Secrets of Sloane House(2)

“Rosalind, Miss Sloane is right, you’d best get your chores done,” the handsome stranger interrupted. “Why don’t you run along now?”

His voice was so commanding, so direct, that she took a step back. Then stopped just as abruptly. She wasn’t supposed to leave until she’d been dismissed.

Douglass turned to the man and frowned. “Armstrong, are you now giving orders to the servants in my home?”

“Not at all. I’m merely repeating what Veronica said. She is right. This maid surely has a great many things to do other than stand here with us.”

Rosalind noticed a slight softening around the corners of Veronica’s lips. “Reid, you actually listened to me.”

Mr. Armstrong smiled at Veronica, and his voice became warmer. “Of course I listened. I always listen.” There was no such warmth in his eyes when he turned back to Rosalind, however. His gaze was cool and almost piercing. “Miss, you had best go about your business. Now.”

Staring at him, Rosalind stepped back. Her body was trembling so much that she feared it would be commented upon, giving them yet another opportunity to taunt her.

But when neither Douglass nor Veronica protested, only chuckled softly, she pivoted on her heel and scurried down the hall.

Brittle feminine laughter followed her steps. “Oh, Reid, I do think I’ll keep you close to me all day. You’re beyond amusing. Besides, it’s nice having someone nearby who heeds what I say.”

“Some might have a problem with your heavy-handed ways, though,” Douglass added, his voice carrying a thread of malice. “The way you shooed away our new girl was a bit of a surprise. It almost seemed as if you were worried about her welfare.”

“Perhaps I am concerned about her. You do have quite the reputation, you know, Sloane,” their guest retorted. “If we’re not careful, you’ll charm the girl, break her heart, and next thing you know? Why, she’ll be leaving. Then who would dust your furniture?”

The laughter continued as Rosalind turned a corner. But just as she was hurrying down a half flight of stairs, she faintly heard Veronica’s reply. “Don’t be silly, Reid. Servants can be replaced. Always.”

A jolt of fear shot up Rosalind’s spine. Was that what had happened to her sister? Had she been dismissed for neglecting her chores and then promptly forgotten?

Or had she been snatched up from the city’s busy streets and simply vanished?

Quickly, Rosalind turned right, then left. She struggled to recall where she was. The house was so vast, such a jumbled maze of curious rooms and narrow, winding halls, that she was continually getting lost. One wrong turn could lead to her flying down a corridor where she had no business being.

Which, of course, could lead to her coming into contact with members of the family.

As she stopped and rested a palm on a wall covered in rich scarlet and burnished gold paisley wallpaper, she let her mind drift, remembering how Miranda had written that she, too, had gotten lost in the mansion more than a time or two. Of course, she’d also confided that some of the people in the house frightened her.

Remembering that the letters had stopped coming before she’d revealed who had frightened her—and how—Rosalind closed her eyes and tried to fend off a new wash of pain.

Oh, Miranda! Where are you?

Her sister, older by only eleven months, was the twenty-one-year-old beauty of the family. Blessed with thick, curly auburn hair, set off by bright blue eyes, she was striking. Rosalind’s mahogany hair and faded blue eyes had always paled in comparison.

As did her personality. Miranda was the more headstrong, the one who was the most self-reliant. Rosalind? Ever the follower.

Over the years, Miranda’s strong personality had always gotten her what she wanted. So much so that Rosalind had often wished she had even a small portion of her sister’s determination.

When things had gone from bad to worse at their farm, Miranda had up and left, leaving behind a note saying that she’d gone to Chicago to find work and she’d send money home as soon as she could.

But Rosalind knew financial concerns weren’t the only reason Miranda had ventured east. No, she’d always been plagued by the need to push limits and boundaries. Even the wide open fields of their farm had seemed far too confining for a woman of her light and exuberance.

Soon after she left, Miranda wrote that she’d gotten a position as a maid in a grand house. More letters arrived over the next two months, each one with a bit of money.

But then they heard nothing.

With a heavy heart, Rosalind was beginning to fear that her earnest prayers for her sister had not only been unanswered, but had also been in vain.