Growing up, Mama had been uncompromisingly strict about her daughters’ cleanliness. The Staunton sisters bathed twice weekly—once on Saturdays, and again mid-week—when everyone else in their village seemed satisfied with a dunk and a scrub in preparation for Sunday services. The family’s hip-bath routine was uncomfortable and often inconvenient, but Mama and Papa had come from a different world than the rest of Longstone.
As the wealthy daughter of a London merchant, Mama had been accustomed to submersion tubs and hot water on demand. She’d known lavender soap, fat sea sponges, and the softest linen towels. Had their mother missedall this extravagancewhen she’d squatted in a dented hip-bath on their chilly kitchen floor?
Wenna called to her over the privacy screen. “Did ‘ee have a cruel journey from London, ma’am?”
Cassandra sat up. She would not know a moment’s peace with the talkative little maid hovering about. “I didn’t come from London. I’m from Derbyshire.”
“I reckoned ‘ee were in London. The duke do always be about town this time o’ year.”
She reached for her soap ball and began to scrub. “We met in the country. Until today, I’d never stepped foot outside of Derbyshire.”
“ ‘Ee be a long way from oome, then.”
Cassandra rinsed the lather from her skin. While her bath may not have been the respite she’d hoped for, she felt certain she’d never been so clean in her life. She stood, dripping into the milky water that lapped at her calves.
“Pender Abbey is my home now,” she said as she reached for a towel.
The young maid was at her side in an instant, offering a sturdy arm to assist her from the tub. Cassandra was grateful for her help, as the hot water had made her slightly light-headed.
“I don’t suppose I shall return to Derbyshire for a long, long time.”
Wenna grinned. “We’ll make a proper Cornishwoman of ‘ee!”
She laughed, too, for the girl’s enthusiasm was contagious. Cassandra hoped to embrace this wild coast with open arms.
While she donned her night rail and dressing gown, a soft knock sounded upon the door. Indeed, it was more like a scratch. Cassandra almost missed it.
Wenna ensured that her mistress was decent, and then hastened across the room to answer the door, explaining, “That be ‘ee supper, fresh up from the kitchens. Nobody goes hungry ‘ere at the Abbey.”
She doubted Wadebridge allowed anyone to go hungry on any of his estates. He had known some slight hardships as a boy—lack of liberty, though not outright privation—which disturbed him to this day. He would never rest knowing anyone suffered under his care.
Her lover was a good man. She was proud to walk by his side through life’s journey.
Cassandra emerged from behind the privacy screen to watch a rather sour-faced housemaid deliver the dinner tray. The slender girl scowled at Wenna, yet refused to even acknowledge her new mistress’ presence in the room.
She slammed the tray onto the rosewood table, jostling Cassandra’s sewing kit. The box might’ve fallen to the floor if not for Wenna’s quick hand catching the corner.
“Don’t ‘ee pay her no mind, ma’am,” Wenna said, challenging the new maid’s black gaze with two flashing eyes of her own. “Her be an uppish, judging girl.”
Cassandra frowned down at her supper as the maid removed the silver cloche. Wade’s cook had provided roast chicken and vegetables with egg custard for dessert. The meal looked delicious—itsmelleddivine—but she wasn’t certain she could trust this new maid who’d delivered it all.
How many servants beneath this roof despised her simply because she’d chosen love over reputation?
Mama and Papa had once chosen love. Although they’d lived otherwise blameless lives, there were still those who’d thumbed their noses at them. Hadn’t the Raineses condemned the Staunton sisters for their parents’ scandalous elopement?
Cassandra imagined what her mother would have done in this situation. Mama had always comported herself with dignity and gentle understanding. She’d instilled those same values in her three daughters.
Turning her prettiest smile upon the grumbly maid, Cassandra said, softly, “What a generous spread.”
The slender girl shrugged. “Idin’t cook it.”
“No, but you delivered it despite what must’ve been a long climb up from the kitchens. I am grateful. What is your name?”
“Morla.” She gave it up as if the answer had been pulled off her tongue with hot pliers.
Cassandra kept her smile. This slip of a maid would be a hard nut to crack, but she liked a challenge. “Thank you, girls. Your kind attention has made me feel most welcome here.”
Wild-haired Wenna gave Morla a firm nudge, and they both curtseyed before stepping from the room and leaving their new mistress to her meal.
