0 comments/ 11179 views/ 6 favorites The Bordunes Ch. 01 By: OrpheusDescending Morning, Mid-April 1882 Chapter One Lorelei Langley Part 1 On an unseasonably balmy April morning in Manhattan, a young woman in a peach colored satin dress made her way down Fifth Avenue. Catching her reflection in the window of a hat shop, Lorelei Langley paused to admire herself. After looking around to ensure no one was nearby, she leaned closer to her reflection and opened her cashmere shawl to reveal a shocking amount of décolletage for day time. Watching her reflection, she adjusted her ample cleavage to form two pearly mounds. Satisfied, she pulled the netting from her hat over her face and sauntered on, unaware that inside the hat shop she gave an enthralled stock boy a memory he would cherish for the rest of his life. Parasol twirling, curvy hips swaying, Lorelei smiled behind her veil as she walked along the crowded sidewalk. For once, the dust, clattering noise, and occasional whiff of horse manure did not bother her. In a few minutes, she would be with Beauregard Caulfield again. It was risky for a woman without a chaperone to meet a man at his hotel. When she received his message stating that he was in town, the prudent thing to do would be to invite him to tea at her aunt's brownstone on Washington Square Park. However, when it came to men, prudence had never been one of Lorelei's strong points. She entered the lobby of the Hotel Livingston. The lobby, decorated in a somber, Victorian fashion, had numerous potted palms, dark oak paneling, and heavy damask drapes covering the windows. The scent of cigars and brandy lingering in the air made Lorelei think of Old Money, which, as far as Lorelei was concerned, was the best money. However, old or new, she wasn't too particular, as long as there was plenty of it. The bored desk clerk immediately snapped to attention. A bald-headed, bespectacled man, the clerk licked his lips at her approach. "Pardon me," Lorelei leaned her heaving breasts over the counter. Her honeyed voice immediately called to mind lazy Carolina afternoons sipping mint juleps on the verandah. "I believe you have a Mr. Beauregard Caulfield under the roof of this fine hotel. Would you be so kind as to tell him he has a visitor?" The clerk was about to respond behind her someone shouted, "Lorelei!" She turned to find Beauregard, as lanky and eager as a newborn colt, walking briskly towards her. Lorelei exclaimed, "Cousin Beauregard!" Confusion wrinkled his brow, and then he caught on. "My dear cousin," he said loudly for the benefit of the desk clerk. Clasping her gloved hands in his own, he said, "It's been too long." "Much too long. Please tell me that your trip to New York was a pleasant one." "It was indeed, Miss Lorelei, and any inconveniences suffered were well worth it to lay eyes on you." "Oh, Beauregard. You are such a gallant gentlemen." Beauregard's chest puffed with pride at her remark, and then Lorelei swooned. She steadied herself by holding onto a marble pillar. At once, Beauregard was at her side. "Lorelei, are you unwell?" "I feel a bit faint," she fanned her face with her hand. "This hot April sun must not agree with me." "Perhaps you should come to my room to lie down," he suggested. "Yes," she smiled weakly, "A soft bed and a cool glass of water would be most welcome. I feel so silly to be such a bother." "No bother at all, Miss Lorelei," Beauregard led her to the stairs. Behind them, not fooled for an instant, the clerk scowled as he wiped dust from his spectacles. Once inside Beauregard's room, Lorelei made an instant recovery. She set her parasol against the wall, doffed her hat and, with the aid of an oval mirror atop the dresser, smoothed her glossy black curls. With her back to him, she said, "I can't stay long. Aunt Harriet thinks I'm visiting a sick friend." "Well, I have a patient in need of your tender ministrations." She turned around. Beauregard's trousers were around his ankles revealing a towering erection. "Why Beauregard," she smiled as she put her hands on her rounds hips. "I've missed you, too." Part 2 With an audible pop, Lorelei removed Beauregard's swollen cock from her mouth, and waited in delicious anticipation as his tongue licked the outer folds of her pussy a mere inch from her clit. Beauregard knew how she loved it when he prolonged her release, tongue dancing everywhere except her hot, little button. He lapped hungrily at her tight anus, and then at the smooth skin where her inner thigh met her pussy. Gripping his cock at the base as she lay naked upon him in the 69 position, she cried out, "Beauregard, I can't bear it! I beg you. Do it now!" She heard him chuckle and could easily imagine his lazy smile. A second later, his mouth was all over