“I don’t think so. Not tomorrow. It’s certain to be hectic and there will be enough here to occupy me. Will you mind if I have your father’s and Richard’s clothes packed and their rooms aired? I peeked in them earlier. Nothing’s been touched.”
“Do whatever you want. There must be some charitable organization which would welcome the clothes.”
“Is there anything I should consider keeping?”
“No. Nothing I can think of. What made you go in their rooms?”
Kenna shrugged. “Mrs. Alcott pointed them out when she showed me around the house. I suppose I was curious. I never met either of them.”
Rhys held back a retort rooted in bitterness and placed his hand over hers.
“There was a painting in your father’s room. A portrait of a very lovely woman. There was a resemblance…is she your mother?”
Rhys nodded, “Her name was Elizabeth.”
“You have her eyes, her coloring.”
“I know. It’s why I was sent away. My father couldn’t bear to look at me. Do you know I once tried to destroy that portrait? I thought if I could change it, color the hair differently or alter the eyes, my father would not think of her when he looked at me. Even as a child I knew why he resented me. I had lived and she had not.”
Kenna knew the painting had not been damaged. She had to ask. “What happened?”
“Father caught me as I was ready to glob the canvas with my brushes. He didn’t say a word. Simply carried me out of the room. Four days later I was on a ship to England.”
When Rhys made love to her that night there was a certain halting sweetness in his touch that made Kenna want to weep. She felt a sadness for the father who had died loving a canvas and never known the warmth and kindness of his younger son.
“Put the portrait in the library,” said Rhys.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
* * *
After Rhys left in the morning Kenna met individually with each of the servants to discover their particular area of expertise. She was tactful, but firm, and by lunch time she was finished walking on eggshells and was confidently in command of the running of the house. She even managed to glimpse a look of grudging admiration on the faces of the butler and his housekeeper wife. While the two bedchambers were being aired and clothes packed, Kenna consulted with the cook about the evening meal. Years of dealing with Monsieur Raillier served Kenna well. She managed to convey her displeasure without stinging Mrs. O’Hare’s pride. During the course of the conversation Kenna learned that the cook was more capable than the meal she served would lead one to believe. Kenna crossed her fingers hopefully and told the cook she could be as creative as she wished.
After Kenna saw to it that Elizabeth’s portrait was given a place of honor above the library mantel she toured the gardens and the stable. Neither Roland nor Richard had been any great judge of horseflesh and she wistfully thought of Pyramid and Higgins. The groom informed her apologetically that there was no lady’s saddle to be had and Kenna was not prepared to shock him by offering to ride astride.
Because she couldn’t ride Kenna decided there was nothing for it but to work on her gowns. She had two bolts of rose and cornflower blue muslin that she spread out on the supper table and began cutting. The grim-faced girl who had served dinner the evening before made no attempt to hide her interest when she brought Kenna tea.
“I could sew that up beautifully for you, Mrs. Canning,” she offered a shade diffidently.
“Are you a seamstress, then?” Kenna asked, though the words were tangled around a mouthful of pins. She removed the pins and directed Alice to put the tea tray on a chair since the table was covered with fabric.
“I’m saving for my own shop someday,” Alice said proudly, her sharp face softening a bit. “I have a talent for stitching and design.”
“And not much opportunity to use it here.”
“No, ma’am.” Her glance strayed to the material again. “It’s excellent fabric.”
“Yes, it is. And I’m afraid I will not do justice to it,” she said, sighing. “My skills are merely adequate. Would you really like to work on the gowns?”
Alice nodded and the ruffle on her cap fluttered a little.
“Very well. I’ll inform Mrs. Alcott that you’re to have lightened duties so you’ll have time for this.”
“If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d rather sew in my spare time and earn something extra if you like my work.”
“Of course,” agreed Kenna. “I should have thought of it myself since you are saving for a shop. That will be quite satisfactory.”
Once Alice had removed the material Kenna knew herself to be monumentally bored. Just to pass the time until Rhys came home she went to the library and began searching through his papers, collecting anything of interest on Canning Shipping. In the middle of the pile there was one paper that caught her attention sharply. It was a guest list for the night of the masquerade written in Victorine’s hand.
