The Touch (33 page)

“
Of course you are, you’re the spitting image of Lady Margaret, isn’t she?
” Mrs. Poole replied and Thomas nodded sagely.

“
Indeed she is.
”
 

“
Who’s Lady Margaret?
” Joanie asked, suddenly finding her voice after spending the last few minutes gawking at the size of the foyer. 

“That would be her ladyship’s grandmother, a few generations removed, of course,” Thomas replied genially, and it was odd for Sara to think she had a common ancestry with the Lady of the house.  Of course, now
she
was the Lady of the house…

The door opened and the driver deposited the rest of the bags with a thud that echoed in the open space.  A frown knit Mrs. Poole’s brows together at the unceremonious interruption, but she smoothed her expression before turning to Sara.  “
Would you like me to have Will take the young master up? 
There’s a proper
fire laid out
for him in preparation.”

“
Oh no, I can do it
,” Sara shook her head.  “Just point me in the right direction, I’m used to it.”

Another flutter of distress went through Mrs. Poole and the young chauffeur stepped up.  “Of course you are, but yo
u’ll be
knackered
after your
long journey,” he held his arms wide to take Jack from her.  “D
on’t worry, my
L
ady, I'll take care of him like he was my own
.”

Sara hesitated, her arms still curved protectively around her young son’s body.  The driver, or Will as Mrs. Poole had called him, waited patiently, his grey-blue eyes snapping with his own private amusement. 
He was cuter than she’d first thought, or maybe it was the
earnest
way he smiled at her
, as if he understood how strange it all was for her
.

“Let him take Jack for chrissakes, Sara,” Joanie nudged her.  “It’s just upstairs, it’s not like he’s gonna disappear and never come back.”
 

She’d been about to give in anyway, but now she felt like she was being a big, fat ignoramus for objecting in the first place.  “
Okay, that’d be nice, thanks.”
  The transfer was easily made, and in a few seconds Sara watched him disappear up the stairs with her son. 

“
Will you be wanting anything then if not a cup of tea?
” Mrs. Poole commanded her attention once more.  “
I could have something light for you to eat very quickly.
”
 

All these people ready to jump if she gave the word…
After years in the service industry it felt surreal to be catered to.  “To be honest, my time zones are a little wonky right now, so I’m not all that hungry.  Joanie, what about you?” Sara replied, since they seemed to be addressing everything to her as if Joanie didn’t exist. 

“No, I’m good.  I just need to visit the loo,” she winked at Mrs. Poole, who drew in a sharp breath behind her hand and Sara thought she might have heard an ‘oh dear’ slip out, but she couldn’t be sure. 

“Yes, well… let’s go upstairs then, shall we?” Mrs. Poole turned on her heel to lead the way. 

Sara turned to say goodbye to Thomas, but he was nowhere in sight. 
She must be more tired than she’d thought…

At the top of the stairs they turned left and down the wide hallways that boasted rich artwork she couldn’t wait to get a better look at once she could keep her eyes open. 

“I thought to put Miss Wilson in the yellow room if it suits, my Lady,” she opened the door wide for them to take a look.

“Shut up…” Joanie’s jaw dropped as she stepped into the room.  Pretty and feminine, the wallpaper was a pale yellow with tiny posies of flowers.  The heavy woodwork was painted a muted white which brightened the room considerably, even in the subdued light.  Besides the high bed, there was a small sitting area in front of the windows and a roaring fire going behind an ornately enameled grate. 

“Is there a problem with the room?”  Mrs. Poole blinked and Sara was quick to reassure her.

“No, no problem at all.  She meant that in a good way, I promise.”

“I’ll say,” Joanie flopped on top of the bed, shoes and all, rolling one way and then the other.  “I could definitely get used to this,” she let out a dreamy sigh. 

“There’s electricity in all of the rooms,” Mrs. Poole reported proudly, “and the main guest rooms all have bathrooms
en suite,”
she opened the door to the adjoining bathroom with a flourish and Joanie leaned up on her elbow to get a better look.

“Is there central heat?” Sara asked, stepping closer to the fireplace and Mrs. Poole shook her head.

“Sadly, no, we rely on the fireplaces to heat the house, but there are fireplaces in all of the bedrooms and the main living areas apart from the conservatory.”

“The conservatory,” Joanie made an exaggerated face, lifting her nose into the air as she put the exact same inflection to the word; only from her it sounded positively snooty. 

“Yes, the conservatory,” Mrs. Poole repeated, brows drawing together in confusion as Joanie’s sense of humor went over her head. 

“That’s great, Mrs. Poole, thanks.  You’ll be alright here, Joanie?  I’m going to head to bed,” Sara changed the subject, eager to find her own room.

“I think I can muddle through,” Joanie smiled up from the pile of pillows.

