She shrugs like it’s nothing. “People love doling out accolades.”
“Maybe you deserved them.”
“Perhaps, or maybe it’s just one’s duty to give back and contribute to the world. I don’t think I necessarily need a pat on the back for doing so.”
“Cleary,” I say, dusting one of them off. “I can’t believe you have these stuffed in here like this.”
“And what should I do with them? Hang them around my neck?” She snorts, and it’s the most unladylike thing I’ve ever seen her do.
I can’t help but laugh.
She shoos me away from the box. “Now, go down and ask Collins for a bag for all these clothes. You and I can drop them at the donation center on our way into town.”
Later, when I return to my room to read before dinner, I find a small envelope sitting on my bedside table. I frown, at first thinking it might be a letter from Ariana—not that she’s ever written to me—but there’s no address printed on the front, only my name in swooping cursive.
Ms. Maren Mitchell.
Inside is a paycheck made out to me. The amount makes my heart drop: more than three thousand dollars for two weeks of work. Work—ha.
My hand trembles as I look at the dollar amount again. I think of how far the money could get me. I dream of all the things I could spend it on. And then the moment passes, my stomach squeezes tight, and I open my bedside drawer, depositing the paycheck and the envelope inside.8NicholasWhen I arrive at Rosethorn on Saturday afternoon, the grounds have already been taken over by delivery trucks and auxiliary staff, preparing the house for my grandmother’s ball. I was meant to arrive last night, but I couldn’t get away from work until this morning. I park on the gravel drive to the right of the house and step outside, breathing deep. I’m reluctant to leave the ocean breeze, but I’m hungry, and the first item on my agenda is to go down into the kitchen and see what Chef is whipping up for tonight. Surely he needs a taste tester.
I’m stopped by every member of the staff I cross paths with, hugging them and telling them I’m glad to be back. I stay away from Newport in the winters, like a bear going into hibernation, except instead of sleeping, I’m working.
I’m striding down the back hall, which is usually reserved for employees, headed toward the kitchen when I notice music drifting out from the blue drawing room. I stop and listen, finding the sound comforting after so many months away. It’s not uncommon for Rosethorn to be filled with music, and my grandmother has always had a soft spot for the piano. She forced me into lessons as a child, but I had no patience for reading music and sitting still. I’d clonk and clank my way through a thirty-minute lesson, always watching the clock and missing keys as my teacher chided me. The moment the hour hand announced the end of our time together, I’d escape to the gardens, running like a fugitive from the law.
When I make it to the kitchen, I spot Collins conferring with Chef, no doubt going over all the food they’ll have for the ball. There are a dozen more people in here than usual, staff they’ve brought in for today to assist in the preparations.
When Collins sees me, he smiles and heads over to greet me. We shake hands and pat each other’s backs—nothing overly sentimental, but I know it’s his way of letting me know he’s happy to see me.
“You look well,” he says, inspecting me from every angle. “Though that hair could use a good trim.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, I plan on getting it cut before tonight. Has my grandmother started to allow St. Michael’s here on the weekends as well?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the music.
Collins beams. “No. That’s—”
“Nicky! We didn’t expect you until this evening.”
I glance over in time to see my grandmother coming in through the back door of the kitchen, the one that leads straight out to the gardens so Chef has easy access to fresh vegetables. She’s wearing a loose kaftan and a large sunhat with yellow ribbons dangling down off each side, and her basket is filled with freshly cut roses. She drops them on the prep table nearest me and comes close, kissing both of my cheeks before stepping back and giving me an approving once-over.
“That hair needs a trim.”
Collins clears his throat, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, I’m aware. Have no fear, I’ll make it to the barber before tonight.”
“Stay for tea?” she asks, already motioning for it to be made up.
“They’re expecting me at the yacht club.”
She frowns. “But you’ve only just arrived.”
“I haven’t sailed in months. Don’t make me choose between you and Carina.”