She scolded herself for forgetting her role. Kat did possess the talent to argue. Camilla must try to remember this henceforth, but it would be difficult. Whereas Kat had a love for verbal sparring, Camilla avoided confrontation at all costs.
She arched a brow. “Perhaps I am also waiting until we get home.”
She studied his face closely for a reaction, and it wasn’t long in coming. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly and hinted at a smile. If not for the coldness in his gaze, she would have relaxed.
“Very well.” He nodded.
After a short time, they rode into the drive of the most beautiful home she’d ever seen. A three-storied mansion with a massive chimney on each side loomed before her. Her breath caught in her throat. Two dormer windows accented the third floor, while the other windows were in the Palladian style. On the surface, her sister appeared to have been the most fortunate woman in the world, even more so than Camilla, who had married an earl. Yet it was this house, and the very man who lifted her off the horse, that had caused Kat’s melancholy and eventually her death. Camilla wished Kat had told her how Mr. Worthington amassed his fortune.
Once the wagon stopped, Broderick jumped from the seat and walked toward the back. Timothy followed. In one fluidsweep, Broderick lifted her heavy trunk, resting it on his shoulder while Timothy carried her satchel.
“Timothy, please let me carry that.” She stepped toward her servant, taking it from him.
Mr. Worthington’s bark of laughter made her stop as she gave him a confounded stare.
Her sister’s husband scratched his head. “Mrs. Worthington, you are full of surprises today. Broderick will take your luggage to your room.”
Realization dawned, and she decided it best to comply with the man’s instructions. After all, how else would she find her sister’s bedroom? She gaped at the house’s magnificent façade, once again amazed at the grand place where Kat had lived.
“What about Timothy?” she asked. “Where will he stay?”
“I will make certain he is assigned to work an area around the house that best suits his skills.”
“Thank you.” She gave her sister’s husband a curt nod and followed behind Broderick. Although dressed in a similar style, Mr. Worthington’s servant didn’t fill out his clothes as well.
Quickly, she admonished herself. Although Malcolm Worthington had been blessed with the most favorable attributes—mesmerizing hazel eyes, smooth lips, hair a woman would love to run her fingers through—he was still an ogre on the inside. He only cared about his precious money.
Silence reigned until she reached the bedroom on the second floor. She followed Broderick as he walked in and set her trunk down, then turned to look at her with distrust darkening his brown eyes. The more he watched her, the more his expression sharpened, causing her heartbeat to hammer. He stood too close for a mere servant, almost threatening.
She stepped back. “Thank you for helping me, Broderick.”
He took another step closer, and she retreated further.
“Do you need anything else, Mrs. Worthington?” he asked.
Folding her hands together, she held them firmly against her stomach, trying to stop them from shaking. “Thank you again, but that is not necessary. You may leave now.”
The man stopped directly in front of her. Unease turned to fear, and her stomach wrenched. His glare was meant to frighten, but she would not cower.
“Good day, then,” he said.
She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he walked away, then she emptied her lungs in one big whoosh. What was that all about?
Stepping further into her sister’s room, she scanned the area from top to bottom, tilting her head, admiring the pearly-white ceilings and walls. She moved to the green and yellow drapes on the window and pulled the cord to let the brightness from outside lighten the spacious room. A large marble fireplace ran alongside one wall. She walked to it, knelt, and peered inside, running her hand along the sandstone in awe.
On the other side of the room stood a hand-painted silk screen depicting delicate birds perched on thin vines with a waterfall in the background. She stood and rushed behind it. Shock washed over her. She gasped at the copper bathing tub with brass clawed feet. Even though Lord Hardy had had many expensive possessions while they were married, he had never owned a tub this size.
At the armoire, Camilla swung open the polished cherry-wood doors. The delicate scent of lavender swirled around her. Her hand fluttered to her mouth. This couldn’t be correct. This wasn’t the prison Kat had described.
She grasped the scarlet material nearest to her. Smoothing the velvet between her finger and thumb, she closed her eyes and smiled. She’d always loved the feel of velvet, always loved the way it caressed her skin when she wore it. She tugged down thefur-lined muff, noticing the matching cloak. There wasn’t just one fur cloak, but several.
Kat had mentioned Malcolm wouldn’t buy her anything, and yet these clothes looked as though they belonged to royalty.
Concern washed over Camilla like hot molasses. Why had Kat lied?
Quickly, she pushed the negative thought out. Her sister hadn’t been in her right mind before she died. Malcolm Worthington was at fault, and Camilla was determined, now more than ever, to get him arrested for whatever illegal activities he was doing.
Sighing, she plopped down on the enormous bed decorated with the most beautiful quilts and pillows she’d ever seen. Where did Malcolm get all of his money? And would his income have anything to do with his traitorous deals? There was only one way to find out, but unfortunately, she had to settle in her new place—and role—before she could spy on him. She couldn’t have him suspecting her true identity.