her clit, kissing it, taking it between his lips, lovingly caressing it with his tongue. He moaned as though the taste of her pussy was the most succulent fruit, her nectar the sweetest honey, and the sound of his moan coupled with his hot mouth all over her clitoris rocketed Lorelei to an instant orgasm. She reveled in the intense sensation, wishing it to last forever. When it faded, she regarded his cock with a blissful smile. A pearl of semen glistened at the tip. Long-limbed and so lean that without his clothes he was practically skeletal, Beauregard possessed a cock of legendary proportions. Looking at it, Lorelei nearly laughed, for it seemed as though his cock nearly outweighed him. Lorelei ran her lips up and down the length of his shaft while Beauregard continued to lavish attention on her clit. They both knew her second orgasm was moments away. She stroked his cock with two hands and still had enough of his cockhead exposed to bathe it with her eager mouth. Her jaw stretched to accommodate his girth. She licked the underside of his thick head, touching the trigger that released a torrent of semen down her throat. Sweaty and spent, Beauregard collapsed atop a heap of fluffy pillows beside her and she curled against him. "My goodness, Lorelei. My goodness," he held her close, and murmured into her hair, "Come back to Charleston with me." She smiled, letting him think whatever he wanted, knowing she was in New York to stay. If circumstances were different, Lorelei would have happily become Mrs. Beauregard Caulfield. She'd be the mistress of a grand house in Charleston, tended to by many servants, riding to church in a fine carriage. But after the War of Northern Aggression, as Beauregard called it, Charleston was a place of bitter memories. As a girl of ten, she watched her mother waste away from consumption as armies circled her beloved city and burned it to the ground. The Langley home, one of the finest in Charleston, escaped the flames but not the crushing poverty that followed. When her mother died, her father lost himself in bourbon and dreams of better days. It fell on Lorelei to keep the creditors at bay by selling off the Langley heirlooms one by one until the house echoed with emptiness. There was no surer way to discover the real value of something than when pawning it in order to ward off starvation. The yard grew wild for she let all the servants go save one, Daisy; towards the end, since Lorelei couldn't afford to pay Daisy anymore, their relationship became one of roommates rather than mistress and servant. One advantage of having a father half in the bottle on any given day was that it allowed young Lorelei an unusual amount of freedom to do as she pleased. Although barely into her womanhood, the effect she had on the men of Charleston was amazing. Unlike other girls her age, when men touched her—chastely at first, but with increasing boldness—the feel of their arms around her waist or their lips on her throat did not frighten her. She loved their masculine ways; deep voices and whiskers, roaming fingers always prying past her lacy garments to probe her hidden wet spots, dangling cocks so quick to spew milky juice. She enjoyed it all, taking great pleasure in the way they made her body feel, and taking even greater pleasure in the gifts they spent their last dollar to buy her. Lorelei's days of personal freedom and pleasure went on like this until her father's death during her twentieth year. The coroner cited her father's official cause of death as "complications from apoplexy." Lorelei knew he simply drank himself to death. Creditors descended on what remained of the Langley estate like a locust plague upon her father's death. Evicted from the family home, Lorelei had no choice but to appeal to her mother's sister, Aunt Harriet in New York. Moving to New York meant leaving Daisy behind. This broke Lorelei's heart. Via letters prior to leaving Charleston, Lorelei pestered Aunt Harriet to find a place in the household for Daisy, but Aunt Harriet wrote back that they, "had no need for a colored servant at this time" and that she was "sure your Daisy will find suitable employment with a different Charleston family." The fact that Aunt Harriet reduced Lorelei's dearest friend in the world to "a colored servant" was Lorelei's first inkling that life under her aunt's roof would be a trial. Living with Aunt Harriet held one tantalizing possibility, however. Aunt Harriet promised to introduce her orphaned niece to young men of far greater means than those who lived in the battle scarred South. This presented an opportunity that Lorelei intended to pursue with mercenary zeal. "Say you'll come home with me," Beauregard cupped her chin and kissed her. "Come home with me and