Marblestone Mansion, Book 1 (Scandalous Duchess Series, #1) Read online

  As soon as they pulled up, Keith was waiting to help her down. Sassy was not so sure she liked Keith; he had an odd way of looking at her. Nevertheless, there was no one else, so she accepted his offer. Then, she hurried into the house to put her purchases away.

  Among the things Prescot brought from town, were three catalogues acquired from the post office. Hannish hoped Prescot would bring a letter or a telegram, but he was again disappointed, so he went out to help the men carry everything up the stairs. The rocking chair and one of the two upholstered chairs, he decided, would do well in the empty second floor sitting room.

  McKenna chose a room in the far corner of the second floor, as far away from Olivia’s room as she could get. The bedroom didn’t have much of a view of the backyard, but she didn’t intend to spend much time there anyway. She had the furniture rearranged three times before she got it just the way she wanted, while Sarah and Charlotte made the bed and Sassy began to unpack McKenna’s steamer trunks. Sassy was fascinated with all the beautiful gowns her employer had and took her time feeling the cloth and hanging them in the largest closet she had ever seen. Even so, she was worried when they wouldn’t all fit, until McKenna assured her it was all right to leave some in the trunks. They would need to be cleaned before McKenna wore them anyway.

  *

  “How did she do?” McKenna asked as soon as she was able to get Sarah alone.

  “You would have loved watching her. Sassy simply had to touch everything, yet she spent only fifty cents and it was hard to get her to part with that. She is saving the rest.”

  “For what?”

  “She would not say,” Sarah answered.

  “What did she buy?”

  “The softest silk undergarments she could find and a blue ribbon for her hair. It is the same color as her eyes. I promised to help her tie the ribbon every morning.”

  “Then I shall make certain to comment on its beauty. Thank you.” McKenna gave Sarah a quick hug, watched her leave, and then pulled a paper and pencil out of her pocket. She sat in a chair and started to make a list of what more they needed for the upstairs sitting room. The room faced the front yard with a grand view of the town through the trees, and she expected to spend a lot of her time there. A lamp would be nice and a table and chairs for playing cards.

  McKenna leaned back, closed her eyes, and sighed. “Olivia will hate it no matter what we put in here.”

  *

  Just before bed and in the privacy of their third-floor sitting room, the servants gathered to share the pies Halen made for them the day before.

  “‘Tis nearly morning in Scotland,” Alistair mentioned, helping himself to a piece of pie. “My eyes see darkness outside, but my mind thinks ‘tis time to get up.”

  “I am the same,” said Jessie.

  “Is the duchess truly as awful as you say, Sassy?” Halen asked.

  There was a shortage of chairs, but sitting on the floor was nothing new to Sassy and she quickly made herself comfortable. Before she answered the question, however, she glanced at Alistair. When he didn’t give her that warning look, she felt free to answer, “She be worse than the put-her.”

  “The put-her?” Prescot asked.

  “‘Tis what we called Old Mrs. Forthright. Each and every night we prayed God would put-her out, you see.”

  Sarah giggled, handed Sassy a piece of pie and then sat down beside her on the floor. “A put-her, the duchess is too, then?”

  Sassy sighed. “I was forced to add the duchess to my prayers right after I got a good tongue whipping from her on the ship.”

  Said Jessie, “Mr. MacGreagor will not put the duchess out; he loves her. When they first married he was so smitten, he knew not half of what he was doin’.”

  “He was much younger then,” Blanka reminded.

  Keith nodded, “He has grown up a lot in the time I have known him.”

  Halen scoffed. “And what do you know of growing up, or of being in love? You are a boy yourself.”

  “I am twenty-three, I’ll have you know. I...”

  Jessie ignored Keith, “‘Tis not easy to fall out of love. I still love a lad, even though he be the worst sort of lad, and I have not seen him in twenty years.”

  “Mr. Hannish will not let love keep him from seein’ her for what she is,” Donnel said. “I have known the MacGreagors since the children were small. Their father was a stern, but loving man who kept them well rounded up. He dinna abide nonsense, and neither will his son. Mark my words, Olivia MacGreagor is more nonsense than her husband will abide.”

