She raked back through her memories of the previous evening. The heartless man had remained sullen for the drive home, aside from a warning. ‘If you attempt to run away,’ he’d said, a sneer curling his lips, ‘I will return and take your father to the authorities.’ He’d barely given her the time to pack a few small belongings into a bag, and bid her sisters a quick, tearful, farewell.
Her sisters.
Who would care for Julianne and Rachel? Papa would soon be gone again, sailing on his next voyage. Until now, the girls had not shown any success when left to fend for themselves. How would they manage? Perhaps it was time they grew up, after all.
How would Papa get on? He relied on her to keep things in order at home—so much so, he had denied her marriage to an eligible suitor some two years earlier. The only thing she’d ever wanted—her own home and family. She shut the memory down even as it surfaced, bringing fresh pain.
Serena stood and paced the intricately woven carpet. They had arrived last night in darkness that shrouded her surroundings, but now she gazed about her at the high ceilings and ornate wood panelling. Heavy velvet drapes hung beside pointed windows, and elaborate artworks decorated the walls. Saints above, it was just as she’d imagined Pemberley, or even Rosings Park to be when she’d read Miss Austen’s novels. One could not deny Mr King’s excellent taste in decor.
This image of a gentleman versed in the arts belied his rude and callous behaviour. Serena gritted her teeth. Heavens, he’d left her in this room with a curt ‘wait here’ and never returned. She’d waited and waited. The fire in the grate had long since died out, leaving her shivering with cold. Thankfully it was not yet the dead of winter.
Serena went to the window to better see the property. All she’d managed to discern last night was that they’d driven away from the city. Manicured lawns spread before her, dotted at precise intervals with trees and shrubs, or carefully placed flower gardens, and even the occasional statue. There was order and symmetry everywhere she looked—it spoke of fastidious design. Was Mr King a man who commanded detail in every area?
Serena scanned her memory for everything she’d heard of Mr King. As far as she knew, he’d been in the colony for at least ten years—from England, or was it France? There was talk that he was a genius, his brilliance recognised from childhood, but people also called him eccentric. The newspapers often reported on his strange ways, his flamboyant appearances at social gatherings, and then his practical disappearance for months on end. Well, however society labelled him, Serena decided he was naught but a churlish, rude ogre. Her days within these walls might well become a severe trial.
Serena became aware of footsteps in the hallway. It was not the heavy tread of a man, but the quick, light tap of a woman’s shoe.
As the door creaked open, Serena held her breath, her fingers gripping the folds of her skirt.
A lean woman entered, and Serena was surprised not to be greeted. The woman was obviously unaware of Serena standing there and moved to collect something from a card table in the corner. Serena studied the face and guessed her to be in her late thirties. She had a pleasant face. Serena discreetly cleared her throat causing the woman to jump. She swivelled to face her.
‘Who are you? And how did you get in here?’
Clearly, the lady had not been informed of her presence, and seemed rather alarmed. Serena gulped back her nerves and tried to breathe normally, belatedly offering a small curtsey. ‘I’m here to work for Mr King. He brought me here last night.’
The lady’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion, but then her eyes narrowed. She measured Serena with suspicion. ‘New help? Last night? What a bizarre tale.’
‘Though bizarre, I agree, it is true. My name is Serena Bellingham.’
The woman scanned her from nose to toe once again. ‘Well, Miss Bellingham, I really don’t know why Edward hired you. We have no need for more staff. Wait here while I go and speak with him.’
With that she swept out of the room. Abrupt and curt as Mr King, and leaving her with more questions than answers. But what was Serena’s occupation to be? Why had Mr King agreed she come and work for him when he had no use of her? Surely the housekeeper knew the staffing needs of the house, assuming that’s whom she’d just met? But then, the woman’s bearing and attitude spoke of good breeding. A family member, perhaps. Either way, the lady had been resolute.
So, how might Serena occupy herself in a house requiring no additional workers? Sit and stare at the paintings on the walls? She bit on her lip as her thoughts led her to a frightening possibility. Surely not! Serena scanned her memory for any snippet of information she’d heard of Edward King.
Oh my. Saints in heaven. She recalled reading rumours he’d been seen on various women’s arms in the past several years. Was she to be his new plaything? Was he of such a high opinion of himself that he believed she’d agree to such a thing? Never. Not in a thousand years of hot Australian Christmases. How dare he? Indignation coursed through her.
No, Serena. Once again, she had let her imagination run away with her. Mr King had shown no signs of interest in her, quite the opposite, in fact. And as soon as the woman returned, they would correct any uncertainty. If he did have no use for her, perhaps she would soon be on her way home, back to her sisters who certainly did need her.
Jerking to her feet, she explored the