be my wife." She rested her head on his bony chest. "Did I tell you Cousin William is studying law? He's introduced me to some of his classmates, all young men from good families who are also studying law. You'd laugh to see how they compete for my attention. One of them sweats so profusely every time I so much as smile at him, I fear the poor man is delirious with fever. Still, one of them could make a suitable husband. Not the one who perspires so heavily, of course. Can you picture me the wife of a lawyer?" Beauregard sunk into sullen silence, and taking no notice of it, she went on, "Why, just yesterday I had tea with the Patersons—a lawyer and his wife. They own a lovely brownstone. Their son, Perry, is quite smitten with me. He intends to be a lawyer, as well." "You shouldn't let this one slip away," Beauregard said with a hint of anger. Lorelei ignored his tone. "Oh, no. I'm nice to him, of course, but Beauregard if you could just see him. With his buck teeth and bulging eyes, why, the young man reminds me of a catfish." "That's too bad. He'd have been the perfect catch," Beauregard quipped sourly. "I'm not saying I cannot marry an ugly man," she went on. "Beauty fades, though I daresay I hope mine won't for a very long time," she caressed her silky cheek as though to reassure herself. "No, the thing about an ugly man is that his financial means must be in direct proportion to his lack of physical grace. The less comely of appearance, the wealthier they must be. Now, let's say Perry finally passes the bar exam—I've heard some men take several attempts to pass. Apparently, the test is quite hard, but then, of course, you'd want the test to be hard, wouldn't you? No one wants a fool for an attorney. So let's say Perry passes the bar and joins his father's firm. How much income would he have starting out?" Beauregard shrugged. "It cannot be much. His father seemed in vigorous health, so there's little chance of an inheritance any time soon. All said and done, after many years and with his father's passing, we may eventually be worth a hundred thousand dollars. Undoubtedly, that's a great deal of money, but don't forget, I'd have to be wife to a catfish for twenty years before I see it. No, I think I can do better—much better, and Cousin William will help me." Animated with excitement, she rested her pretty chin on her hands and flashed Beauregard a dazzling smile. "Cousin William has been courting Charlotte Bordune, and although I haven't had the pleasure of Charlotte's acquaintance as of yet, I can see by the way she dangles poor William on a string that she takes his romantic attentions lightly. Now, that's bad for William, but good for me because Charlotte Bordune has two brothers—two unmarried brothers, I hasten to add. The whole family is richer than Midas with real estate and railroad lines stretching to the farthest frontier. Aunt Harriet tells me they live in a stunning limestone chateau on Fifth Avenue and have an even grander home in Newport. Cousin William promised to introduce me to Charlotte. I'm sure once I meet her we'll become fast friends, and then it's only a matter of time before I meet one of her brothers." "And when you meet one of these Bordune brothers?" "I get them to marry me, of course." "You sound so sure of yourself." "I didn't come to New York to fail." Beauregard abruptly turned away from her so that her head plopped down on the mattress. "Beau, what's wrong?" "What's wrong?" He snapped and covered his nakedness with a blanket. "Listening to the way you talk about money...it's unbecoming. A respectable woman doesn't think like that." She stifled a laugh. "Oh, Beau, a respectable woman wouldn't have agreed to meet you at your hotel and do what we just did." Seeing that he intended to stay angry, Lorelei decided the time had come to end her visit. She ducked into the bathroom with her valise. She slipped back into her sleeveless chemise and drawers. She studied her reflection in the mirror over the washbasin. Her eyes were sapphire blue, with lush, dark lashes. As a child, her mother used to chide, "Lorelei, you can't walk past a still pond without stopping to admire yourself." You knew me well, Momma, she thought with a wistful smile. Her corset buttoned in the front, although she still needed another pair of hands to pull the strings from behind, so she called through the door, "Beau, be a dear and help me with the strings." She stepped back into the bedroom and right into the barrel of Beauregard's pistol. Part 3 "I ask for your hand in marriage, and you brush me aside like an idiot child," he nearly sobbed, waving the gun in her face. "Look at the pitiful state you've reduced me to. This isn't right, Lorelei. If you won't see plain sense and come home with