pour?”
As was the custom, Mrs. Beechum closed the door, replying, “That would be most kind of you, dear.” And as Lindsay fully expected, she added, “While you do, you can tell me about Mr. Stennett and how you happened to have made his acquaintance.”
“Satan sent him.”
Mrs. Beechum chuckled as she settled into her rocking chair. “Well, I must say that he does indeed have the dark good looks of a true rogue, but he doesn't strike me as being malicious in nature. I found him to be quite respectful and well mannered during our conversation.”
“You've met the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing,” Lindsay countered, beginning the ritual of tea.
“Miss Lindsay, I'll respectfully remind you that you tend to view all men as having wolfish tendencies. Perhaps you're misjudging Mr. Stennett?”
“I'll tell you a story, Abigail, and then you can tell me if I'm off the mark.” She placed the tea set on the table between the rocker and the wing-back chair. Before them, the fire cracked and popped. “Stennett is from the Republic of Texas and—”
“I was trying to place his accent. I knew it sounded Southern.”
“Apparently my father considered Mr. Stennett a son. The favorite son.”
“Oh, dear me.”
“Abigail, please let me get through this as quickly as I can,” Lindsay said, exasperated. “I don't relish having to say it all in the first place and I'd just as soon get it over with.”
“I'm sorry. I'll reserve my comments for when you're done.”
“Thank you. Now, the important part of it all stems from the fact that my father died recently.” Abigail Beechummade a sympathetic noise, but Lindsay didn't give her a chance to offer condolences. “In his Will he left everything to Mr. Stennett, who has come to New York to claim his prize.”
“Well, leave it to your father to upset the apple cart. What, precisely, does ‘everything’ entail?”
“As Mr. Stennett has so delicately put it to me: every bit of property, from the business holdings to the clothes on our backs, to the pots and pans in our kitchen. Which, in terms of our daily lives, makes me your former employer.”
“Miss Lindsay …”
She heard the hesitation in the woman's voice. Abigail Beechum never hesitated unless what she wanted to say was well outside the bounds of her role as housekeeper. It was always a healthy dose of something Lindsay would have preferred not to hear. “Go ahead and say whatever you're thinking.” She leaned forward to pour the tea as she added, “I honestly don't think I can be any more deeply bruised than I already am.”
“Whatever the formal nature of our relationship, Miss Lindsay, I'll always think of us as being more than employer and housekeeper. We've shared far too many pots of tea over the years for things to change between us now.”
The spout clanked hard against the edge of a teacup. Lindsay quickly set the pot down and checked for a chip in the rim. A nod was all she could permit herself in acknowledgment of Abigail's words. She forced the tightness in her throat to ease and then said, “You know that I can't fight him for control.”
“Of course you can't. It would be foolish to try, dear.”
“I can't very well let him run around the city loose, either,” Lindsay explained, setting a teacup on the table, within easy reach of her housekeeper. “I need to keep him where I can influence his decision-making. It's the only hope we have of coming out of this fiasco with anything.”
Abigail Beechum nodded slowly. “So he'll be staying in the house with us. I'll prepare a room for him.”
“Now, tell me, Abigail…” Lindsay sipped from her own cup. “Have I truly misjudged Mr. Stennett?”
The silence was deafening.
Lindsay looked over to see her housekeeper looking decidedly resolute. “Oh, Abigail! Really!” Lindsay cried, dismayed. “The man's willingly taking something that he has no right to take! Oh, yes, he has a conveniently desperate tale of why
As was the custom, Mrs. Beechum closed the door, replying, “That would be most kind of you, dear.” And as Lindsay fully expected, she added, “While you do, you can tell me about Mr. Stennett and how you happened to have made his acquaintance.”
“Satan sent him.”
Mrs. Beechum chuckled as she settled into her rocking chair. “Well, I must say that he does indeed have the dark good looks of a true rogue, but he doesn't strike me as being malicious in nature. I found him to be quite respectful and well mannered during our conversation.”
“You've met the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing,” Lindsay countered, beginning the ritual of tea.
“Miss Lindsay, I'll respectfully remind you that you tend to view all men as having wolfish tendencies. Perhaps you're misjudging Mr. Stennett?”
“I'll tell you a story, Abigail, and then you can tell me if I'm off the mark.” She placed the tea set on the table between the rocker and the wing-back chair. Before them, the fire cracked and popped. “Stennett is from the Republic of Texas and—”
“I was trying to place his accent. I knew it sounded Southern.”
“Apparently my father considered Mr. Stennett a son. The favorite son.”
“Oh, dear me.”
“Abigail, please let me get through this as quickly as I can,” Lindsay said, exasperated. “I don't relish having to say it all in the first place and I'd just as soon get it over with.”
“I'm sorry. I'll reserve my comments for when you're done.”
“Thank you. Now, the important part of it all stems from the fact that my father died recently.” Abigail Beechummade a sympathetic noise, but Lindsay didn't give her a chance to offer condolences. “In his Will he left everything to Mr. Stennett, who has come to New York to claim his prize.”
“Well, leave it to your father to upset the apple cart. What, precisely, does ‘everything’ entail?”
“As Mr. Stennett has so delicately put it to me: every bit of property, from the business holdings to the clothes on our backs, to the pots and pans in our kitchen. Which, in terms of our daily lives, makes me your former employer.”
“Miss Lindsay …”
She heard the hesitation in the woman's voice. Abigail Beechum never hesitated unless what she wanted to say was well outside the bounds of her role as housekeeper. It was always a healthy dose of something Lindsay would have preferred not to hear. “Go ahead and say whatever you're thinking.” She leaned forward to pour the tea as she added, “I honestly don't think I can be any more deeply bruised than I already am.”
“Whatever the formal nature of our relationship, Miss Lindsay, I'll always think of us as being more than employer and housekeeper. We've shared far too many pots of tea over the years for things to change between us now.”
The spout clanked hard against the edge of a teacup. Lindsay quickly set the pot down and checked for a chip in the rim. A nod was all she could permit herself in acknowledgment of Abigail's words. She forced the tightness in her throat to ease and then said, “You know that I can't fight him for control.”
“Of course you can't. It would be foolish to try, dear.”
“I can't very well let him run around the city loose, either,” Lindsay explained, setting a teacup on the table, within easy reach of her housekeeper. “I need to keep him where I can influence his decision-making. It's the only hope we have of coming out of this fiasco with anything.”
Abigail Beechum nodded slowly. “So he'll be staying in the house with us. I'll prepare a room for him.”
“Now, tell me, Abigail…” Lindsay sipped from her own cup. “Have I truly misjudged Mr. Stennett?”
The silence was deafening.
Lindsay looked over to see her housekeeper looking decidedly resolute. “Oh, Abigail! Really!” Lindsay cried, dismayed. “The man's willingly taking something that he has no right to take! Oh, yes, he has a conveniently desperate tale of why
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