  Charlotte looked positively joyful to hear it, did not notice Sarah watching her, and would not have cared if she did. Charlotte’s hopes were high, very high indeed.

  CHAPTER 3

  Just as Sarah said, there were housemaid uniforms aplenty on hand but they needed alterations. The next day, in an empty room not far from the kitchen, Charlotte put the Singer Vibrating Shuttle Sewing Machine to good use and became the Mansion’s in-house seamstress. While she loved to sew, especially on such a nice new machine, she had a few complaints.

  “I am so tired of sewing the same color cloth all day long. I cannot quite decide if the cloth is blue or gray,” she whined when Sarah walked into the room.

  “Perhaps this will help.’ She showed Charlotte where the seam of her white apron was coming apart. “Can you fix it?”

  “With pleasure, it will only take a minute.”

  Sarah walked to the window and looked out at the tilled ground where Hannish hoped to plant a rose garden. Alistair was outside looking at it too, and when he spotted her, she nodded. For a butler, Alistair was a friendly sort, a little prim and proper perhaps, but not all starch and vinegar the way some butlers were. It was plain to see he had taken Sassy under his wing, and for that alone, she admired him.

  “Oh, darn it, I broke the thread. That is the third time today.”

  Sarah glanced back. “You seem a bit annoyed, is something the matter?”

  “I could not get Sassy to stand still long enough to pin her hem straight. It took nearly an hour.”

  “She is excited, it is...”

  “Let her be excited somewhere else.”

  Sarah stared at Charlotte for a moment, and then turned back to watch Alistair through the window.

  Charlotte finally got the needle threaded and began to sew the apron seam. She dreamed of making a gown of her own someday, attending a grand ball at the Antler Hotel, and having Hannish ask her to dance. She was perhaps not the prettiest of women, she knew, with thin hair that was more brown than black, but one look in her eyes when they danced would let him know how much she adored him. It was just a dream, but sometimes dreams did come true.

  When Hannish walked past the open door, she stopped to smile at him. Unfortunately, he did not notice her so she went back to her sewing. “I dread having to fit Sassy for another frock tomorrow.”

  “Then I will come with her. She will stand still for me,” said Sarah.

  “I doubt it.”

  *

  They were ill prepared to entertain guests, but when a carriage started up the drive toward the Mansion in the late afternoon, everyone hurried to get ready. Keith rushed out to open the carriage door as soon as it stopped, while Alistair stood ready at the front door. McKenna checked her hair in the only full-length mirror located in Olivia’s room and straightened her skirt, “How good of someone to come just at dinnertime,” she muttered. “Sassy, tell cook to prepare. My brother will surely invite them to stay.”

  In the study, Prescot grabbed a topcoat off the back of a chair and helped Hannish put it on. Then he followed him into the parlor just as McKenna came down the stairs. At last, they were ready and the MacGreagors stepped outside to welcome their guests.

  Abigail and Claymore Whitfield were the picture of Colorado’s well-dressed wealth. A slender woman, Abigail wore a well-fitting green dress, with delicate pink rosebuds on the collar, at the waist and at the bottom of the skirt. The color flat
tered her red hair and matched her green eyes. Her somewhat robust husband looked uncomfortable in his tall still-collar and his waistcoat was a bit too tight, but his lace up black shoes had a good shine to them, and his short, graying hair was neatly combed. Their grown son was as tall as his father, wore his reddish blond hair short to the nape of his collar and had a bit of a crooked smile.

  “McKenna, allow me to introduce our nearest neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield. McKenna is my sister,” said Hannish.

  Claymore tipped his hat, “A pleasure.” Then he turned back to Hannish. “I do not believe you have met my son, Charles.”

  Hannish smiled. “I have not. Welcome, Charles.”

  Charles nodded to Hannish and then tipped his hat to McKenna, just as his father had, only Charles’ eyes remained on her longer than was proper and his crooked smile became a sickening grin. “A pleasure, indeed.”