“Okay, goodnight, see you in the morning.”  Sara felt like she could sleep for a week, but a low current of excitement thrummed under her skin at the thought of seeing the master bedroom.  From the architecture of the house, it was obvious it was at least a few hundred years old, hence the housekeeper’s pride in the use of electricity, and she couldn’t wait to see the set up in there.

“Here we are, my Lady,” Mrs. Poole sang out as they reached the massive mahogany door at the end of the long hallway. 

It was everything a master suite implied and more.  Dominated by a huge four poster bed built into the room itself, it was richly dressed in burgundy and green bed clothes trimmed heavily in gold.  A crackling fire blazed within a massive hearth in front of the seating area where two wing backed chairs and a small sofa sat across a low table laid out with an ornate chess set.  Whoever designed the room was heavy on the wood trim; in fact, the entire ceiling was covered with a series of heavy beams with delicate carved inlays forming a scrolling grid pattern that encompassed every square inch of surface area. 

It was exquisite, but very dark; not at all like the feminine yellow room Joanie had been assigned.  Patterned rugs covered much of the polished mahogany floor, offering muted spots of color, but they’d long ago faded
into dullness,
missing a tassel here and there
.  None of it was exactly to her tastes, more masculine than anything else, but nice, very nice. 

Wandering into the adjoining bath as Mrs. Poole turned down the bed, Sara smiled at finding an old copper bathtub, big enough to sink up to her nose in.  It was tempting to take a soak after the long trip by planes and trains, but more than anything she wanted to curl up in the big fluffy bed and catch some z’s.  A door off the bathroom led into a dressing room bigger than the living room of the last apartment she’d shared with Jack, the same masculine decor carrying over.  Another door off the bathroom was locked up tight when she tried it.  Did she have to share the bathroom with another room? 
That could be awkward…

“What’s this door to?” Sara called out, and Mrs. Poole was quick to hurry over.

“That goes to the Lady’s dressing room and living apartments.  I had given some thought to whether or not you’d be more comfortable in those quarters, but they’ve been vacant for such a long time, I’m afraid the bed wouldn’t do at all.”

“Oh, I gotcha.  The old Lord and Lady didn’t share a bed, huh?” Sara grinned.

“It was very common to keep separate apartments, especially in the day of arranged marriages,” she nodded, returning to finish with the bed and Sara wandered back in to stand by the huge stone fireplace.  Her suitcases had appeared while she was in the bathroom, and she lugged one up to prop on the wooden chest at the end of the bed to find her nightgown and toiletries. 

“I apologize, my Lady, we’ll have a proper lady’s maid in here for you tomorrow,” Mrs. Poole clucked, still fussing with the pillows.

“Oh, no it’s fine,” Sara waved her off.  “I don’t need a maid; I can take care of myself.”  It was weird enough having someone fluff up her pillows for her.  “Do you have to get sheets made special for that?” she pointed to the massive bed.

“Ah… yes, my Lady, as a matter of fact, we do.  I didn’t presume to make any decorative choices for you; I assumed you’d want to be involved in the redressing of the room to your liking.  Or you can take over the other rooms if you’d prefer.” 

“You can call me Sara.”  It felt strange with everybody
my Ladying
her over and over.

“No, my Lady, I most certainly can not,” Mrs. Poole replied, her voice grave with disapproval.  “Is there anything else you require before you retire for the night?”

Chastened, Sara shook her head before realizing Mrs. Poole wanted her to say something.  “No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Very well.  If you have need of anything at all, you can ring for assistance, day or night,” she pointed to a tasseled rope hanging next to the headboard.

“Oh,” Sarah blinked; it was like something straight out of the movies.  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.  Thanks again for everything, have a good night.”

“Thank you, my Lady, sleep well.”

By the time Sara got her toiletries unpacked and arranged in the cabinet next to the sink and changed into her nightgown, the house had settled down for the night; the only sound the crackling of the fire.  The fireplace was big enough to stand up in if she ducked slightly, and she was afraid the Pooles had been a little overzealous in their attempt to keep her warm.  “I won’t need the blankets at all,” she murmured, moving to the set of corner windows to see if she could crack one of them open. 

The frame was hard to manage at first, stuck from years of disuse, but it popped open with a groan when she pushed a little harder, leaving a three inch gap.  The cool night air rushed in, heavily laced with scents from the gardens and Sara glimpsed neat rows of flower beds below.  Lilac, lavender, hyacinth, and roses most probably, though it was hard to see from the height through the narrow gap.  Delighted with such a find, Sara pulled the window closed so it was only open a crack to let in a little fresh air and hopped into bed.   

Immediately enveloped in downy comfort, she wriggled down into a sea of pillows.  “I am Sara J. Darling, millionaire,” she yawned.  “I own a mansion and a yacht.”  The dreamy smile stayed fixed on her lips until well after sleep claimed her for the night.