The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,8
questioned in order to clarify things in her own mind.
"For their every breath, Miss Farraday."
Cara ignored the sarcasm in Julian's reply, asking sweetly in her turn. "And the salary, my lord?"
Julian mentioned a figure and watched as the girl tilted her head, then after a slight hesitation, nodded in decision.
"I will take the position, my lord."
Julian was dumbfounded by the audacity of the girl. She accepted as though she were conferring a favor on him. Finally the humor of the situation broke through his irritation and laughing he stood up facing the cheeky child.
"Thank you, Miss Farraday," Julian replied, making a mocking leg.
Before Cara could open her mouth to vent her anger, Julian strode to the door. Throwing it open he summoned the hovering footman.
"Travis, take Miss Farraday to the children's wing and ask Mrs. Clayton if she would attend her there."
Cara's mouth snapped shut. Thus dismissed, she whirled to follow the departing footman.
Chuckling in amusement Julian returned to his desk. His verbal duel with the little mouse had been a welcome break in the otherwise humdrum daily grind of running the estates. Miss Farraday, despite appearances to the contrary, might be a lively addition to his household. Having met many Americans, Julian was aware that the women as well as the men prided themselves on their independence. Beneath Miss Farraday's whey-faced exterior there was a glimmer of a fiery temperament. No matter her youth, at least the children would be properly chaperoned. His hiring of the little American might be an interesting experiment. She would certainly bear watching.
Cara would have been terrified had she known Lord Wilton's thoughts. As it was, she trudged after the footman through endless corridors until she found herself in the upper story of the children's wing. Opening a door the liveried servant informed her that Mrs. Clayton would be with her shortly.
The bedroom was larger than Cara had expected. All the furnishings were old but buffed to a fine satiny patina. Soft summer sunlight filtered through the dainty floral curtains, drawing her to the windows.
The view outside was breathtaking. A patchwork of greens of every shade met her eyes as she scanned the landscape laid out before her.
Weathersfield Hall was U-shaped, with her room at the top, inside corner of the U. An enormous stone terrace spanned the entire base of the building. Down several shallow steps, a formal garden was laid out and beyond that, a lake glinted through the treed landscape. There were wilder woods to be seen on all sides and through the trees she could see other buildings, which she assumed to be stables and other more practical buildings for the actual function of a working estate.
Feeling more oriented, Cara sat on the window seat thinking over her arrival.
She had come to Weathersfield Hall hoping to find her husband presentable and admirable. Well he was presentable, she admitted, with looks handsome enough for the Devil himself. However never had she met anyone who was more arrogant, rude and probably debauched, she added, recalling the lustful way his eyes had caressed her body. He was domineering, frightening and a bully, Cara continued, listing his faults. She would never be happy married to such a man, she moaned in despair.
Cara's hands clenched as she recalled her interview. Perhaps she had come with too many expectations but Julian's rude interrogation had immediately antagonized her. She had almost told him how she viewed his autocratic attitude. Had it not been for the footman's arrival, she would have disgraced herself and her grandmother, by speaking to Julian in a manner wholly unlike a governess. Cara's knees felt weak remembering her near disaster.
"I'll just have to mind my tongue," Cara promised. Although with a sinking heart, she realized that it would not be easy for her to accept the role of a compliant servant.
At the sound of scratching, Cara hurried to open the door. She admitted a tall buxom woman who peered at her through sharp brown eyes. Next to this bustling dynamo, Cara felt like a recalcitrant schoolgirl.
"Lord love ya, Miss, you're not much bigger than the children," the woman said, echoing Cara's own thoughts. "Well it can't be helped," she continued. "I'm Mrs. Clayton, Lord Wilton's housekeeper."
Cara curtsied and made her addresses. "I'm still a bit overwhelmed by my surroundings."
"It is a bit startling at first," Mrs. Clayton replied kindly. "I understand you are from the Americas so I can imagine everything is quite different."
"Yes, ma'am. I suppose I'll get used to it but