Always in My Dreams (14 page)

"He told me to put you nearby. I gave you that one." He jerked his thumb to the doors on the other side of the corridor. "I suppose I could have given you one of those." There was no apology offered.

Skye managed to school her features and asked flatly, "Have I done something to give you a dislike of me, Mr. Caide?"

He pretended to consider the question seriously, then shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind, Skye." The genial smile he had offered faded as he studied her upturned face. A stillness settled over his features. "In fact, it's quite the contrary. I have very selfish reasons for wanting you to go," he said. "This is no place for you." He held her wide eyes for a long time. His head lowered fractionally, nearing her upturned face.

Abruptly he pulled himself back and started to go.

It took Skye a moment to regain her voice. "Wait a minute," she called after him. Her voice sounded strained to her own ears and she was aware of her racing heart. "Where can I get keys to the closets that were locked?" she asked.

He wasn't surprised she was ignoring his warning. "I suppose you'll have to see Mr. Parnell about the closets. I've never known anyone to go in them."

A lock of red hair had fallen over Skye's forehead. Exasperated, she blew upward to get it out of the way. "But where can I find Mr. Parnell? You haven't shown me his workroom."

"It's in the cellar," he said. "But you can't go in there."

"Into the workroom or into the cellar?"

"Either. That part of the house is off limits to everyone but Mr. Parnell, Mrs. Reading, and me. The quickest way for you to be out of here on your ear is to venture down there."

"I'm surprised you told me, then."

"So am I," he said softly. "So am I."

* * *

Skye didn't see Jonathan Parnell until dinner, when he invited her to share his table. She considered objecting, knowing it wasn't her place as his housekeeper to join him, but it seemed the Granville house operated best with a certain lack of convention.

That afternoon Skye moved from one task to another with a sense of purpose. She was honest enough to admit to herself that her motivation had less to do with the work ahead of her than avoidance of what lay behind her. With her chore list in hand she was able to sidestep discreetly any contact with Walker Caide.

From time to time she lent a hand in the parlor, where the work was proceeding at a slower pace than she would have liked. She did observe that no corner was left unattended. Jenny Adams and the twins were thorough, even if they weren't quick.

After luncheon, Skye sat with Mrs. Reading and reviewed the menus. It was obvious to Skye that the cook put thought and effort into planning Mr. Parnell's dinner. The courses were varied in taste and texture and temperature. They were diverse in color and presentation. Skye found it interesting that Mrs. Reading attempted a formal dinner. Mr. Parnell's erratic schedule made it almost impossible for anyone to know if he would be available for the meal. It made Skye wonder for whom the dinner was really being prepared. Walker Caide did not appear to share his employer's intensity when it came to work.

Although Skye complimented the cook's work, she saw that Mrs. Reading didn't care a whit if she approved or not—she intended to go on as she had. While Skye made several suggestions regarding the purchasing of supplies to better stock the pantry, she had no wish to argue over the execution of them. In dealing with the cook, Skye realized, she would have to choose her battles carefully. She felt certain she had given a good account of herself as someone to be reckoned with.

After her meeting with Mrs. Reading, Skye took time to prioritize the general house tasks. She followed this by completing her inventory of the dining room and beginning another of the library.

She was sitting at the inventor's massive mahogany desk when Jonathan Parnell himself came in to escort her to dinner. He didn't announce himself but entered the room silently, so that when Skye looked up from her work she had to wonder how long he might have been watching her. It was a little unsettling. Although he smiled in greeting, she had the oddest sensation that something had disturbed him. She had no way of knowing if she'd been the source of his agitation or what she might have done to cause it, but she had no doubt she'd glimpsed it in the dark centers of his eyes.

The shutter came down quickly on his expression as Skye rose from her chair and made her way around the desk. "It can't really be time for dinner, can it?" she said. She was aware that her hair had loosened from its pins and that strands of it curled unflatteringly around her temples and ears. She pushed back at it impatiently, tucking what she could under the hair that was still secured. "I haven't had a moment to change. I'm not—"

He interrupted her apology by indicating his own attire. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting black trousers and a white shirt creased in all the wrong places. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a streak of grease peeked out from under the folds. His collar was open and he wore neither a vest nor a jacket. "If you change, then I shall feel compelled to do the same..." His smile held the same hint of roguish charm Skye had witnessed the previous day. "And I'd rather not."

Watching that smile, Skye was uneasy. "By all means," she said smoothly, covering the vague sense of disquiet. "You should be comfortable in your own home."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

Skye steeled herself against his ability to make her feel as if she were the one making the gracious concession. If she weren't careful she'd be thinking of herself as a guest and not as an employee. Perhaps it was all part of her father's grand design, but it was not any part of what Skye wanted for herself. When Parnell held out his elbow, Skye shook her head quickly and refrained from taking it. "You're very kind, Mr. Parnell, but I've had my doubts about joining you at all. I hardly think accompanying you to the dining room on your arm is necessary."

"I see," he said softly, studying the resolve in her features. Both his brows raised slightly. "Very well. But one does crave conversation around here. I hope you'll grant me that. Walker is typically so taciturn at dinner."

Skye was aware she stiffened at the mention of Walker's name. She tried to cover her reaction by pretending to have difficulties with her apron strings. Unfortunately, her diversion meant that her employer was moved to assist her.

"Problems?"

Skye's head jerked up. The drily amused voice didn't belong to Jonathan Parnell but rather to Walker Caide. He was standing in the hallway on his way to the dining room. His faint smile bore witness to his thoughts concerning the tableau in front of him.

"She seems to have her strings tied in a knot," Parnell said amiably. "Deuced if I can get them undone."

