Chapter Two

Despite the late hour, the house was ablaze with light. Expensive gaslight. The fires in the main salon, the dining room, and the bedrooms prepared above had been kindled to the mistress of the house’s specifications.

She was a strange one, foreign, with odd habits that were exotic and exciting. She had very specific instructions about most things. One didn’t simply throw a few logs into a fireplace and light some kindling stripped from the dry wood. She ordered cedar and ash for the fireplaces. The kindling was a special mix of cedar shavings, pinecones dipped in scented wax, and dried herbs and flowers that filled the house with a scent that you wanted to fill your lungs with.

It was a scent, for Lucius, intimately associated with every good thing that had come to him in the house. Clean clothes, for instance. He had four sets of them, an absurd number. Most of the footman had sold three sets of the clothing they had been provided with. It was expensive stuff. The cloth and trimmings worth a pretty penny, and even more so because they did not so much resemble a livery. The trousers were black, the blouse white. There was a waistcoat, in different shades from bottle green to brown to gray to black. The coats were black, and well made, with a lining sewn in. And then there were the boots, two pairs, fitted by a shoemaker, in expensive leather that smelled delicious. The outerwear included a hat, greatcoat, gloves, and scarf.

These treasures made them the envy of the servants in the neighboring house, who sniffed disdainfully at their foolish mistress for hiring street scum, and treating them like house pets. But Lucius had come to the conclusion that she was no fool. He had seen the awareness in her great, dark eyes in those first few weeks. She understood what was going on around her better than anyone gave her credit for, and she was patient, a sad empathy glowing in her eyes.

So green, he thought dreamily. Green like glass, with the light shining through it. Lush against her pale skin. She was a little beauty, that one, seemingly unaware of it.

She was no aristocrat. There was intense speculation about her origins below stairs, and only he knew the truth. She was an American. It had slipped out one night when she was up late in the library, reading a book. It was the same night that she had offered him the position as her majordomo. She had looked up from her book and asked him if he could read. For a moment he thought she was mocking him.

She seemed to realize it, and sorrow flashed in her eyes as color crept into her cheeks. “That was a stupid question, wasn’t it?” she asked. “In America, almost everyone can read, at least enough to get by. What I meant to say is if you would like to learn, it can be arranged. I need a majordomo who can read, and since I plan to offer you the position, I need to know what needs to be done.”

She hired a seminary student to teach him to read, and her origin, one of the little mysteries of her otherness, remained his secret. Well, his tutor probably had guessed at it from his questions about America and about learning to speak English. The mistress’ German was very good, but occasionally she slipped without thinking into her native tongue and all the books she read were in English, so he thought she must miss speaking her native language.

He knew the others had their own little secrets about her. The cook knew her favorite foods and spices, and hoarded this knowledge smugly. The maid who had been elevated to see to her personal needs, slight as they were, knew the secrets of her wardrobe and bedchamber, and was in her own way, equally close-mouthed.

They were participating in a conspiracy, which made the small secrets they kept to themselves less annoying to each other. They knew, for instance, that she paid them too much. Gave them too many privileges in their days off and their informality, which the neighboring servants disapproved of, making them close ranks around her. There had been one stable boy and a laundress that refused to observe this unwritten code, and they both had been run off quick enough.

The house was immaculate. She hadn’t demanded it of them when she explained that her family was, at last, joining her, but her anxiety was transparent. She had a hard time falling asleep, and would wander the house at increasingly late hours. Lucius discovered her up one night, near dawn, in the butler’s pantry, polishing silver. When he mentioned this to the cook and her maid, they admitted that they had noticed her taking on other household chores. Overnight, they had become oddly house-proud. She reflected on them, as they reflected on her, so the floors had been polished, and the rugs beaten clean, and even the windows, hung behind the heaviest, and darkest of drapes, had been cleaned to sparkling.

The dining room was laid with a late night buffet. The cook had made trays of tiny canapés, chilled a bowl mounded with caviar, and toiled over wafer thin latkes and lighter than air pastry puffs filled with chilled cream and garnished with fruit dipped in honey.

Fresh cut flowers filled vases in the bedrooms. Scented candles had been set in their holders. Lucius replayed the foreign sounding names of the mistress’ family. Angelus, Darla, Drusilla, and William. He smoothed his gloves over his hands again, hearing the sounds of carriage wheels on the cobblestones, and the creak and jangle of sound that signaled a coach stopping outside.

He opened the doors himself, letting the two footman set the outer door stops as he strolled ahead of them to the coach, nodding to the coachman above as he reached for the door.

It was flung open before he could close his hand on the brass door handle, and a man emerged, shoulders first, hatless, his brown hair loose and disordered. He jumped down lightly, paying very little heed to Lucius, turning back to assist one of the most beautiful women Lucius had ever seen. The spare light flooding from the open doors hit her face. She was pale and slender, with raven dark hair and cherry colored lips and eyes as black as sin. She gave a girlish squeal when the brown haired man lifted her by the waist, her hands falling on his shoulders as she tilted her face to the night sky.

Laughing, he twirled her about, making her cry out something in a language Lucius did not immediately recognize.

His attention returned to the coach as his mistress appeared; hesitating above the step he had neglected to put down. Inwardly cursing at his lapse, he hurried to put the step down and offer his hand to steady her as she cautiously extended her foot beyond the hem of her skirts.

“Thank you,” she said, and then automatically corrected herself, repeating her thanks in German.

It was one of those little slips that he enjoyed.