me as my wife, well...I'll—I'll kill us both and be done with it." Lorelei went completely still. She heard the traffic outside the window on the busy avenue. The ticking of a clock on the nightstand took on a deafening quality. Sunlight gleamed off the polished gun. The black hole at the end of the pistol loomed before her like the entrance to a bottomless well. Beauregard's eyes were wild. He had his trousers on and a shirt unbuttoned to the waist. She saw the way he rapidly inhaled and exhaled. Lorelei took it all in and then laughed. "Beau, my silly Beau," she put her hands on her hips. "You nearly frightened me half to death." Still smiling, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, simultaneously taking the gun from his hand as nonchalantly as though he handed her a bouquet of flowers. With a gentle shove, she pushed him back on the plush bed. She opened the gun chamber, tapped the bullets into her open handbag, and then handed the pistol back to him. "Really, Beauregard," she shook her head in disbelief. "Sometimes I wonder what notions get into that head of yours." He choked on a sob. "If I can't kill you, then I'll kill myself. I swear I will. I'll open the window and jump." "Oh, my beautiful, silly Beauregard," Lorelei gave a soft laugh and ran her fingers through his long, wavy hair as a mother would to an upset child. "You're on the second floor; the fall would hardly kill you," she paused to consider this, "Though you might land on your head and spend the rest of your days as a halfwit." "What am I going to do?" Beauregard buried his face in his hands. "The first thing you're going to do is help me with this corset," she turned her back to him. "There, grab hold of those strings and pull tight." Lorelei exhaled as Beauregard cinched her waist. She examined her reflection in the full-length cheval mirror, pleased with the way the corset emphasized her buxom figure, and then faced him. "The second thing you're going to do is check out of this hotel. My Lord, Beauregard, staying here must cost a fortune and we both know you do not have a red penny to spare. Forget about me. Go back to Charleston. Find a good girl, someone from a family of means. Marry her and have lots of babies." He looked up at her, his eyes pleading, and whispered, "I thought you loved me." "I do, Beauregard. You know I do, but love won't buy a new bonnet," she sighed and slipped her peach colored gown over her head. She turned so Beauregard could button the back of her gown. She glanced at the clock. Lorelei had to make haste if she hoped to avoid one of Aunt Harriet's inquisitions. From the reticule attached to her wrist, she found a pair of white gloves and slipped them on. "Beauregard, remember Somerset, that chestnut stallion you had?" Beauregard sniffled, wiped his nose, and nodded. "Such a beautiful animal. Finest piece of horseflesh in the Carolinas," she said with a wistful smile. "I remember the way the sun used to glint off Somerset's coat, how the muscles rippled under his skin. How it broke your heart to part with him. Why did you do that?" "You know why. My father said we couldn't afford to keep him." "So, you sold him to Mr. Woodley, that beady-eyed old carpetbagger, and as much as it hurt to do it, you did the right thing by Somerset. After all, you couldn't afford to keep him in the manner an animal such as that required, so you found him a better home. I've thought about that horse a lot in the weeks since I came to New York." Lorelei seemed pensive for a moment, and then abruptly gathered her valise and parasol. "Now, I must go. Promise me you'll go straight home. There's nothing for you in New York, Beauregard." He nodded and bowed his head to hers. She stroked his cheek. "I'll miss you, Beau." "I'll miss you, too," he clasped her hands to his lips. She allowed a tear to roll down her cheek, and then she kissed him one last time, grabbed her purse, and left the room. Less than fifty paces down the hall, a shot fired from Beauregard's room, and then the sound of something hitting the floor. A hand flew to her mouth as a scream died in her throat. Beauregard! He must have had an extra bullet in the room. Oh, Beauregard, you silly fool, her heart shattered and she needed to hold onto the wall to keep from collapsing in a heap. She heard the footsteps of people coming to investigate the source of the gunshot. If word got out that she'd been with him, it would ruin her. Forget the Bordune brothers; if people knew that she'd been alone in a hotel room with a man moments before his death, even catfish-faced Perry Paterson wouldn't have her for a wife. Swiftly, she wiped the tears from her face, pulled the netting down from the hat and continued on her way as a group of men rushed past