Some minutes ago she’d heard the door open and the maid creep in, but the feather tick was marvelously comfortable. She cracked open one eye and saw her books neatly lined up on the dressing table like old friends ready to greet her—the only possessions, besides her calico dress and the clothes on her back and a little saved money, that she’d brought from New Mexico.
The maid returned from opening the curtains and shutters and went to stand, absolutely still, by the door. Cassidy thought she’d stand there forever unless she was told not to.
It was very difficult to think of people as servants; though the Holts had men and women working for them on the ranch, they weren’t anything like the humble, invisible people who came and went at Greyburn’s behest.
Greyburn. She sat up with a burst of anticipation, warmth flooding her body. That word was only a title, not a name; it revealed his power, but not his heart. Not who he was inside. Today she’d find out what his real name was. She planned to know everything about him.
Cassidy stretched, flung off the bedclothes, and grinned at the maid. She curtsied deeply.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you, miss,” she whispered.
“Not me. I’ve been lazy this morning.” Cassidy swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her bare feet on the floor. The room was cool, but not cold enough for a fire; the fireplace was shiny clean and empty of ashes.
“I’ve brought up hot water, miss,” the maid said, her brown eyes downcast. “Her ladyship’s maid will be comin’ with your clothes. I am to tell you that breakfast is served in the morning room at precisely nine o’clock.”
Precisely. That seemed the kind of way Lord Greyburn would want things done. “Thank you so much… what is your name, anyway?”
The maid flushed red above the high collar other print dress and dropped another curtsy. “I must go, miss. Please ring if you need anything.” She bobbed again and fled the room, bumping the doorknob in her haste.
Cassidy grimaced. She must have done something wrong to scare the girl that way. How could she frighten anyone?
But the Holts had always been scared, ever since they’d taken her in. She hadn’t known it for years and years. They kept her from meeting guests at the ranch, sent her out with the cattle—anywhere she’d be away from them.
Only when she began to feel the deeper changes within herself, impossible to ignore, had she realized how much of their coldness to her was out of fear.
These servants were also afraid. Of Greyburn, most of all.
Cassidy examined the washstand and the new stack of clean towels, already replaced from last night. The cambric of the nightgown felt luxurious against her skin, and she almost didn’t want to take it off. She had so much to learn, but she had to—because she wanted Greyburn to find her worthy. To smile at her. To teach her to be like him.
For he was the epitome of everything she wanted to be. Confident, strong, complete in himself, knowing fully who he was and where he belonged. His inner power seemed to rub off on her when she was with him. She was beginning to believe that nothing could be more wonderful than staying by his side.
If he would allow it. If she proved herself deserving of his attention, his friendship.
Yes. That was what she wanted most of all. Someone knocked on the door. She hurried to answer, expecting Lady Rowena’s maid.
But it was Isabelle who marched into the room, a bundle of clothes draped neatly over her arm.
“I intercepted Lady Rowen’as maid,” Isabelle said briskly, closing the door. “I thought you might like my company this morning. Everything must seem very strange to you.” She laid out Cassidy’s best dress and her new underthings on the bed. Although Cassidy had thought them almost too fancy when they bought the items in San Francisco, she couldn’t help but compare them to the gorgeous gowns she’d seen last night at the party.
But what would she do in a grand lady’s dress, anyway?