Later, as they were passing Boston Common, Kenna asked Rhys something that had been in her thoughts long before Captain Johnson spoke of Alexis Quinton Cloud. “Do you mind that I didn’t bring anything to our marriage?”
“So that’s why you’ve been so quiet,” he said. “You were working yourself up to ask that ridiculous question.”
It was true that she had hardly heard Rhys as he pointed out the various Boston sites. She hadn’t been able to appreciate the fragrant spring air or the greening of the common. Still, that didn’t make her thoughts ridiculous and she told him so. “If things had been different I could have brought my inheritance into this marriage. As it stands I can’t even offer you a rowboat.”
“I don’t want a rowboat, or even a schooner that can chase the wind. I thought I was quite clear. I want you.”
That mollified her a little. She stared out the carriage window. “Still,” she said, softly, looking at a row of yellow daffodils that brightened the side of the road, “you should have held out for my little pond trawler.”
Rhys smiled and leaned back in his seat, shading his eyes with the brim of his hat as Kenna moved back and forth across the opposite seat, trying to see Boston from both sides of the carriage.
The carriage stopped in front of a large wooden-framed house which sat on several acres of woodland property outside of Boston proper. Black shutters on every window of the three story home relieved the pristine whiteness of the building and gave it a stately air. Twin chimneys rose above the mansard roof and an iron railing, also painted white, formed a boundary around the roofs less steep first slope. The entire third floor of the house was formed by the slate roof’s second slope and a series of white dormers that were built three to a side. Four white columns rose in front of the main entrance and supported a balcony on the second floor.
Rhys liked the house, had always had a fondness for it, but he said nothing as he waited for Kenna’s reaction. She, after all, had grown up in a veritable castle.
“Oh, Rhys! It’s lovely. Why didn’t you tell me?” She tugged at the sleeve of his greatcoat, urging him up the cobbled walk.
“It’s not Dunnelly.”
Kenna stopped in her tracks and looked at him suspiciously. “I canseethat. For all that I loved it, Dunnelly was still a tomb. This is fresh and alive. I’ll wager there’s not a single musty corridor to be found. When was it built?”
“About sixty years ago. I know it’s only a hiccup in time compared to Dun—”
“I had no idea I would have cause to regret that statement so soon. I hope you aren’t going to hold it over my head forever. Did you think I might not like your home?”
“It had occurred to me,” he admitted sheepishly. “Your family owned a minor property in Brighton that was larger than this.”
“What has size to do with anything? I’m certain this house will accommodate us, the servants, and a half dozen children without any of us living in one another’s pockets.”
Rhys opened his mouth to say something, then shut it abruptly. The mention of children effectively silenced him.
Kenna laughed at his confusion. “Come along. We can talk about the exact number some other time.”
The door was opened for them by the butler and Kenna immediately noted a certain chill in the air. Rhys had sent a messenger on ahead to give the servants notice of their arrival, but from their expressions it appeared they were much put out by the disruption to their routine.
They had crowded in the hallway in their best dress and the first thing Kenna noted was that they were all wearing black armbands. Neither she nor Rhys observed any sort of mourning for his brother and father, a fact which could hardly go unnoticed since she was wearing the lemon yellow gown beneath her redingote. Kenna looked at Rhys for direction but he seemed unperturbed by the situation, handing the butler his greatcoat and helping Kenna out of her coat.
Behind them two sailors from theCaraseastood patiently, waiting to be told where to deliver the trunks. Rhys told them to leave everything in the foyer while the butler was motioning them to use the house’s rear entrance. They obeyed Rhys and the trunks thudded to the parquet floor.
The butler, a portly gentleman with red cheeks which gave him a perpetually flustered look, swallowed hard. His adam’s apple did not even break the surface of his thick neck. “Welcome home, sir,” he said stiffly. He nodded at Kenna. “Madam. I’m Alcott, head of the household staff. We would like to offer our sympathies on the passing of your father and Mr. Richard.”
“Thank you,” said Rhys with no show of emotion.
Alcott cleared his throat. “May I introduce you to everyone?”
“Please.”
It was then Kenna realized that Rhys did not know any of the people working for him and her heart went out to him. What must it be like to be welcomed home by strangers who obviously resented his presence and wished for the return of the old guard?
“Nicholas would not have tolerated it,” she told him later when they were eating dinner. The supper room was pleasant enough, she thought. The wallpaper was pale blue and patterned with tiny white flowers. Above the round walnut table hung a crystal chandelier whose candles gave off a warming light. Gold drapes with sweeping valances hung at the tall windows and there was a door leading to the gardens which could be opened in warmer weather to let the fragrance of the outdoors sweep the room.
“What wouldn’t have Nicholas tolerated?” Rhys asked patiently as he cut his meat.
“Their insolence,” she whispered, looking around quickly to make certain one of the servants hadn’t suddenly walked into the room. “He would have dismissed them at once.”
“Then he would have been without any staff. Circumstances are different here, Kenna. Domestic help is harder to find. If I let these people go, they would be snapped up before their bags were packed.”
“How do you know these things? If I didn’t know better I would think you never left the United States.”
