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I’d think they were half-ghost or they were just terrified of being caught lingering by—
“Stop thinking aboutDownton Abbey.”
Peeved, I folded my arms across my chest. “Who said I was thinking aboutDownton Abbey?”
“I can guarantee it,” was her smug retort as the staff bustled around in her bedroom, swiftly unpacking her two mid-sized cases. “You were thinking about Mr. Carson—”
With a sniff, I countered, “Actually,I was thinking about Mrs. Hughes.”
Her grin was mostly hidden by the cascade of hair that fell over her face as she ducked around, plugging her computer and cellphone in to charge, apparently uncaring that people were touching her stuff.
Although, with her past, maybe she’d grown up being cared for like that.
Da hadn’t believed in any of that bullshit. Ma had run our home and we’d had to keep our rooms neat; the only deference to his status was that he had maids come in and keep everything tidy every other day.
Even then, he hadn’t liked having people rummaging around his stuff.
The memory made my lips curve. Especially when I thought back to the time he’d accused one of the maids of stealing his underwear when it was Eoghan who had taken to using them as flags for the fortress he’d built in our backyard…
What the hell he thought a maid would want with his boxers, I didn’t know.
“Do you need anything, sir?”
Torn from the past, I turned to Dubrovnik’s version of Mr. Carson and requested, “More coffee if possible.”
“Of course, sir. Mr. Kuznetsov had to leave unexpectedly but he asked me to extend the invitation to treat this house as your own.” Then, his attention aimed at Star, he stated, “In his words, this is a family retreat.”
Star snorted but didn’t reply.
When Edgar’s shoulders hunched at the non-verbal rebuke, I slapped him on the back. “Don’t take it personally. She’s just grouchy.”
Though he nodded, his gaze was plaintive as he continued gazing at Star. “What time will you be requiring dinner, sir?”
I shrugged. “If Kuznetsov’s not here, then we’re not tied down to formal dining hours?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“We’ll ring if we’re hungry. That okay?”
“Of course, sir. If not I, then Grimaud, the footman, will gladly attend to you.”
“Great.”
Once he’d left, Star peered at me. “You’re totally getting a boner for all this servant shit, aren’t you?”
“You can’t deny that it’s cool.”
“It’s cool if you’re not a servant.”
“You’re used to it.”
“I’m Gerry Sullivan’s daughter,” she said with a laugh. “Do you think he picked his dirty towels off the floor or cleaned his own toilet?”
My nose crinkled at the imagery.Never meet your heroes,I thought before tacking on,Or their daughters.
With the last of the staff having disappeared, I asked, “Do you think they were trained by British royals?”
“Yeah. I can just imagine the royal family getting down and dirty with the staff and teaching them how to deal with guests who beat the shit out of security guards.”