William set Dru down on the stairs, looking back to see Willow alight from the coach with the assistance of a male servant who was looking at her like she was the Virgin Mary and Fairy Godmother all rolled into one tasty little package.

He gestured to her. “Come along, pet,” he said. “I want to see this house you’ve arranged for us.”

Lucius had no idea what the brown haired man was saying, but the gesture was easily interpreted. The footmen were set to unpacking the luggage, and his mistress joined her family on the stairs as he urged the footman to hurry. The second coach was clearing the intersection to the square, and he wanted to get the first coach away.

Satisfied that Lucius had this in hand, she joined them on the stairs.

“English,” one of the footmen concluded.

Lucius frowned at him, and told him to quit gossiping and move it along. English? Their voices sounded so unlike the mistress that it seemed hard to believe. He made a mental note to ask his tutor about this at their next meeting.

With a woman in each arm, William entered the house, looking around. Darla and Angelus craved their little luxuries, and he knew instantly that they would be pleased with Willow as his gaze took in the well appointed foyer and the servants that waited to take their outerwear. Dru patted a startled footman on the cheek and pursed her lips at him in a pretty little pout, and William laughed, amused by her antics.

Willow tried to evade the arm he had around her waist after she removed her cloak, speaking in rapid German to the servants. She looked nervous. He yanked her to him, bending his head to nuzzle her covered neck, feeling her stiffen in his arms.

He smiled. She had grown a bit independent on her own, and he was going to enjoy reminding her of how short her leash really was. Dru wrapped her arms around both of them, kissing the corner of Willow’s mouth. “Pretty, pretty, sweet and sour,” she sang.

“You’ll feed my William soon, all spicy and hot, blood and honey between your pretty legs.”

Willow thanked a God she no longer believed in that the servants' grasp of English was virtually non-existent, and that Dru had not followed up with some energetic touching. The puzzled looks on their faces were unnerving enough.

“That she will, Princess,” William agreed, relenting enough to loosen his hold on her so they could leave the foyer for the salon.

“Fix me a drink,” he ordered, giving Willow a little push.

She fled to the sideboard to reach for a crystal decanter, giving a spare shake of her head to a footman who moved to take her place.

“I know what I want to drink,” Dru said slyly, curling around William. “Something lovely and warm and red, pulsing with life.”

William settled on a settee with Dru nestled against his side. “Soon, my love, soon,” he promised. “What do you think of our new home?”

“Happy, it shall be,” Dru pronounced.

Willow brought him whiskey, neat, poured into a crystal tumbler, and took a step back away from them, standing close enough to the fire to feel its heat at her back.

He held the tumbler up, admiring the play of firelight against the amber brown color. His gaze switched to her. His girl. Cased in black wool, her vivid hair drawn up tight behind her head. “I’m going to have to burn your wardrobe, aren’t I, pet?”

“You’ll do as you please,” she said neutrally.

He rubbed his cheek against the top of Dru’s head, smiling at her. “Don’t I always?”

Angelus and Darla came in and Willow moved to the sideboard to pour brandy for Angelus and sherry for Darla. She served Darla first. In some ways she almost liked Darla. She largely ignored Willow, and there was something comforting in the feeling that she was invisible to her.

Angelus took her chin between his fingers, stroking her skin. “You’ve done very well, little one,” he said, the lilt of his brogue softening his voice. “I’m pleased with you.”

Darla rolled her eyes at this pronouncement. He did things like that to annoy and undermine William.

The girl had the good sense to simply tolerate his touching, remaining as still as a statue while William’s eyes narrowed to signal his growing annoyance.

“I’ll have to think of some suitable way to reward you, now won’t I?” he teased, giving her chin an affectionate pinch before he took the glass she held for him.

William cleared his throat. “You're welcome, Angelus,” he said. Time to snap the leash. “Pet?”

He gestured to the floor beside his knee. Darla smiled to see the girl’s back stiffen ever so slightly before she sank, unsteadily to the ground beside William’s knee.

With the luggage inside and the coaches sent to the stable, Lucius gave a single knock on the salon door and entered. The two late arrivals were already seated with drinks. The couple that had arrived with his mistress was sitting closer than was proper and his mistress was sitting on the floor near the man on the settee.

“There is a light supper laid in the dining room,” he announced in German. His gaze flicked to a chair against the wall.

His mistress gave a spare shake of her head, reading the look. “Thank you, Lucius,” she said. “We will ring if we require anything,” she said, dismissing him.

William stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Have him eating out of the palm of your hands, don’t you, pet?” he drawled.

Lucius was frustrated by his inability to understand what was being said, but he knew when he was dismissed. He gave his mistress a grave bow, and stepped backwards out of the room, shutting the double doors behind him.

“Think he’d be so devoted to you if I called him back here to watch while I tumble you here on the floor?” he asked watching the color climb into her cheeks.

“My, my,” Darla drawled. “Someone’s awfully anxious,” she said. “As entertaining as it is to watch you rut,” she made it sound like it was anything but, “I’m hungry.”

Dru patted her stomach. “My tummy is all rumbly,” she agreed, brightening.

“William?” Angelus prompted. “Need a midnight snack to tide you over, boy?”

He loosened a strand of Willow’s hair, winding it around his fingers. “Maybe later,” he said. “Save something for me?”

“I’ll save you a nummy treat, my wicked boy,” Dru promised, running her fingers over his lips.

He kissed them, lightly tugging on Willow’s hair as he rose. “Come along, precious. Daddy wants to play.