her. She did not look back. She had big plans ahead, and nothing, not even Beauregard's death, could derail them. The Bordunes Ch. 02 Rose O'Toole Part 1 Dark circles shadowed Rose O'Toole's green eyes. Three worrisome weeks at a boarding house in New York's notorious Five Points section left Rose with fingernails gnawed down to nubs. On that April morn, she tied her long, auburn hair into a neat bun, bundled her few possessions in a sack and bid farewell to the boarding house, praying never to return. The streets of New York stank of such rot and disease that Rose feared that even if she scrubbed her skin raw with the strongest soap she'd still carry the stink. With a note from her cousin clenched in her fist like a charm to ward off evil, she set off. As she walked down the street, she made sure to keep her eyes on the ground, partly to avoid stepping in pig shit or some other kind of filth, partly to avoid meeting the aggressive eyes of the men that lingered in the doorways of saloons and brothels. She learned from previous trips onto the city streets that the sight of a pretty, young girl invited numerous crude advances. For a young woman such as Rose, fresh from the green hills of Ireland and never knowing the touch of a man, New York had been a shock. In the broad light of day, right on Mulberry St., she saw a shameless woman hike her skirt and beckon any man that strolled by to come between her thighs for twenty-five cents. In a wink, a man who shockingly could have passed for Rose's dear departed Da, accepted the whore's offer. With the whore pressed against an alley wall, skirts raised, legs splayed wide, the man unbuckled his trousers and with nary a "How do you do," rammed his cock up into her, grunting like the stray pigs that rooted in the garbage. Mouth agape, Rose watched in disbelief and then moved on when she heard the snickering of dirty-faced children who clearly were not as appalled at the public fucking as Rose was. A month ago, Rose made the voyage from Ireland because her cousin, Kathleen, promised her a job in the household of the Bordunes, the richest family in America, where Kathleen held the prestigious position of Ladies Maid. Rose arrived in New York in high spirits and went directly to the Bordunes' palatial home, where she met Kathleen at the back servants' entrance. To Rose's surprise, after a brief hug, Kathleen told Rose to leave. "But what about the maid position?" Rose asked. She'd journeyed too far to leave without an explanation. Kathleen glanced fearfully over her shoulder and then hissed, "I can't explain i'tall now. Someone's coming. You must go. I'll send word when it'd be a good time to return." Rose started to panic. "I don't know a soul in New York, save for you. Where will I go? How will you find me?" Kathleen retreated into the servants' entrance and whispered, "Go to Mrs. Fitzpatrick's boarding house on Mott. I'll write to you there. Hurry now, off with you." "Kathleen," Rose started to protest, but Kathleen shut the door and rushed away. The next three weeks became the most harrowing time in Rose's life. She found Mrs. Fitzpatrick's boarding house in the decayed heart of the Five Points. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, a toothless crone with a face that had not smiled in many a long year, charged Rose six cents a day for the privilege of sleeping in a crowded cellar with up to fifteen other women and their children. Rose's world became a five-foot by three-foot cot of flea-infested rags. Rose had a lovely shawl of delicate Irish lace made by her Ma to give to Kathleen by way of showing thanks for helping Rose land a position with the Bordunes. Rose guarded it carefully, keeping it close to her at all times. It did not matter. On her second day in Mrs. Fitzpatrick's, she awoke to find the shawl gone. Asking the other women where it went got her a wall of sullen stares. Every day that passed, Rose asked if a letter came from Kathleen. With growing desperation, she watched what little money she had disappear. Forced to choose between eating and lodging, she went hungry. She lay awake at night, weak from hunger, worn from worry, trying to ignore her fleabites and the constant rattling cough of a nearby child. The cellar air was sickly; every breath Rose took was already inhaled and exhaled by a score of other people. With only a few cents remaining, the letter from Kathleen finally came. Rose, Come tomorrow morn to the back entrance. I've had a word with the butler, Mr. Burton. Don't let his gruff ways put you off. He's a good sort. He'll give you a job. Kathleen The sun chased away the early morning damp as Kathleen made her way uptown to the Bordune home. The squalor of the Five Points gave way to busier avenues, the