Walker watched Skye's discomfort rise at the very thought that he might offer to help. "It seems I was right," he said consideringly. "It
is
possible for your face to rival the color of your hair." If anything, the color of Skye's complexion grew brighter.

Parnell's fingers stopped mangling the apron strings while he got a better look at Skye's flushed profile. His deep chuckle joined Walker's. "He's right, you know. Rose red."

"How very kind you both are to point it out," she said. Stepping away from Parnell, Skye twisted her apron around and made short work of the tangled strings.

In the dining room she was seated to Parnell's right while Walker took his usual place on the left. Rose and Daisy served the courses, and Skye observed that neither girl was properly trained to carry out the task unobtrusively.

Dinner started with a cold clear soup and was followed by creamed soup with artichokes. Fish continued the meal, then thin slices of rare beef roasted in a red wine. The potato croquettes were served with wedges of baked tomatoes and garnished with a sprinkling of cheese. Cold asparagus and stuffed crepes came next. Throughout the meal a variety of wines were served to stimulate or cleanse the palate. Sorbet, salad, and an assortment of cheeses completed the meal.

Skye was aware of the expense of putting this particular dinner on the table. She hadn't questioned Mrs. Reading about the budget, deciding that Mr. Parnell was one she needed to see. From her own experience of spending childhood summers near Baileyboro, Skye knew that a menu as diverse as the ones she'd been shown required importing a great deal of food from the city. Her own family, though Jay Mac could well afford it, chose to live much more simply when summering in the Hudson Valley.

Jonathan Parnell, it seemed, chose to have certain amenities of the city wherever he lived. Skye began to understand why he was particular about keeping Mrs. Reading in his employ.

"I should very much like to see your wine cellars," Skye said, sipping her Madeira. Throughout dinner the conversation had been primarily shared between Skye and Parnell. Walker had not been purposefully excluded, but he had made no effort to add anything to the discussion. His interruption now was unexpected.

"I've already told her the cellar is off limits," he told Parnell. Though he spoke to his employer, his cold warning stare was meant for Skye.

"Have you?" Parnell asked idly. "You do look out for me, don't you?" He rolled the stem of his wineglass between his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Caide's quite right, Miss Dennehy. I generally don't like anyone in the cellar."

Skye's lightly feathered brows came together. "I'm not certain I understand. I thought an inventory of your wines would be a reasonable request. Mrs. Reading doesn't have a list of your stock."

Parnell tapped his temple with a forefinger. "Mrs. Reading has it up here." He laid his hand on the table. His fingers were long and lean, the nails clipped short and nicely shaped. "However, I've seen that you appreciate fine wines, and for that reason alone I may be willing to make an exception."

It took Skye a moment to understand the import of his words. She had been staring at Parnell's hand though she couldn't say what about it she found intriguing. "You'd make an exception?" she asked.

"No." It was Walker who answered, not Parnell. It was clear from his tone he did not expect to be countermanded.

Skye ignored him and looked expectantly at Jonathan Parnell, clearly indicating she thought it should be his decision.

Parnell sighed. "Mr. Caide's right," he said. He offered the observation with a certain heaviness in his tone, as if he were reluctant to offer it at all. "It's not a good idea. The fewer people with access to the cellar, the better."

Out of the corner of her eye Skye saw Walker relax his grip on the arm of his chair. Loose now, he drummed his fingers lightly against the scrollwork. "Of course," she said. "It shall be as you wish."

Parnell particularly liked that phrasing. His eyes lightened appreciatively. "Tell me, Miss Dennehy, have you worked for anyone besides the Turners or the Marshalls?" he asked.

The question came out of nowhere and Skye was caught off guard. All day long she had been wrestling with the problem of Parnell's collusion with her father. One moment she was certain it was a fact, in the next she had grave doubts. Did this man know who she really was, or didn't he?

Polite prevarication seemed in order. "Why do you ask?"

Walker spoke up. "Mrs. Givens didn't know
Moet et Chandon
from
Montruchet,"
he said.

"Mrs. Givens?" she asked, stalling to formulate her answer.

"The last housekeeper."

"Oh, I don't think I heard her name before." Her eyes drifted back to Parnell, who had originally posed the question, subtly putting Walker Caide in his place again. "I'm not surprised about Mrs. Givens, though. She doesn't appear to have known much about managing a household. My impression yesterday was that your staff was lacking in discipline, perhaps even skill, but I've discovered today that responsibility for the condition of this house can't be laid at their feet."

"I'm learning that myself," Parnell said. "She would have had me believe quite differently—" He paused to offer a slight, self-effacing grin. "That is, when I paused to notice anything was out of order at all."

Skye used the opportunity to skillfully redirect the conversation away from her own experience. "What is that you do exactly?" she asked. "One hears rumors, but I don't know what to believe."

"I tinker a bit," he said, shrugging.

"Mr. Parnell's being modest," Walker said. "He holds twenty-seven patents and has four pending."

"Five," Parnell corrected. "It was the paperwork on the fifth that you delivered to the post this morning."

"Then you
are
an inventor!"

Parnell gave a start at the strength of her surprise. "Well, yes," he said, a trifle bewildered. "Someone has to do it, I suppose."

Skye's dimpled smile was apologetic. "I'm sorry. I imagine my astonishment didn't seem very flattering. It's just that one never knows what to make of rumors, and since it was never mentioned during the interview..." Her voice trailed off as she raised the wineglass to her lips. "I can understand why you don't want just anyone in the cellar. Do you have a work in progress?"

Walker's eyes narrowed, and his considering look also held another warning. "You're full of questions, Miss Dennehy."

She flushed and began to stammer an apology to her employer.