Wendy thought she saw a flicker of confusion pass over Parker's face. But surely that was her imagination; by now, he must know Mack too well to be startled by anything the man might do. She'd already learned that much, herself – and she'd known him for only a few days.
Even Parker's quiet comings and goings as he served and cleared didn't really disturb the tranquil atmosphere in the room. Wendy was too hungry for much conversation, so the butler's presence didn't bother her at all.
The soup was followed by a green salad, topped with a tart honey and vinegar dressing and accompanied by warm whole-wheat rolls. Parker whisked her empty plate away, and Wendy was just about to declare herself satiated when he brought in a covered tray and asked, "A slice of filet, Miss?"
Before she could even answer, he expertly carved several slices of beef and arranged them in the shape of a fan on a china plate. He added a spoonful of bright, barely-tender vegetables and used a towel to set the plate before her. "It's very hot, Miss," he warned, and turned back to create a duplicate for Mack.
"When you said we'd raid the kitchen, I thought you meant leftovers," Wendy said under her breath. "A sandwich, or something."
Mack smiled. "Mrs. Cardoza loves me. I'm such an appreciative eater, you see."
Parker took one last look around the table, gathered up his tools, and withdrew from the room. Mack reached for the wine bottle at his elbow and refilled Wendy's glass.
She nibbled at a bite of filet. It was perfectly done to suit her tastes – nicely browned on the edges, hot but still very pink and juicy in the center. It was the best she'd eaten in a long time.
The silence between them was not an oppressive one, but it wasn't peaceful either. With the butler gone, the air seemed to hold an electrical charge.
Wendy shaped and discarded several comments. "What's wrong with your mother, Mack?" she asked finally.
"She has rheumatoid arthritis."
"Oh. That's the really nasty stuff."
"It can be. She has good times and bad, and right now she's having a bad flare-up. Stress is very hard on an RA patient, and since Marissa's death she hasn't been well at all."
Wendy speared a baby carrot and ate it daintily. "That's why you wanted to break the news before you brought Rory."
Mack nodded.
"Will she get better?"
"I hope so. She always has before."
"Enough better to take care of a baby?"
"She was diagnosed not long after Marissa was born, and she managed. There were nurses then, too, of course."
"I wonder if that's what Marissa meant by being ruined," Wendy mused. "Having nurses instead of her mother."
Mack's voice was crisp. "Marissa could be a melodramatic idiot."
"But she was raised by nurses?"
"I suppose so, yes."
Wendy put her fork down and said, almost gently, "And your mother's worse now, isn't she? You know she can't really participate in taking care of a baby, don't you, Mack? If just holding Rory on her lap causes her pain – "
He shrugged. "She'll work something out."
"Nurses? Nannies? Is that what you want for Rory? Your mother can't cuddle her, and your father is mildly interested but certainly no father figure."
The breakfast room door opened, and a cheerful voice said, "So you made it after all!" A young man bounded in and slapped Mack on the shoulder.
Obviously one of his brothers, Wendy concluded. This man was not as tall as Mack, and he was perhaps ten years younger – or maybe his appearance of extreme youth came from his easy-going, open expression. There was nothing about him which hinted of Mack's settled, mature air.
That made Mack sound stodgy, she thought, which he wasn't. He was reliable, that was the word. Maybe that notion she'd had as they went up to meet Elinor hadn't been such an odd one after all. A woman could safely lean on Mack.
If she needed anyone to lean on, which of course Wendy didn't.
"All I can say is, it must have been a fancy piece of driving." The young man held a hand out to Wendy. "Hi. I'm Mitchell."
Wendy shook it politely before she turned to glare at Mack. "You told me there was nothing to it, and it was perfectly safe."
Mack shrugged. "It's not my fault Mitch is an amateur. I tried to teach him to drive."
Mitch turned to the sideboard to investigate the remains of their dinner. Apparently deciding it was worthy of attention, he dug a plate from the china cabinet and carved himself a healthy serving of filet. He pulled out the chair across from Wendy's, sat down, and started to eat, regarding her all the while with an air of frank interest.
Mack glanced at the plate and said, "Didn't you have dinner?"
"Only once. And it was trout tonight – not nearly as appealing as this. Why does Mrs. Cardoza always act as if you're special?"
"Because I am a discriminating eater, and I appreciate her finer efforts. You'll consume anything."
The insult bounced off Mitch. He turned back to Wendy. "How do you like Chicago so far?"
She settled for the diplomatic answer. "I've hardly seen any of the city. Just snow."
"Nasty, isn't it? You picked the worst time of the year to come and visit. I'm moving to Hawaii when I graduate. I'd be there already if Mack didn't think I'd spend all my time surfing instead of studying. Mack, I need to talk to you about my statistics class."
"Not just now, Mitch. How about dessert, Wendy?"
Parker appeared as if by magic. Wendy couldn't figure out if he was telepathic or if Mack had used some unseen means to summon him.
She shook her head. "I couldn't eat another bite. I'll leave you to your discussion and get some sleep, if you don't mind."
Mitch jumped up to hold her chair. "It's not that I want to get rid of you exactly," he confided, "but this is sort of important, so thanks for understanding. You know, Mack, it isn't very often you find a woman who takes a hint and doesn't resent it. Maybe you'd better consider-"
Mack interrupted ruthlessly. "Just what was it you wanted to tell me, Mitch?"
Parker bowed slightly. "If you'll come this way, Miss, I'll have Mrs. Parker show you to your room."
Wendy glanced back as she left the breakfast room. The men had already seated themselves again, and Mitch was deep in explanation, illustrating his point by rearranging flatware on the table.
Mrs. Parker was short and round and dressed in black. Obviously the housekeeper, Wendy concluded, and speculated on how many other people were employed around this house. She wondered if Mack would see the humor if she suggested the Burgesses ought to publish a guidebook, like all the best hotels did, to let guests know what services were available and who to ask for assistance.
At the top of the stairs, Wendy paused. "Which way is the nursery?"
Mrs. Parker pointed. "In that wing, miss, with the rooms Mrs. Burgess' nurses use."
Wendy bit her lip.
"I don't think you need to worry about the little one tonight," the housekeeper said comfortably. "She's already asleep, I understand. And she'll have the best of care."
"I suppose you're right." And I'd better get used to letting go of her, Wendy reminded herself. If she didn't, it would only make things harder on both of them in the long run.
"I hope you'll be comfortable here." The housekeeper opened an arched door and snapped on the lights inside a large sitting room. Two overstuffed chintz chairs and a small loveseat were grouped on an old Oriental rug by the fireplace, and a bench which ran the entire length of three big windows made a perfect place to curl up and look out over the fountain and courtyard in the front of the house.
"The bedroom and bath are through there," Mrs. Parker said, pointing to a door at the far end of the room. "Mr. Mack said you've been stranded without your luggage?"
The question made Wendy want to swear. All this elegance, and she didn't have a clean stitch to wear. "Unfortunately, that's correct."
"I took the liberty of laying out a few things for you to use tonight. I hope you'll find them acceptable. And if you'd like to ring when you've finished undressing, I'll send a maid up for your things so they'll be fresh in the morning." She waved a hand at the bell beside the fireplace.
Almost automatically, Wendy said, "That's far too much trouble..." Then she broke off. She hated being a nuisance, but she was hardly in a position to refuse.
Mrs. Parker was smiling – not a supercilious smile, but a genuinely friendly one. "Just ring when you're ready."