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"Why are you always testing me, Mister Westbrooke? I've been here weeks, yet every time I turn around, you're questioning my methods with Amanda, my relationship with your staff, and my very manner."

"I do not," he defended himself.

"Oh? What about the time you stormed into the nursery when I was teaching Amanda her numbers?"

"You were using gaming cards."

"Cards have numbers on them, and learning games like solitaire make it easy to remember the number combinations. Did you honestly believe I would teach her to gamble?"

Nicholas knew she was right. It would be easy to say he was concerned for Amanda. Privately, however, he acknowledged it was his desire to be around her and to listen to her soft drawl, that prompted him to act like an ass.

Her comments at Dentzel's shop still gave him pause, and the fact that she had appeared at Wildwood in a rather strange manner, with very peculiar clothes, showed she had a secret. Yet, her care of Amanda and more recent behavior led him to suspect nothing untowards. Since it didn't appear she would willingly share any information about her past with him at this time, he would allow her privacy. Eventually though, he would discover what Jaci Eastman didn't want him to know. It was a challenge he couldn't resist.

"I apologize," he stated as he bowed low. "You are correct, and I stand before you, contrite. I will cease spying on one condition." He grinned, and as expected, she returned his humor with a smile of her own.

"Of course, I might have known."

"You must go riding with me. I would enjoy showing you Wildwood, and for whatever reason, Mother Nature has smiled on us. For November, it remains very mild and without a lick of snow yet on the ground."

"I'm sorry, but I don't ride. It was one of those childhood pleasures I had to forgo." She gently rebuked him for the time he had brought up her lack of a proper childhood.

"Well, then, I must impose another condition." As he spoke, he took a step in her direction. She quickly backed up more than one step. Wary--that was good. One of them had to keep their wits about them, and whenever she was close, Nicholas couldn't be sure he was capable of doing so.

"Call me Nicholas. Every time you say
Mister
Westbrooke, I think of my father."

"I don't know as much about your society as I should," she spoke hesitatingly, "but I'm sure that wouldn't be proper. After all, I am a servant."

"A governess doesn't fall under that category, Miss Eastman. Try; it shouldn't be very difficult."

"I will agree to your condition if I may have one of my own," she stated matter-of-factly. He raised a brow. "Oh?"

"If I am to call you Nicholas, you must call me Jaci. Miss Eastman makes me sound like an old school marm."

"But that is what you are." Sometimes she spoke circles around him, and his Harvard education did him no good at all.

She waved away his objections with one delicate hand. "Whatever. Do we have a deal?" She put out her hand. Shaking hands with a woman was a totally unique concept for Nicholas. He clasped her warm hand in his, squeezing lightly. She shook his hand and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go.

"Yes, I believe we do have a deal, Jaci." Before he released her hand, he bent low and placed a light kiss on the back side. He felt the slight quiver race through her warm skin, and wondered at her thoughts.

Nicholas considered himself a strong and independent man, and he had very particular notions as to how women should behave. They should be soft spoken and know their place. They were the weaker sex and it was a man's responsibility to protect them.

Jaci refuted all those ideas and yet he fell under her spell anyway. He wondered why as she nervously tried to remove her hand from his. He studied her pretty features, and felt the disguised strength in her arm.

Knowing he could ask no more of her today, he released her and she gathered her skirts to leave. As she slipped away from view, he caught a glimpse of her shoes--those same strange, boot-type shoes she had worn the day of her arrival.

* * *

Today was Saturday. Jaci sipped another cup of coffee in the kitchen, visiting with Delta, when Amanda burst in, feet and tongue both going a hundred miles an hour, as usual. Molly was supposed to be watching her because Saturday was Jaci's day off, but that never stopped Amanda from seeking her out. Besides, what did Jaci have to do on a day off, anyway?

"Mrs. Sullivan is here and you must see what she has. Trunks and trunks of the most marvelous stuff," Amanda practically shouted right in Jaci's ear as she scooted to a stop in front of her.