  Full of exuberance, Abigail hugged McKenna, kissed her cheek, looped her arm through hers, and practically pulled her through the front door. “My dear, we heard you were in town and I demanded Claymore bring me straight away to welcome you. Oh my, but it is a magnificent display of marble. We’ve not yet seen it completed and I do not mind saying I watched with envy as the wagons passed our home. Are all the rooms finished now? I want very much...”

  “My dear, Mrs. Whitfield,” her husband interrupted, “let the woman speak.”

  “And such divine window seats with a full view of town?” Abigail said, ignoring her husband. “If we had such a thing, which we do not I regret to say, I would have tea in this foyer each and every morning.”

  McKenna noticed the pride in her brother’s expression and smiled. “Aye, but you have not yet seen the upstairs sitting room. The view from there is breathtaking.” McKenna led the way into the parlor and then up the stairs. “Come, I shall show you.”

  Both Mr. Whitfields handed their hats to Keith, the first to be placed on the empty shelf in the coatroom.

  “You’ll not likely get the two of them separated,” Claymore said, watching his wife disappear upstairs, “now that they’ve got on so famously. Did I not warn you, Hannish?”

  “Aye, you did.”

  “Of course, that is your sister and not your wife. A town this size has few secrets, you know. When can we expect your wife?”

  “I am not certain. She stopped to shop in New York City.”

  Claymore raised an eyebrow, “A great mistake on your part, my boy. I should have warned you about that. It took me a week to get Mrs. Whitfield to leave, last time we were there. Well, it is too late, I suppose and I cannot think of a thing that would tempt your wife away, now that she has seen it.”

  *

  Abigail ignored the mostly unfurnished room and walked to the window. “You are so right, my dear, a grand view indeed.” Colorado Springs looked small from there, but she could still see people, carriages, and carts going up and down the busy streets. The farms, divided by rows of trees, were beginning to green with the spring planting and beyond that, one could see forever across dry brush lands as flat as McKenna claimed Kansas to be. “Your brother is, of course, disappointed his wife has not yet arrived. He talked of little else when we came to call last.”

  “He loves her very much.”

  “I am certain he does. It is a great disappointment to a certain lady I shall not name.”

  “Oh, do tell, has my brother an admirer?”

  “Not just one, but several. It is best he has a wife, for the place would be crawling with unmarried women if he did not. And look at you. Are you wanting an American husband, by any chance?”

  “Nay, I left my heart in Scotland.”

  Abigail still had not taken her eyes off the view. “That is a pity. If you change your mind, I have a few gentlemen I can recommend, and each of them just as wealthy as my Clay.”

  “I promise to alert you first, if I do.”

  “I will count on that. I must say, with both you and your brother taken, the dinners will not be as lively as I had hoped, but we shall make do. Tell me, will Saturday next be too soon to come to dinner?”

  “I cannae say? We must wait until his wife arrives.”

  “Yes, of course you must. Another time then, but I hope we will not have to wait too long.”

  *

  “I am excited to hear all about the gold rush,” said McKenna as soon as she was seated at the dining room table. “We read a great deal about it in Scotland, but I would so like a first hand account to write home about.”

  Charles selected the chair across from McKenna and smiled. “My father will be pleased to bore you with it.”

  Claymore chuckled. “Admit it. Charles, you never tire of the story.”

  Charles kept his eyes on McKenna as he answered, “I do admit it. Nothing pleases me more than glittering gold...except perhaps a beautiful woman. My, but you are splendid.”

  McKenna squirmed a little and lowered her eyes. “I thank you, Sir.” She glanced at Hannish and knew he was not pleased with the way Charles was gawking at her. “Mr. Whitfield, perhaps you have not heard, I am nearly engaged.” It came as a surprise to Hannish, but he did not react, much to McKenna’s relief.

  Charles grinned at her anyway. “But not yet formally engaged, Miss MacGreagor? I am encouraged.”

  Claymore waited for his wife to finish, helped himself to peas from a bowl Keith held, and cleared his throat. “You asked about the gold rush, Miss MacGreagor. I dare say many a prospector walked right over the largest gold vein in the world. It is called the Mount Pisgah hoax, someone salted the rocks, you see.”

