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“Just you and Tara this morning,” Henry told her. “Tel had to leave early.”
So that was it. If she could sense his absence from a house that big, she had better avoid him altogether. Nothing in her contract said she had to eat her meals with him; indeed, most housekeepers—and that’s what she was, no matter if the contract specified homemaker—didn’t eat with their bosses. She slapped her forehead. Not being able to eat with Telford would devastate Tara.
From somewhere in the distance she heard Henry’s voice. “…and wear that long red thing at supper tonight. Telford’s planning to commit social suicide.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“Means he’s bringing company.”
Cold marbles danced around in her belly, and moisture beaded on her forehead. “Are you telling me he’s bringing a woman friend home with him this evening?”
She’d learned that Henry never answered a question directly if he could do it some other way. He raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, come in here looking good. Course, you’d make her look bad if you showed up in dungarees. And fix the supper table real nice.”
Although she appreciated his gesture of friendship, she was too annoyed to show it. “What makes you think I care who Telford Harrington brings here?”
“’Cause you do. But don’t worry none. She won’t spend the night. Never has. He ain’t that crazy.”
That conversation weighed on her as she did the morning chores. Put on that caftan? No way. She intended to wear her red silk sleeveless jumpsuit. He’d get an eyeful whether she was sitting down or walking away from him. She set the table with the best Harrington appointments, added candles and a bouquet of red, white and yellow roses and surveyed the result with satisfaction.
She dressed Tara in a jumpsuit that matched her own, combed the child’s hair out and sprayed it with a lilac scent. Then she showered, put on the red suit, fastened gold hoops to her ears, let down her hair below her shoulders and dabbed Obsession perfume where it counted. She didn’t believe in going to war unless you meant to win.
For whatever reason he’d brought a woman home with him, he remembered that they ate at seven. It wasn’t she, but Henry, who usually opened the door for the brothers, but when the bell rang at a quarter of seven, she beat him to it. Telford gaped at her, speechless and obviously dumbfounded until Tara ran between them and hugged his legs.
“Mr. Telford, I got your telephone call today.” Tara held her arms up for a hug, but he didn’t see the child. His gaze was glued to Alexis.
“Can I have a hug?” That got his attention, and he reached down, lifted her and stroked her back. “Do you like how I look?”
“You’re beautiful, and I like it.” She kissed his cheek and he set her on the floor.
“What a touching little scene.”
His head snapped around. “Oh. Sorry. Ms. Moore, this is Mrs. Alexis Stevenson, our homemaker.”
Alexis sized her up and smiled. The woman wouldn’t resist being catty. She extended her hand. “How do you do, Ms. Moore. This is my daughter, Tara.”
“Hi, Miss Moore.” Tara’s greeting lacked enthusiasm.
“Sure you’re a housekeeper?”
Alexis let a smile drift over her face. “If you want to know how competent I am, I guess you’ll have to ask Telford.” With that double entendre, she led them to the living room, aware that she’d made Evangeline Moore blanch. Whether from annoyance or embarrassment, she didn’t know or care. “Would you like something to drink, Ms. Moore? Lemonade or iced tea?” She figured that, as homemaker, she was also hostess. And since she was certain that her tactics didn’t please Telford, she didn’t bother to look at him.
“I’d like a dry martini,” Evangeline said, “and shake it well.”
Alexis sat down, crossed her left leg over her right knee and swung her left foot. “That’s Telford’s domain. I have no idea how to mix a martini.”
She had to stifle the giggles that threatened to spill out of her when she finally looked at Telford and saw his murderous glare. She wanted to dance for joy. He’d get her for it later, but she didn’t care. He started to the refrigerator, and Tara ran to him.
“Mr. Telford, is Miss Moore your mummy?”
“What?” Evangeline jumped from the chair and pointed her finger at Alexis. “Did you tell her to say that?”
“I didn’t, and I apologize for her innocent mistake.”
Telford knelt beside Tara. “No, she isn’t, Tara. She’s my friend and our dinner guest.”
“Is she going to stay with us?”
“No. She’s just here for dinner.”
“Oh.” She ran over to Evangeline. “I’m glad Mr. Telford has a friend.”
He looked at Evangeline, waiting for her response, and when she didn’t say anything, he walked over to Alexis. “Could we have dinner now?”
“What about the martini?”
“I don’t have any vermouth.”
She promised herself she’d check the bar first thing in the morning. Standing, she took Tara’s hand. “Come along, darling.”
He nearly laughed when Evangeline walked into the dining room and gasped. As though it were all especially for her, she headed for the place opposite his own as head of the table and found Alexis seating herself there.
“That’s Mummy’s seat. You can sit here beside me.” Tara patted the chair next to hers.
“I’ll sit over here.”
Tara was too innocent and sweet to realize it, but she was needling Evangeline more than Alexis was. He knew Evangeline wouldn’t show patience for one of Tara’s long graces, so he took the matter in hand.
“Let’s say grace.” He did, and when he glanced from one woman to the other, he saw pride and affection in one and furor in the other.
As if to make certain that he had a heart attack, Henry walked into the dining room and put a bowl in front of him and one in front of Alexis.
“Be right back with the rest.”
“Hello, Henry,” Evangeline called after him.
“Fine,” he called over his shoulder. Seconds later he returned with two more bowls, which he placed before Tara and Evangeline, in that order, then set a soup tureen in the middle of the table.
Telford ground his teeth. One of these days he was going to have to fire Henry. “I don’t believe this.”
Alexis lifted the lid from the tureen and stared at the contents. “Henry,” she called.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, arousing her suspicion, since he never addressed her that way.
“I thought we were having lamb chops for dinner and a full, five-course meal.”
“Didn’t feel like it. Besides, cabbage stew’s healthy.”
Telford thought about it for a few seconds. Tara didn’t need to see adults act ugly, so he served himself a big helping of cabbage, potatoes and smoked pig jowl.
“May I have your plate, Evangeline?”
She pushed it to him and he was certain that she deliberately shoved her soupspoon to the floor. “Get me another soupspoon, Alexis.”
He held his breath, but after Alexis’s eyes widened with momentary shock, a smile drifted over her face, and he exhaled.
“If you ask Henry, I’m sure he’ll bring you one. You always have to ask him nicely, though.”
Henry came in with a pitcher of lemonade, and he was glad for the opportunity to lighten the atmosphere. “Henry, would you bring Evangeline a soupspoon, please.”
“What happened to the one I gave her?”
“She threw it on the floor, Mr. Henry.”
“Tara, please don’t interrupt when adults are speaking.”
“But she did, Mummy.”
That settled it. Telford got up and went to the kitchen to get a soupspoon. Silver or not didn’t matter. Besides, he had no idea where Alexis kept that silver. He put the spoon beside Evangeline’s plate and looked at her, hoping she got his message. Let’s have some peace at this table.
At least Henry made dessert. Telford thanked him for the apple pie.
“Tara likes it, and she wants me to put black-cherry ice cream on it” was Henry’s reply.
“Would you like espresso or regular coffee, Evangeline?” Alexis asked her.
Evangeline looked at Telford. “Whatever you’re having, dear.”
“He’s having regular coffee.”
He couldn’t say she was deliberately aggravating Evangeline, but the women were so dissimilar that the difference itself had to irritate Evangeline. Why hadn’t he realized that Alexis was an upper-class woman? She had some talking to do.
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