They were greeted at the door by a butler dressed smartly in a double-breasted black waistcoat and salt-and-pepper trousers. His light brown hair was combed back and he bore a thin trace of a mustache under his nose. He looked utterly relieved to see Ardon.
"Mr. Mereguilde," the butler said as they entered, their footsteps echoing loudly on the black and white marbled foyer, "Your early return is fortuitous. I'm afraid—" the butler's eyes finally landed on Thara. He exchanged a look with Ardon.
"Yes, this is the girl," was all Ardon said, which very obviously signaled to Thara that the entire household had been prepared for her arrival. "Is anyone up yet, George?"
"Your mother is in the morning room," George said, politely returning his attention back to Ardon. "Would you like me to let her know you've arrived?"
"No, that's not necessary. I will see to that in a moment."
George took a step forward. "Sir, some business associates are waiting for you in your study."
Ardon visibly bristled. "At this hour? What do they want? Nevermind, I'll go to them now. Can you see that Ms. Newtane is given some food? I won't be gone long." And without a backward glance at Thara he left, his large frame striding out of sight down a corridor.
George coughed and Thara jumped, wrenching her gaze away from Ardon's retreating back. "May I take your cloak, miss?" He eyed the hem, which was stained with dirt and trailing on the marble floor.
Thara hesitated. How was she going to explain the nightgown? "I think I would rather keep it on," she said, blushing.
"I'm afraid I insist," he apologized. "The mud will stain the carpets."
Thara closed her eyes in resolution and handed off the cloak. The butler was paid very well, and didn't bat an eyelash.
George laid out a mouth-watering spread for Thara in the dining room: toast with butter and jam, soft boiled eggs, sausages, cut fruit, and a wedge of cheese were arranged at one end of the table, along with a pot of coffee.
Thara was mid-way through her meal when she heard a young woman say loudly from the kitchen, "Marguerite, why are all the breakfast things still out? Is someone here?"
"The master has returned with his ward, Miss," came the faint reply.
Thara got up and crept toward the doors leading into the kitchen, wanting to hear more.
"She's not his ward, she's Mother's ward, and I don't think she needs so much food. A pot of coffee and some toast with fruit should have been acceptable."
"I'm sorry, Miss, I was instructed to prepare everything," the other woman said, not sounding intimidated in the least.
Thara nudged the door open a crack and saw a girl, perhaps around her own age, standing across from the cook. She wore a pale yellow dress with white sleeves and flower lacing at the hem. A straw hat dangled from one elbow. In her hands was a basket bearing vegetables, which she dropped onto the counter with no amount of grace.
"Here are your blasted tomatoes," the girl said to the cook, before turning to exit the kitchen. Thara had expected her to exit through the hallway entrance, so she was surprised when the girl instead came toward the doors leading to the dining room.
Thara jumped backwards but still managed to get hit. The girl let out a small shriek, her eyes round and staring.
"I'm sorry," Thara said, her nose smarting. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"Who are
you?
" the blonde demanded, her accusing eyes taking in Thara's slippered feet and the dreadful nightgown. She looked at the spread on the table and the empty seat before it, before looking again at Thara. "Is this a joke?"
"That's her, Miss, your mother's ward," Marguerite said helpfully from behind the young woman. She shrugged at Thara and disappeared back into the kitchen.
"She looks like a common urchin," the girl said, to no one in particular. She fixed her blue eyes on Thara, and asked, rather nastily, "Well? Why aren't you
dressed?
"
Thara pursed her lips at the way the girl emphasized the word, disliking her instantly. "I
am
dressed," she said, unable to keep the ice from her tone.