  “Salted them?” McKenna asked, helping herself to potatoes from the platter Dugan held.

  “It means,” Charles said, “Someone put flakes of gold in worthless rocks. Once the hoax was discovered, the prospectors ignored the area altogether.”

  “But who would do such a thing?” McKenna asked.

  “That,” Claymore answered, “no one has managed to find out. At any rate, once Bob Womack found the real gold, word spread quickly and the rush was on. I myself set out from Kansas City.”

  Abigail shook her head at the platter of potatoes, but graciously smiled at Dugan. “In less than three years, we were surrounded by thousands of men, and some even brought whole families. They were certain they would easily strike it rich and hoped to start a new life. Oh, but the sad tales I could tell,” Abigail said, putting a hand on her chest. “The camps were miserable and many of the children died of disease. One woman, as I recall, refused to leave her three dead children in this ‘God forsaken land,’ and made her husband take the whole family, including the bodies, all the way back to Iowa. I think of that poor woman often.”

  McKenna bowed her head and except for the clinking of spoons on platters, and then on dishes, the room fell silent. At last, Claymore spoke, “There is trouble in the mines again, Hannish. You are fortunate to have got out of the business. I see bad workings on the horizon and I might just sell out myself. I would...”

  “Have you heard, Mr. MacGreagor?” Charles interrupted, “Mr. Grantham, the man you sold your mine to, sold it himself not two months ago, and the new owner claims the mine is all played out. He claims Grantham knew it all along and swindled him.”

  “Good heavens,” said Hannish.

  Charles continued, “Did you know, Mr. MacGreagor? Did you know the mine was nearly played out when you sold it?”

  “Charles, what a thing to ask,” Claymore scolded. “Count the man fortunate to have gotten out when he did.”

  Hannish was not pleased; not with the question or with the insulting way he kept looking at McKenna. “I dinna know. We were turning out several tons of silver ore a day when I sold the mine.”

  “Of course, you did not know,” Claymore said. “Forgive the boy his manners, Hannish.”

  Hannish gave Charles ample time to apologize, but Charles was distracted by the platter of potatoes. “I prefer my potatoes mashed,” said Charles.

  Dugan pulled the
platter back, took the serving fork, and smashed three of the potatoes. “Will this do, Sir?” he asked, offering the platter again to Charles.

  Charles frowned, but picked up the serving fork anyway. “I suppose it will have to.” He failed to notice a slight smile on the face of his host.

  “You spoke of trouble in the gold mines, Claymore,” said Hannish, taking a roll out of the napkin-lined basket Keith held. “What sort of trouble?”

  “The same as always – the union demands more and more for their workers. You were not here when The Western Federation of Miners came into being. I do not blame the union completely, you understand.”

  “Who do you blame?” McKenna asked. She watched Keith set the breadbasket on the sideboard, pick up a platter, and offer a pork chop to Abigail.

  “I blame the greed of certain owners. How did they think they could ask the hard rock miners to work ten hours instead of eight for the same pay? Of course, the minors went on strike, why wouldn’t they? We had no choice but to bring in the strikebreakers. That didn’t work, so the sheriff deputized and armed 1,200 men. Governor Waite had to settle that one and the mine owners finally relented.”

  Claymore took a moment to add two pork chops to his plate before he continued, “In the end, eight hours of work per day was agreed upon, just as I said it should be. The owners were the ones who paid the deputies and it was an awful thing that happened after. The twelve hundred ruffians began terrorizing Cripple Creek.”

  “Terrorizing it how?” McKenna asked.

  “My dear, people who did nothing wrong were put upon quite harshly. Some were clubbed and kicked,” he explained.

  “Claymore, please, we are eating,” Abigail muttered.

  “Forgive me, my dear, you are right of course.”

  McKenna was fascinated. “But how were these ruffians, as you call them, stopped?”

  Claymore barely took the time to chew and swallow before he answered, “The owners finally cut their pay. Governor Waite sent in the militia and we saw no more of them. Nevertheless, the miners had clearly won and the Unions took the credit.”