Secrets of Sloane House(36)

“Because things here are at sixes and sevens,” Mrs. Abrams said in a thoroughly exhausted tone. “Mrs. Sloane has decided to host a dinner this evening for twenty-two. Mrs. Pullman is even supposed to be here.”

“What?” Even she knew the Pullmans were one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the city. It was their name on the train cars, after all. If that was the case, then Mrs. Sloane was bound to be even more exacting than ever. Mrs. Abrams and Mr. Hodgeson too.

Rosalind could almost feel the sorry-looking carnations wilting in her hand, in company with her dismay. Nanci grabbed the flowers with one hand, tossed them carelessly on the top of the key cabinet, then pulled Rosalind forward with the other.

“Wait a moment,” she protested. “I wanted to put those in water.”

“Water isn’t going to help those blooms,” Nanci said with a disparaging glance. “All that matters is this dinner.”

She was put out enough to raise her eyebrows to that. “All that matters?”

Nanci deftly ignored her sarcasm. “To make matters worse, Mrs. Sloane wants six courses. And all the stops pulled out too.”

“Why?”

“Well, if Mr. Pullman’s presence isn’t enough, rumor has it that Mr. Eric Newhouse will be here too. Mr. Newhouse is Veronica’s best chance for making a match, you know. He just returned from the continent and is looking very dapper indeed.” Lowering her voice, she added, “It’s also been hinted that his parents want him to settle down soon. They’ve told him to pick a bride and set up a home as soon as possible.”

“My goodness. Does Veronica love him?”

Nanci grabbed a towel and handed it to Rosalind. “How should I know? I doubt anyone has been discussing love, anyway. That has nothing to do with it.”

“I suppose not.”

“Mrs. Sloane wants to make sure he sees Veronica at her very best before Mr. Newhouse begins to mix with the rest of society again.” She lowered her voice. “And most especially before he sets his sights on Eloisa Carstairs.”

“Who is she?”

“The most sought-after girl this year. She’s beautiful, well mannered, and terribly rich. Her family even owns another home in Florida.”

Rosalind was amazed. “How do you know all this?”

Nanci sniffed. “I listen.”

Cook looked up from her dicing and glared. “All of these fancy people entering the home means that you’d best put on a fresh apron quick-like. I’m going to need you to help me clean the pheasant and the trout—well, as much as you can with your hand like it is.”

She could clean a bird, no problem. Growing up on a farm had given her plenty of experience with that. But fish were another story. Impulsively, she said, “Nanci, want to help me with the fish?”

“Of course not! I’m needed upstairs in ten minutes. Mrs. Sloane wants Veronica to try on several gowns. That means I’m going to have to help her get them all on, put away all the ones that won’t do, and then help her dress her hair.” With a grimace, she added, “Most likely, I’ll be mending a rip or tear too. Miss Veronica never has met a seam or a stay that she hasn’t tried to pull apart.”

Now thinking she got the better job, Rosalind hurried to Cook. “I’ll slip on a fresh apron quickly.”

Emma glanced at her from the pile of sterling spoons she was polishing. “You’d best redo your hair too. If Mrs. Abrams sees you like that, all windblown, she’ll have your hide.”

Cook made a motion with her hands. “Go, girl. Don’t tarry neither. We’ve got too much to do.”

Rosalind did as she was told. Running up the servants’ stairs, she stepped as quickly as she could up the dim corridor, turned down a hall, and then the moment she got into her room, slipped on one of the two aprons she’d been given when she’d started at the home. Taking Emma’s advice, she smoothed back her curls, twisted them neatly, then finally pinned the coil at her nape. After she pinned on her cap, she flew back down the hall.

A few moments later, she was scampering down the stairs again, then almost tripped when she found Jerome standing at the landing. He was lazing against the wall, one of his elbows resting on the balustrade, just as if he were a man about town instead of a footman.

Even more disconcerting was the fact that he was smoking a cigarette. A wispy line of smoke snaked up around him like a sheer length of fabric. But what caught her off guard was the fresh look of interest in his eyes.

“Where were you this afternoon, really?”

“I went to the farmer’s market. As you know. You were sorting candles when I arrived, after all.”