on him or cry on his shoulder as he so obviously expected.
There was not a raised eyebrow on any of the faces of the mourners on seeing Jacqueline at Cleome’s side, but with the exception of Lord Foxworth, Garnett and Sir Laurence Easton, there was not a gentleman of any great social standing present. Most were farmers and tradesmen with whom William had done business over the years. It was a bit out of place having the serving wench there, they agreed among themselves; but as they had all known Adelaide, they could easily understand Cleome’s sentiments.
The young laird of Easton Place stood in the corner quietly, hardly taking his eyes off Cleome, which made her extremely uncomfortable. But she was glad Garnett realized the awkwardness it would cause if he tried to draw her into conversation. Instead, he respectfully joined the other men at the long, heavily laden table for one last toast to William Desmond.
***
There was nothing like hard work, Cleome decided, to take the mind off the sorrows of the heart. Finding chores enough in the fortnight following the funeral was certainly no problem. By day, she took advantage of the fact that there were no guests in the inn and ordered the place scrubbed from top to bottom. She and Mary patched all the linens while Jacqueline and Fanny polished every piece of furniture to a blinding sheen. Stubbornly ignoring the pain that settled around her heart, she had the two serving maids strip her grandfather’s room bare and she refurbished it with items gleaned from other rooms, as well as from the surplus in the attic.
Her grandfather’s clothing and personal effects she packed away, with the exception of the few mementos Jacqueline wanted. When they had finished redecorating, they stood back and surveyed their work with satisfaction. It was a room any gentleman would find adequate to his needs when spending a few weeks in the countryside.
The ornate four-poster bed that Cleome’s grandparents had shared, and that Jacqueline had briefly enjoyed, was also brightly polished. The great, carved claws at its base were free of dust, and the eagle’s heads that adorned the tops of each post were polished so brightly that Cleome could see her own face reflected in them. She and Jacqueline found an old Persian carpet in the attic and under Mary’s direction, Mickey had hung it up in the sunshine and beaten years of dust out of it. Although Cleome knew Mr. Stoneham would replace them with his own things, she had polished her grandfather’s silver-backed hairbrushes and put them on the heavy oak dresser along with the silver tray Adelaide had given him as a wedding present. The tray was intended to hold cravat pins and the like, but Granda had steadfastly refused to indulge in such frills. Grandmamma’s brass and porcelain bathtub was polished and now stood in the corner behind a lovely Viennese screen. Cleome had Young Sam and Mickey place a desk large enough to suit the new master’s big frame in another corner and she’d supplied it with a store of paper, quills and a leather writing portfolio that had been a birthday gift to her from her grandfather. While the furniture and mattresses were airing outdoors in the spring sunshine, she had Mickey whitewash the walls and Fanny and Jacqueline launder and re-hang the drapes. With everything back in place and sparkling like new, it was a gentleman’s room, and perfection itself.
A week later, Drake’s trunks arrived on the afternoon coach, along with a letter explaining that he would be detained a week longer than expected. Cleome and Jacqueline immediately set to work on the contents of his luggage. They mended stockings and patched shirts, undergarments, trousers and jackets, washed and pressed all, and then hung them in the chiffonier in better condition than they had arrived.
At night, Cleome relieved Mary and sat beside her mother’s bed, willing Ramona to live. Ramona developed a fever and with it, fanciful hallucinations
There was not a raised eyebrow on any of the faces of the mourners on seeing Jacqueline at Cleome’s side, but with the exception of Lord Foxworth, Garnett and Sir Laurence Easton, there was not a gentleman of any great social standing present. Most were farmers and tradesmen with whom William had done business over the years. It was a bit out of place having the serving wench there, they agreed among themselves; but as they had all known Adelaide, they could easily understand Cleome’s sentiments.
The young laird of Easton Place stood in the corner quietly, hardly taking his eyes off Cleome, which made her extremely uncomfortable. But she was glad Garnett realized the awkwardness it would cause if he tried to draw her into conversation. Instead, he respectfully joined the other men at the long, heavily laden table for one last toast to William Desmond.
***
There was nothing like hard work, Cleome decided, to take the mind off the sorrows of the heart. Finding chores enough in the fortnight following the funeral was certainly no problem. By day, she took advantage of the fact that there were no guests in the inn and ordered the place scrubbed from top to bottom. She and Mary patched all the linens while Jacqueline and Fanny polished every piece of furniture to a blinding sheen. Stubbornly ignoring the pain that settled around her heart, she had the two serving maids strip her grandfather’s room bare and she refurbished it with items gleaned from other rooms, as well as from the surplus in the attic.
Her grandfather’s clothing and personal effects she packed away, with the exception of the few mementos Jacqueline wanted. When they had finished redecorating, they stood back and surveyed their work with satisfaction. It was a room any gentleman would find adequate to his needs when spending a few weeks in the countryside.
The ornate four-poster bed that Cleome’s grandparents had shared, and that Jacqueline had briefly enjoyed, was also brightly polished. The great, carved claws at its base were free of dust, and the eagle’s heads that adorned the tops of each post were polished so brightly that Cleome could see her own face reflected in them. She and Jacqueline found an old Persian carpet in the attic and under Mary’s direction, Mickey had hung it up in the sunshine and beaten years of dust out of it. Although Cleome knew Mr. Stoneham would replace them with his own things, she had polished her grandfather’s silver-backed hairbrushes and put them on the heavy oak dresser along with the silver tray Adelaide had given him as a wedding present. The tray was intended to hold cravat pins and the like, but Granda had steadfastly refused to indulge in such frills. Grandmamma’s brass and porcelain bathtub was polished and now stood in the corner behind a lovely Viennese screen. Cleome had Young Sam and Mickey place a desk large enough to suit the new master’s big frame in another corner and she’d supplied it with a store of paper, quills and a leather writing portfolio that had been a birthday gift to her from her grandfather. While the furniture and mattresses were airing outdoors in the spring sunshine, she had Mickey whitewash the walls and Fanny and Jacqueline launder and re-hang the drapes. With everything back in place and sparkling like new, it was a gentleman’s room, and perfection itself.
A week later, Drake’s trunks arrived on the afternoon coach, along with a letter explaining that he would be detained a week longer than expected. Cleome and Jacqueline immediately set to work on the contents of his luggage. They mended stockings and patched shirts, undergarments, trousers and jackets, washed and pressed all, and then hung them in the chiffonier in better condition than they had arrived.
At night, Cleome relieved Mary and sat beside her mother’s bed, willing Ramona to live. Ramona developed a fever and with it, fanciful hallucinations
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