sidewalks thronged with people all walking briskly, everyone with an urgent place to be and too little time to get there. Weak from days without eating, Rose's uptown trek became a test of will. Her shoulders stooped. Her feet dragged. When she reached a neighborhood of stately homes, her legs buckled. She held onto a wrought iron fence and felt the world tilt at a crazy angle. So odd, she thought, how the pavement rushes up to me. How could this be? Unconscious, she hit the sidewalk. Part 2 "Miss, do you need a doctor?" Her eyes fluttered open. A man knelt at her side. His eyes were the darkest brown to match his wavy hair, parted on the side and pushed back from his brow. He had a strong jaw covered in a trimmed beard and high cheekbones. "Yes, yes, I am fine," Rose accepted his outstretched hand. "I felt a bit dizzy, tis all." The man was a head and a half taller than Rose and wore an elegant frockcoat with a herringbone suit, burgundy satin vest, black leather gloves and a white silk cravat. He helped her to her feet, and as he did so, Rose noticed that he leaned on an ebony, silver-tipped cane. "When was the last time you've eaten?" Dazed, she dusted off her dress. "I...I don't rightly know." "That settles it," the man donned his beaver pelt top hat. "We're getting you something to eat." "No, thank you, no," she touched her hand to her forehead, feeling light headed. "I have an appointment." "Surely, you can afford a few moments for sustenance." "I am afraid I cannot." "Then you should at least let me speed you on to your destination," he guided her to a distinguished black carriage pulled by a black stallion. As the man walked besides Rose, he limped and leaned on his cane. He noticed her observing his stiff leg and his eyes turned sad. "Pardon my lack of physical grace." Mortified, she said in a weak voice, "Oh, there's nothing to pardon. I should not have stared." She tried to apologize further, but the coachmen opened the carriage doors and helped her inside. The gentleman asked, "Where are you going?" "The Bordune house. I am to be one of their servants." The gentleman turned to his coachman, "The Bordune house. Do you know of the place?" The coachman smiled. "Aye, sir. That I do." "The Bordune house it is, then," the gentleman said as he took a seat in the richly appointed carriage opposite Rose. He studied her for a moment and then, seeming to remember something, rummaged in a leather-travelling bag and found a box wrapped in a fancy blue bow. He removed the lid and showed Rose the contents. "A gift for my mother," he revealed a box of chocolates, each chocolate a satiny tobacco brown. Rose's mouth watered at the sight. "They should tide you over until you have a proper meal." Every muscle in her body yearned to snatch the box from his hands, but with considerable restraint, Rose managed to say, "But your mother. I couldn't possibly." He waved her concerns aside. "Mother will hardly miss it. Here, you take it." He pressed the box into her hands. Rose smiled in gratitude and popped one of the chocolates into her mouth. Never before had she tasted something so rich and sweet. She ate another, and then five more. "Delicious, no?" She nodded excitedly and then let out a loud hiccup. Red-faced, she covered her mouth. The man gave a hearty laugh, and behind her hands, Rose found herself giggling, too. When Rose was little, her Da used to put her to bed with fanciful tales of faraway lands, of princesses trapped in towers and valiant princes on white stallions. She drifted to sleep with images of ladies fair and dashing heroes. The man across from her called to mind the valiant princes she used to dream of. Even as they shared a laugh, a part of her was sad for she knew she was a poor serving girl and he was a man of breeding and wealth. Their paths were not likely to cross again. All she would ever have of him was this moment. If that was all it would be, then she had to have his name so that, in the years ahead when she wistfully recalled the memory of this brief encounter, she would have a name to put to the man that inspired it. "I am Rose O'Toole," she said. