At least Greyburn would see her wearing something besides old trousers and a secondhand work shirt.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked Isabelle.
“Well enough.” Isabelle’s tone was neutral, as if she didn’t really want to talk about herself. Maybe her head was as full of thoughts as Cassidy’s. She smoothed out the dress a second time. “And you?”
Cassidy answered with a smile and began to wash her face and neck. “The maid said breakfast is ready at nine, precisely.”
Isabelle came up behind her with a brush and began to untangle Cassidy’s hair. “Then we must get started, beginning with this,” she said, working through a snarl. “Your hair is so lovely when it’s properly cared for.”
“I’ve never really known how to fix it up. Maybe you can help me?”
“I’ll do my best. Lady Rowena’s maid will doubtless be more skilled at such matters, but for this morning…” She moved out of sight and came back with a box full of clips and hairpins. Her frowning reflection moved behind Cassidy’s as she tried various ways of piling hair on top of
Cassidy’s head.
When she was finished, Cassidy’s face didn’t look much different than it did when she had her hair pulled back under a hat for working cattle. But her hair seemed fuller, shinier, and more feminine than she’d ever seen it. Cassidy grinned experimentally.
No, that wasn’t right. The ladies at the party hadn’t shown all their teeth like that. She experimented with different faces, ending with a slightly pursed simper that looked silly at best.
“Do you think I smile too much, Isabelle? Greyburn never smiles. I must be doing it wrong for England.” She turned in her seat. “Can you show me, Isabelle? I need to know how to be more like them.”
Isabelle didn’t answer at once but turned away, standing for some moments with her back to the washstand. “You are fine just as you are, Cassidy. Never try to alter yourself for someone else’s sake. Not even Lord Greyburn’s.”
The silence that followed was heavy with an uneasy feeling that made Cassidy’s skin shiver. She reached up to Isabelle.
“Something’s wrong, Isabelle.” She frowned, trying to define the feelings she sensed. “You’re not happy here.”
“Nonsense.” Isabelle patted her hand. “I was merely suggesting that you should not rely on anyone else for your happiness or worth.”
She walked to the bed and held up Cassidy’s gown. “Come. It’s almost nine, and I suspect the earl will wish us to be prompt.”
“I think you’re right.” Cassidy bit back another smile, changed into her clean underthings and let Isabelle help her into the dress.
She felt nearly as grand as a real lady when they left the room and started for the staircase. Halfway down they met a small, dapper man in neat clothing who bowed to them both and introduced himself as Telford, Lord Grey-burn’s valet. He regarded Cassidy with polite but piercing interest, and then excused himself with another bow and went on his way. Cassidy was left feeling as though she’d been judged, and she wasn’t sure if it had gone in her favor.
The morning room was on the ground floor—what Americans would call the first floor, Isabelle explained. They had special rooms for everything in England, it seemed.
The room was bright with sunlight streaming through a single large lead glass window facing the street. A table sat in the center of the room; a footman and the dignified butler, Aynsley, stood at attention beside a side table covered with silver dishes and trays. The smell of food was overpowering.
Greyburn was already there. He turned as they entered, his face expressionless.
“Good morning,” Cassidy said, standing very straight in her dress.
Greyburn seemed not to notice any change in her at all. “Good morning,” he said. “I trust you were comfortable in your room?”
“Yes… thank you. The bed was—”
He cut her off with a gesture toward the table. Isabelle touched her arm and drew her away. Aynsley moved up to seat first Isabelle and then Cassidy, who kept as still as she possibly could for fear of upsetting the elegant place settings at the table or the vase of fresh flowers in the center.