“No. Nothing at all.”
The maid curtsied once more then disappeared.
An hour. That gave her time to explore. Her spirits rose high. Exploration always made her buoyant. And she should find Jackson and thank him for the soap, the mints, for thinking of her even when he must hate her.
She changed into a new gown, shaking out the wrinkles, and avoiding the small pocket on the side of the trunk where she’d hid the marquess’s letter. She’d wanted to leave it in London but had not been able to. What if a maid found it? So she tucked it away tight where she could not see it and tried to pretend it didn’t call out to her in the man’s nasally voice.I always get what I want, girl, and I want you.
She swatted the remembered words away and replaced them with her own constant humming as she dressed and freshened up. Once ready, she opened her door and stopped short.
“Well, hello.” She knelt down, wrapped her arms around her knees. “And who are you?”
“Mew.” The small gray tabby cat stared up at her as if it didn’t even know how to blink.
“Can I assist you with something, Miss Tabby? Mr. Tabby?” She bent her neck, her body, trying to ascertain… impossible. So much fur!
The cat’s tail swished back and forth, wrapping around its body on each side, a slow and curved metronomic movement.
“I was about to depart. Perhaps you could step aside and let me pass?”
No blinking. Only the slow curve to curve of the cat’s tail.
“Very well.” Gwendolyn stood and nodded at the cat. “I’llstep to the side.” Being careful not the touch the feline, Gwendolyn did just that, then leaned forward and shut her door before turning toward the direction she knew Jackson’s room to be in.
A warmth streaked around her ankles.
She stopped, startled, and looked down. “You again?”
The cat stopped too, looked up.
How to read a cat? How to talk to one? She’d never had pets. Her father had not allowed animals of any sort into the house, and she’d not thought to procure one once married. And pets could not be had while traveling.
“You… stay.” She pointed a finger toward the floor. “You’ll get hair on my gown.”
The cat’s tail swished.
“Very good.” Gwendolyn knocked on Jackson’s door.
It opened. He blinked at her. “Oh. Gwendolyn. Hello.”
“I will not keep you. I merely wished to say thank you.”
His brows shot toward one another, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Thank you? For…?”
“The soap? The mints. The flowers.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, my mother always insisted that guests at Seastorm be made as comfortable as possible.” He slipped out of the room, cutting a wide swath between them. “I must chat with Mrs. Whitlock now. Make sure there’s nothing requiring my urgent attention. I’ll see you at dinner.”
So polite. So formal. As if she were nothing more than a remote acquaintance. His steps hitched and almost stopped before he threw his arm in the air and called out, “I hope you enjoy the cat.”
She frowned. He knew about the cat? Had he arranged forthatas well? She turned and swept down the hall.
The cat mewed.
Gwendolyn jerked to a stop, looked down. “Shoo!”
The cat mewed again.
Gwendolyn marched away from it.
