to the wind, and the dust simply blew back in, accompanied by a selection of street dirt. After dustingeverything once more, she carefully chose a back window where the wind off the ocean couldn’t enter and undo her hard work.
The captain’s residence was a terrace, bound on each side by other houses, and occasionally a word or a thump emanated from the other side, startling her. The Russells had always lived in the best of the best—while townhouses like this one and the ones in London were perfectly acceptable, Eustace Russell had had expensive tastes that he’d unfortunately passed on to his two younger daughters. Maddy had always enjoyed the luxuries money could buy, and she’d spent it lavishly when her father had given it to her. Now her extravagance shamed her. The cost of one of her ball gowns could have provided better lodgings for her sisters while they’d lived in London, and she’d worn that dress only once before discarding it.
Tarkington had particularly enjoyed all the trappings of wealth. His own family had been prosperous, though not anywhere near the level of the Russells with their nouveau wealth, but his family went back to the Domesday Book, and her father had encouraged the match, wanting to work his way further up the social ladder. And she’d been a damned fool.
“What are you doing, Mary?” Mrs. Crozier’s whip-sharp voice broke through her abstraction, and she looked up from the sink dazedly, wondering whom the housekeeper was talking to.
A moment later she knew. “Are you deaf, Mary Greaves?” Mrs. Crozier moved closer, trying to loom over her. Since the housekeeper was shorter than she was, the effort failed, but she made up for it in her voice. “Because if you are, then you’re on your way. I can’t deal with someone who’s deaf. For all I know you might be slow-witted as well. Most people don’t stand leaning against the sink, their hands in the water, staring into space.”
“I’m not slow-witted, Mrs. Crozier,” Maddy said, determinedly standing on both feet. “I’m sorry—I was thinking of something else.”
Mrs. Crozier sniffed. “Most like your last placement, and how much better it was.”
“Actually I was thinking how I like the size of this household.” Which was true—the house, upon reflection, was just right. Like the story of the three bears, the Russell houses were too big, Nanny Gruen’s and the cheap flat in London were too small, but the captain’s house was just right.
In a perfect world Tarkington would come back from South America, throw himself at her feet, begging for forgiveness. The aging captain would die and they would buy this house and live happily ever after, away from the craziness of London. There was plenty of room for children here, and the view of the ocean was tantalizing.
But Tarkington would never beg forgiveness, and besides, she wouldn’t want him if he did. She didn’t love him, had never loved him, and she wanted half a dozen estates and a titled, preferably dead husband…
“Are you certain you’re not moon-brained?” Mrs. Crozier was staring at her, gimlet-eyed.
Maddy didn’t dignify this with an answer. “I’m almost done here.”
“And it’s taken you twice the time it should have done. Leave it for now—you need to set the table for the captain and his guests. There’ll be six for dinner—very
intime
.” Mrs. Crozier gave the word an English pronunciation instead of the French, confusing Maddy for a moment until she realized it was simply the housekeeper trying to sound sophisticated. “The captain is having his fiancée, Miss Gwendolyn Haviland, and her parents, as well as Mr. Quarrells and his particular friend, Duncan.”
“But the numbers are uneven,” she blurted out before she realized what she was saying.
“You think we should go out and find two more women to even things out?” Her tone was derisive. “You’ll find that Mr. Quarrells and Mr. Duncan have no interest in the fairer
The captain’s residence was a terrace, bound on each side by other houses, and occasionally a word or a thump emanated from the other side, startling her. The Russells had always lived in the best of the best—while townhouses like this one and the ones in London were perfectly acceptable, Eustace Russell had had expensive tastes that he’d unfortunately passed on to his two younger daughters. Maddy had always enjoyed the luxuries money could buy, and she’d spent it lavishly when her father had given it to her. Now her extravagance shamed her. The cost of one of her ball gowns could have provided better lodgings for her sisters while they’d lived in London, and she’d worn that dress only once before discarding it.
Tarkington had particularly enjoyed all the trappings of wealth. His own family had been prosperous, though not anywhere near the level of the Russells with their nouveau wealth, but his family went back to the Domesday Book, and her father had encouraged the match, wanting to work his way further up the social ladder. And she’d been a damned fool.
“What are you doing, Mary?” Mrs. Crozier’s whip-sharp voice broke through her abstraction, and she looked up from the sink dazedly, wondering whom the housekeeper was talking to.
A moment later she knew. “Are you deaf, Mary Greaves?” Mrs. Crozier moved closer, trying to loom over her. Since the housekeeper was shorter than she was, the effort failed, but she made up for it in her voice. “Because if you are, then you’re on your way. I can’t deal with someone who’s deaf. For all I know you might be slow-witted as well. Most people don’t stand leaning against the sink, their hands in the water, staring into space.”
“I’m not slow-witted, Mrs. Crozier,” Maddy said, determinedly standing on both feet. “I’m sorry—I was thinking of something else.”
Mrs. Crozier sniffed. “Most like your last placement, and how much better it was.”
“Actually I was thinking how I like the size of this household.” Which was true—the house, upon reflection, was just right. Like the story of the three bears, the Russell houses were too big, Nanny Gruen’s and the cheap flat in London were too small, but the captain’s house was just right.
In a perfect world Tarkington would come back from South America, throw himself at her feet, begging for forgiveness. The aging captain would die and they would buy this house and live happily ever after, away from the craziness of London. There was plenty of room for children here, and the view of the ocean was tantalizing.
But Tarkington would never beg forgiveness, and besides, she wouldn’t want him if he did. She didn’t love him, had never loved him, and she wanted half a dozen estates and a titled, preferably dead husband…
“Are you certain you’re not moon-brained?” Mrs. Crozier was staring at her, gimlet-eyed.
Maddy didn’t dignify this with an answer. “I’m almost done here.”
“And it’s taken you twice the time it should have done. Leave it for now—you need to set the table for the captain and his guests. There’ll be six for dinner—very
intime
.” Mrs. Crozier gave the word an English pronunciation instead of the French, confusing Maddy for a moment until she realized it was simply the housekeeper trying to sound sophisticated. “The captain is having his fiancée, Miss Gwendolyn Haviland, and her parents, as well as Mr. Quarrells and his particular friend, Duncan.”
“But the numbers are uneven,” she blurted out before she realized what she was saying.
“You think we should go out and find two more women to even things out?” Her tone was derisive. “You’ll find that Mr. Quarrells and Mr. Duncan have no interest in the fairer
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