She had to grin at the child's incongruous use of the phrase marvelous stuff. For a five-year-old, she had an excellent grasp of the English language, probably from all the adults in the house talking to her all the time. Every once in a while, she would latch on to a word and use it in almost every sentence, sometimes regardless of whether it actually belonged there. Thus was the case for the word
marvelous.

"Well, what is all this wonderful treasure, and who is Mrs. Sullivan?" she questioned with a smile, for Amanda's good humor was always contagious.

"Mrs. Sullivan is a seamstress from the city," Molly answered, having followed Amanda into the kitchen. "She says that Mister Westbrooke requested her presence to see to your wardrobe." Molly puckered her lips and fluttered her eyelashes, and Amanda burst out laughing. Jaci knew Molly teased, but was also implying there must be something going on between herself and the owner of Wildwood. Why else would he order clothes made for her?

She rose quickly from her seat. "I didn't ask for clothes, and I don't see that I need anything until I can afford it." She said this more for the servants' benefit than her own. She could use some dresses that fit better, but she didn't know how she would pay for them.

"You can't send her back. Uncle Nicholas wouldn't like it very much at all." Amanda pulled on her skirt trying to get her attention, but Jaci had already made up her mind.

"There are some things over which your uncle should have no say." Leaving Molly and Delta with their mouths hanging open and Amanda propped on the huge wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, Jaci left to find the master of the house and give him a piece of her mind.

* * *

Two hours later, she had been poked and pinched and measured and embarrassed until she could take no more. Amanda giggled in delight, sitting in the middle of the bed surrounded by yards of ribbon, satins and lace. Molly smugly helped with whatever Mrs. Sullivan requested of her.

Obviously, she had lost the argument with Nicholas and still fumed at his high handed attitude. She hadn't liked being called a responsibility, even if she was. And while he had refused to even discuss the cost, Jaci swore to herself she would pay back every cent. Now, as she surveyed the sea of colored cloth over every conceivable object in her room, she wondered how many years that would take.

"Honestly, Mrs. Sullivan, I don't need this many clothes." She tried to step down from the footstool, but the seamstress would not tolerate it.

"Nonsense, my dear. Every young lady needs at least this many and more." She had already measured Jaci and draped a variety of materials around her, trying for the right color combinations and trims. The pile of patterns she had chosen lay scattered at her feet.

The matronly woman had explained as she stripped Jaci to the bare essentials that her wardrobe would be made back in the shop because with the new sewing machines, it could be done in half the time of having Molly sew by hand. However, she had brought a few ready-mades with her, and after trying them first and making minor adjustments, handed them over to her assistant to alter on the spot.

"The more delicate undergarments, of course, will still be sewn by hand," Mrs. Sullivan assured her as she continued pinning fabric at her shoulders. "And the corsets, of course, will--"

"No corset!" Jaci hadn't won her argument with Nicholas, but surely she could overrule this woman.

"My dear, you have a well-developed bust, a tapering waist and large hips, all of which are points recognized as combining for a good figure. But it wouldn't hurt to enhance it with a good corset."

Jaci looked down at her body, what she could see of it. Exactly what did the woman mean--large hips?

"And besides, a postilion skirt just will not hang right without one." She shook her head. "Post--what?"

"A bustle," Molly replied, secretively pointing to the hump which stuck out from Mrs. Sullivan's backside.

Jaci's eyes popped open and her mouth dropped. That was part of the dress? Here she thought poor Mrs. Sullivan had a gross deformity. Surely women didn't wear something like that on purpose.

"I haven't seen anyone with something that weird, er, a bustle, around here."

"Of course not. Servants have no need of formal clothes. Have you not been to the city at all?"

"Well, actually, no," she replied, but hurried on. "It doesn't make any difference. I'm a servant and I don't need a posti...a bustle any more than they do."

"But Mister Westbrooke said you should be dressed in style."

