chambermaid had neglected to open the drapes in the downstairs parlor, and the downstairs footmen were taking rather too long to clean the glass lamps in the corridor sconces. She informed them exactly when the new girl would take her break—the young lady seemed canny enough—and tracked Simmons down to his favorite place to nap, the butler’s pantry.
He went into transports to think the master of the household was having company, and titled company, and when Jacaranda left him, he was for the first time in her memory counting the silver she’d counted once a month for five years.
Her stomach was rumbling as she climbed to the third floor to check on Yolanda’s new room. She found Avery with her aunt, both girls holding hands in the middle of the room.
“You start slowly, so you can learn to move the same time I do,” Avery was saying. “Now, with me. Step, behind, step, kick . Again, step, behind, step, kick. ”
Yolanda dropped her niece’s hand. “Hello, Mrs. Wyeth. Avery is teaching me a dance.”
“Not one you’ll need in any ballroom, I take it?”
Avery grinned and executed a lovely pirouette in arabesque. “Not for the ballrooms. Uncle’s opera dancers teach me their dances while we wait for him in the kitchen.”
“His—!” Jacaranda shut her mouth with a snap. “Yolanda, is your room more to your liking?”
“Very much.” Yolanda smiled back at her, as if Uncle entertaining opera dancers— plural —wasn’t a scandalous situation for a small child to know of—for any child to know of. “I can see the drive and the stables and side terrace. Trysting is really a lovely house. I’m surprised Worth doesn’t spend more time here.”
Jacaranda’s surprise was easily contained. The wilds of Surrey suffered a paucity of opera dancers, after all.
Opera dancers. Plural. In the kitchen. Teaching Avery scandalous dances.
Angels abide.
“Luncheon should be ready, so you’ll want to freshen up.” Jacaranda left them, step, behind, step, kicking amid a flurry of giggles, and knew the need to strangle her employer.
Men had urges over which they exercised not one bit more control than they had to. Jacaranda knew this.
“No better than they should be, the sorry lot of them,” she muttered as she careened around a corner and ran into the principal author of her distress.
“You!”
“Me?”
“Mr. Kettering, you will excuse me.” She leveled her most righteous glare at him and tacked left to circumnavigate him, but he stepped back and cut her off with his sheer, bodily presence.
“No, Mrs. Wyeth, I will not excuse you when you’re clearly in a temper.” His fingers manacled her wrist, and just that touch, warm, strong, and altogether male, made her temper snap its leash.
“I detest no man more than he who takes advantage of female innocence. You destroy something that can never be replaced, never repaired. Innocence doesn’t become merely wrinkled or tarnished, it’s gone forever. You leave in its place betrayal and a sorry knowledge no lady should have to bear.”
“ What are you going on about?”
“Step, behind, step, kick .” She wrenched her wrist from his and would have flounced off, except he snatched her wrist again and pulled her into an empty bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them.
“Explain yourself, Wyeth. You aren’t a woman who flies into a taking easily, so I’m doing you the courtesy of hearing you out.”
He stood between her and the door, fists on his hips, and in the ensuing silence, Jacaranda realized anew that her employer was one of few people on the face of the earth who might have no trouble physically subduing her.
He was large enough, strong enough, and sufficiently unconstrained by manners when it suited him.
“Your light-skirts are teaching Avery indecent dances in your kitchen.”
He locked the door, then stalked over to peer down at her. “Is it the location of the dancing, the nature of it, or the nature of the instructors
He went into transports to think the master of the household was having company, and titled company, and when Jacaranda left him, he was for the first time in her memory counting the silver she’d counted once a month for five years.
Her stomach was rumbling as she climbed to the third floor to check on Yolanda’s new room. She found Avery with her aunt, both girls holding hands in the middle of the room.
“You start slowly, so you can learn to move the same time I do,” Avery was saying. “Now, with me. Step, behind, step, kick . Again, step, behind, step, kick. ”
Yolanda dropped her niece’s hand. “Hello, Mrs. Wyeth. Avery is teaching me a dance.”
“Not one you’ll need in any ballroom, I take it?”
Avery grinned and executed a lovely pirouette in arabesque. “Not for the ballrooms. Uncle’s opera dancers teach me their dances while we wait for him in the kitchen.”
“His—!” Jacaranda shut her mouth with a snap. “Yolanda, is your room more to your liking?”
“Very much.” Yolanda smiled back at her, as if Uncle entertaining opera dancers— plural —wasn’t a scandalous situation for a small child to know of—for any child to know of. “I can see the drive and the stables and side terrace. Trysting is really a lovely house. I’m surprised Worth doesn’t spend more time here.”
Jacaranda’s surprise was easily contained. The wilds of Surrey suffered a paucity of opera dancers, after all.
Opera dancers. Plural. In the kitchen. Teaching Avery scandalous dances.
Angels abide.
“Luncheon should be ready, so you’ll want to freshen up.” Jacaranda left them, step, behind, step, kicking amid a flurry of giggles, and knew the need to strangle her employer.
Men had urges over which they exercised not one bit more control than they had to. Jacaranda knew this.
“No better than they should be, the sorry lot of them,” she muttered as she careened around a corner and ran into the principal author of her distress.
“You!”
“Me?”
“Mr. Kettering, you will excuse me.” She leveled her most righteous glare at him and tacked left to circumnavigate him, but he stepped back and cut her off with his sheer, bodily presence.
“No, Mrs. Wyeth, I will not excuse you when you’re clearly in a temper.” His fingers manacled her wrist, and just that touch, warm, strong, and altogether male, made her temper snap its leash.
“I detest no man more than he who takes advantage of female innocence. You destroy something that can never be replaced, never repaired. Innocence doesn’t become merely wrinkled or tarnished, it’s gone forever. You leave in its place betrayal and a sorry knowledge no lady should have to bear.”
“ What are you going on about?”
“Step, behind, step, kick .” She wrenched her wrist from his and would have flounced off, except he snatched her wrist again and pulled her into an empty bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them.
“Explain yourself, Wyeth. You aren’t a woman who flies into a taking easily, so I’m doing you the courtesy of hearing you out.”
He stood between her and the door, fists on his hips, and in the ensuing silence, Jacaranda realized anew that her employer was one of few people on the face of the earth who might have no trouble physically subduing her.
He was large enough, strong enough, and sufficiently unconstrained by manners when it suited him.
“Your light-skirts are teaching Avery indecent dances in your kitchen.”
He locked the door, then stalked over to peer down at her. “Is it the location of the dancing, the nature of it, or the nature of the instructors
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