason thought as he painfully scraped away the last of his beard. The face that looked back at him from the small, oval mirror that hung above the basin was lean, with a strong nose and high cheekbones. He found himself wondering if what he saw would please Krystyna. He knew a clean-shaven face would please his father far more than a bearded one. Unlike most men in the area, his father had a strong distaste for facial hair.
He had barely managed to don a clean shirt when the dinner bell rang. His father was home. "Speak of the devil," Jason muttered to himself. He wondered how the older man, with his dislike of anything that had to do with aristocracy, would react to Krystyna. This first meeting between the two should prove to be interesting, Jason thought.
Adjusting his waistcoat, he went downstairs to join the others.
Savannah was already seated in the dining room. Arranged is more like it, Jason decided. She always looked as if she were preparing to hold court. Practicing, no doubt, for the future. At her side was her fiance. Jason shook his head. He detested Winthrop Rutherford. The man was an annoying fool. With all the land the McKinley family had to offer, not to mention Savannah's physical attributes and the fact that women were scarce in the Colonies, one would have thought she could have done better for herself than this overconfident popinjay.
But Savannah was passionately interested in titles, and Winthrop's family could boast of many in their ancestral tree, both near and far. He was assured of a post in the government here, and he had broadly hinted that he was in line for a dukedom in England, albeit somewhat remotely.
If enough people conveniently died for him, the man would attain a place in the House of Lords. It is almost enough to make one feel sorry for the British, Jason thought.
He studied his sister with an unbiased eye. She was petite and slender, well formed at waist and hip, and had a full, high bosom. Her long blond hair was swept back from her pale, oval face and held in place by a network of ribbons and pins. Winthrop fairly drooled over her whenever they were together. Why Savannah couldn't open her eyes and see the man for what he was, a whining, weak-willed bully, Jason couldn't begin to understand. But that was
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