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. O'Toole. Charles Bordune III." Part 3 She gasped. "Did you say...Bordune?" "I did." Seeing her incredulous expression, he laughed once more, flashing brilliant white teeth, and then said, "Forgive me. A bit of fun at your expense, I know. I am sorry. Truly, I am. I rarely have cause to laugh anymore. Please forgive me," then he glanced out the window. "Ah, we have arrived." They pulled in front of a towering mansion of grey stone that resembled a French chateau transported to Fifth Ave complete with blue tile roof and leering stone gargoyles. Rose was so stunned by the identity of the man who came to her aid that she was at a loss for words. The carriage pulled into a paved drive alongside the mansion and stopped at the stables in the back. With a numb expression, Rose tried to hand the remaining chocolates to Charles, but he patted her hand, saying, "Please keep it as a welcoming gift. You're here to see Mr. Burton?" She gave a meek nod. "Don't let him frighten you. He's as gruesome as the gargoyles on the roof, and just as harmless." "Thank you, Mr. Bordune." "Good luck, Mrs. O'Toole." In disbelief, she left the carriage and made her way to the servants' entrance while Charles remained behind to confer with the coachmen. Rose rang the bell and waited. The meeting with Charles left her thoughts jumbled; when Kathleen opened the door Rose blinked at her in a daze. "Well, don't stand there like a dozy cow," Kathleen hugged her and ushered Rose inside a vast kitchen. Rose hardly had another second to dwell on the bewildering meeting with Charles Bordune III as she took in the scene before her. Two scullery maids and a chef busied themselves preparing a feast. Shiny copper pots hung from the ceiling. The scent of something scrumptious filled the air. Potatoes, beets, and turnips covered the counter. The chef carefully removed a steaming blueberry pie from an oven. A scullery maid brushed melted butter, thyme, and sage on the crackling bronzed skin of a roasting turkey. The chef and maids paused to study the poor bedraggled creature standing beside Kathleen. The chocolates Charles gave Rose hardly calmed her hunger. The sight and smell of the food made Rose lightheaded. Kathleen must have noticed Rose's dreamily ravenous expression, for she whispered, "We'll get you a plate, right quick, but first, Mr. Burton." Kathleen led Rose through a large, simply furnished dining hall attached to the kitchen. "This is where the servants eat," Kathleen explained. Rose watched her cousin as they walked. Ten years passed since Kathleen left Ireland. Kathleen still had the same wild, fiery hair, icy blue eyes, and full figure. She wore a black dress and white apron, but unlike the scullery maids, Kathleen did not have to wear the housemaid's cap required of all the lower rung female servants. Kathleen took Rose down a hall that ended with a small office. Kathleen knocked on the office door. Rose heard a wooden chair scrape against the tile floor, and then the door opened to a towering old man. Although bald, he more than made up for the hair he lacked on his head with silvery white mutton chop sideburns that gave him an owlish appearance. He wore a black suit and an immaculately white dress shirt and collar. At the sight of Rose, he retrieved a silver pocket watch, opened it, and arched his bushy brows in disdain to indicate Rose was late even though Kathleen's note specified no exact time to arrive. "Mr. Burton, this is Rose O'Toole." Self-conscious beneath his scornful gaze, Rose curtsied and looked at the floor. "Rose is nineteen and come for the position of parlor maid." Mr. Burton snapped the pocket watch shut. "Where have you performed domestic service prior?" "Nowhere as of yet, but she can both read and write and is unafraid of hard work," Kathleen said. "And can she speak?" Mr. Burton asked. Rose blushed. "Yes, I can speak quite well." Mr. Burton snorted. "My dear girl, the first rule of working in this household is that you give simple answers when asked a question. Do not say anything more when "Yes, Sir" or "No, Madam" is perfectly sufficient. Do you understand?" "No, Madam—I mean yes, Sir!" Rose nearly trembled. Mr. Burton glowered at Kathleen, and then turned to Rose. "We anticipate the arrival of an important guest today, the Comtesse de Montpellier. The Comtesse will remain with us for an undetermined length of time, during which Mrs. Bordune intends to entertain a great many visitors. You are to keep out of sight. Remain in the background. Do not speak unless spoken to. You will share Kathleen's living quarters on the fourth floor. You will have Sundays to yourself unless Mrs. Bordune requires you. The salary is three dollars a week and you start today." "Thank you, Sir," Rose said with barely disguised joy. "You do not call me "Sir," the butler corrected. "That is how you address the men of the Bordune family should one of them speak to you. Call me Mr. Burton. For the time being, you will report to me. When the Housekeeper, Mrs. Carbury, returns at the end of the week, you will report to her. Kathleen will provide your uniform and explain your duties. That is all." "Thank you again, Mr. Burton," Rose said. Mr. Burton grumbled and waved over his shoulder as he closed the office door behind him. Kathleen smiled and gave Rose a big hug. "Welcome to your new home."