Jaci gritted her teeth to keep from telling these women what a chauvinistic pig she thought their employer. "Mrs. Sullivan, do you recall recent news items regarding the Women's Temperance League, and the new labor laws for women and children?" At the woman's nod, she continued, pointing a finger at her as though preaching from the highest pulpit. "In the not too distant future, you are going to see more changes in this society. Women will become doctors and lawyers and politicians; and they will vote in the elections. And best of all, they
will not
let some man decide what they are to wear!"

All the ladies in the room gasped at her remarks, and Jaci couldn't tell whether it was because of her unladylike outburst, or because of the information she had imparted. She didn't care; she wasn't going to torture herself with bindings.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Sullivan finally replied. Shaking out a piece of trim, she went about her work as though Jaci hadn't spoken at all.

She hoped she had gotten her point across, but to prevent any misunderstanding, she looked the seamstress right in the eye and said, "No corset; no bustle."

Apparently willing to allow her this small victory, Mrs. Sullivan was still out to win the war. She gathered up a variety of ribbons, feathers, flowers and sequins and turned to her. "Since you spend most of your time here in the country, I will concede the other, but you must allow me the trim. A good Sunday dress has at least fifty yards of trim."

It was too much; Jaci hung her head in defeat.

Another two hours passed before Mrs. Sullivan felt vindicated enough to let Jaci dress. Her wardrobe now hosted several bright colored dresses, altered to fit. The rest, Mrs. Sullivan assured her, would arrive within a fortnight.

Jaci didn't even ask what that meant.

* * *

Nicholas strolled past the study door where Jaci and Amanda were in lessons. They laughed together over some silly thing Amanda said, and Nicholas felt jealous, left out in a way he had never felt before.

After their argument over her wardrobe, in which she insisted he take the cost out of her earnings and he insisted she accept the clothes with good grace, he had thought things would settle down. However, it appeared the two of them were only temporarily involved in an uneasy truce.

Jaci tried to stay out of his way. When they met by chance, she always had Amanda in tow and refused to converse with him. Nicholas longed for a way to convince her he meant no harm. He hadn't wanted to create such a scene over a thing as simple as clothes, for he was only doing his duty as a man by taking responsibility for her.

She proved as stubborn as he, and several days passed when he didn't see her at all. Days which proved entirely too long, and far too lonely, he thought, as he dined by himself at his very formal table.

In the past this never bothered him, for he usually had ledgers, stud books and lineage papers scattered about him on the huge table and worked as he ate. Knowing Jaci enjoyed dining with Amanda and the household staff rather than with him burned in his gut. Of course, it would have appeared inappropriate if he had asked her to join him, for although he considered her a lady, she was a member of his staff.

It pleased him greatly, therefore, when she followed him into his study to ask that Amanda begin taking her meals with him. If the child sat at table, that meant her governess would have to sit there also, instead of hiding away in her room. Of course, it wouldn't do to let her know how much he favored the idea. She might decide against it if only to be contrary.

"A five-year-old child has no business sitting at table with adults." He loved to bait her, for her eyes sparked with defiance and her cheeks glowed with color.

"She must learn table manners, and what better way than to model the behavior of her elders."

He moved closer, for she smelled of springtime even though heavy frost had hit the meadows last eve. He watched her lips as she spoke and recalled the one time he had kissed her. It had begun more to calm her, though passion lay beneath the surface, and now he wondered what she would say if he kissed her again. "Are you saying I'm old?"

"You know that's not what I meant." Her blush grew brighter.

"Dinner is a place for adult conversation. Perhaps instead, you would care to join me?"

"I, well, that is..."

Nicholas thought he had pushed her too far when she gave a sigh and turned away. It appeared she needed only to collect her thoughts, for in a moment she turned back, her eyes once again full of fire.

"I will consent to dine with you, if Amanda can, also. The opportunity will be there for her to listen and learn from adult conversation. Besides, she adores you and doesn't see you except for riding lessons."

Now that was hitting below the belt, he thought, for he loved his niece, and wanted only what was best for her. To retaliate, he decided to see how far Miss Eastman was willing to go to obtain her desired objective.