Cadence of My Heart (18 page)

Dinner with the Ashlocks is made markedly more uncomfortable by the presence of the Cartwright family. Vince tries to make conversation with Cadence, but Cadence shuts him down. Missus Cartwright tries to find some common ground with Missus Ashlock, but fails. Mister Ashlock is only moderately more animated than usual, Marlee’s exquisite bust still being the only thing of interest to him at the table. He converses with Mister Cartwright in spurts, discussing mostly matters of finance. It sounds like white noise to everyone else.

Marlee speaks only when she’s spoken to, her slip-on shoes discarded beneath the table, her stockinged feet caressing Cadence’s bare ones. Every now and again, she trails her foot up Cadence’s calf, rubbing the teen’s shin on the way back down.

She doesn’t notice when Vince drops his napkin on the floor and bends to retrieve it, but she notices the expression on his face when he resurfaces—he’s staring straight at her. Is he daring her to say something? To justify it? She says nothing, returning the stare unwaveringly. If he thinks he’s going to rattle her, he’s got another thing coming. So their feet are touching. So what? What does that prove? Naught. Even if he did hear them screwing this morning, how would he ever back a claim like that up? Marlee’s not particularly worried. Still, they seem to be stuck in a stalemate until Missus Ashlock breaks it.

“Marlee,” the lousy, bitter woman demands her attention. “I ought to thank you now before I forget.”

“Thank me, milady?”

“For agreeing to stay on with us until Cadence’s new maid begins.” Missus Ashlock pauses to eat a bite of dinner. “I’m sure you were quite looking forward to being a free woman again, but you can rest assured that you’ll be well compensated for your trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, milady.” Marlee shares a smile with Cadence. “It’s a pleasure.”

Wary of drawing Vince’s attention, she looks away, Missus Ashlock remaining entirely oblivious to the complicated triangle that’s forming right in front of her.

“Even though you’ll no longer be functioning strictly as her nanny, you’ll be required to chaperone Cadence at all times during the party tomorrow night,” she carries on. “I don’t want you to let her out of your sight. After all, you know how teenagers can be, and we don’t want anyone misbehaving.” She glares at her daughter, no doubt referring to the never-to-be-forgotten champagne incident.

If Missus Ashlock says anything after that, Marlee doesn’t hear it. She’s too busy enjoying the invading memories of several memorable encounters between herself and Cadence that probably epitomize a few other acts of misbehavior that the Ashlocks would quite like to prevent.

Acts such as a frantic groping in a downstairs hallway while Cadence’s parents were having dessert one night. Cadence got them both out of the dining room under the pretense of seeking out some ice cream, then promptly thrust a hand up Marlee’s skirt. Marlee protested, of course, but all protests died on her lips the second Cadence’s keen fingers made contact with her swollen clit.

Feeling moisture seep into her underwear, Marlee pushes the memory aside.

Thankfully, the rest of dinner passes rather uneventfully, and they retire to the drawing room for the remainder of the evening—Marlee included. She and Cadence hold hands all the while, Cadence leading them to a chaise at the edge of the room. They sit together, Cadence’s legs over Marlee’s lap, Marlee’s arm draped around her shoulders.

“Is this too close?” Cadence whispers, wondering if she should retreat slightly.

“No.” Marlee whispers back, risking a kiss on the side of her head. “Some level of closeness is always expected.”

“You can sit here with me, Cady,” Vince offers pitifully, calling to her from a loveseat.

“I’m fine where I am, thanks,” Cadence answers without looking at him.

“Frigid bitch,” he mutters under his breath.

Cadence hears him, and would bite back a response, only Marlee won’t let her.

“Don’t.” She gives Cadence’s shoulders a squeeze. “You and I know different, and that’s all that matters. Who cares what he thinks?”

While the adults, including Vince, enjoy a drink—whiskey for the men, brandy for the women—Cadence is offered juice. She looks into the bottom of her glass, smells it, and pulls a face.

“I hate grape juice.” She looks at Marlee’s brandy. “Can we swap?”

“Ha!” Marlee chuckles. “Even if I had a death wish, you wouldn’t like it.”

“How do you know? I might love it.”

Marlee flits her eyes around the room, making certain no-one’s looking. “Fine.” She puts her glass to Cadence’s glossy, lipstick-coated lips. “Just a small sip.”

A small sip is all it takes.

Cadence coughs and sputters, sticking her tongue out and flapping it in the air before gulping down a healthy dose of her grape juice to combat the taste.

“Ugh! That’s vile!” She finishes her juice. “It burns.”

“I warned you.” Marlee rubs and pats her back, helping her recover.

“You
like
that stuff?!”

“It makes me randy.” She winks.

“Oh.” Cadence sets her empty glass aside and grabs a blanket, covering their laps with it, tucking it up to their shoulders. “Then drink up.”

Using the blanket as a shield, Cadence slides her hand over Marlee’s chest, stroking the upper swells of her breasts, her fingertips barely sneaking inside the blouse. Marlee should stop her, but she doesn’t. In fact, she rather wishes Cadence would move her hand lower and grope her properly. That is, until the blanket slips, revealing Cadence’s wandering hand to anyone who might be looking—and Vince
is
looking.

Disgruntled, he decides to retreat to the games room. As he makes his apologies to the adults, he turns to Missus Ashlock.

“By the way”—he pulls something out of his pocket—“I found these in the games room earlier.” He dangles a pair of lacy knickers in the air. “I think one of your domestics might be getting up to no good behind your back.” He glares at Marlee, tossing the knickers onto a side table. “You really should put a stop to it.”

Following his departure, an awkward silence descends but doesn’t last. The conjecture begins almost immediately, with the horrified Ashlocks and the intrigued Cartwrights all tossing out suggestions about who the culprit might be.

The longer this conversation goes on, the more heated it gets, and the more uneasy Marlee becomes. Cadence, her hand still pressed over Marlee’s chest, can feel her heart rate escalating, and attempts to get them out of the room as quickly and as smoothly as possible.

Making herself yawn, she stretches dramatically and gets off the chaise, declaring that she wants to go to bed.

“Tuck me in!” She grins at Marlee, her hand outstretched.

“You know you’re really too old for that,” Missus Ashlock reprimands her, afraid of what the Cartwrights might think.

“It’s all right.” Marlee lets Cadence pull her off the chaise. “I don’t mind.”

“No,” Missus Ashlock puts her foot down. “She’s old enough to do things by herself.” Her tone is laced with disapproval. “She’s practically a woman.”

Cadence refuses to get go of Marlee’s hand. “Marlee’s still my nanny tonight, isn’t she? It’s not my birthday until tomorrow.”

Missus Ashlock can’t refute that.

“Good.” Cadence leads Marlee away. “Then Marlee’s going to take me to bed.”

Oh, if only they knew how true that was!

Cadence looks so serene and peaceful, asleep in Marlee’s bed, her chestnut hair ruffled and tangled from the tug and pull of rough sex. Just a few minutes ago, before she’d tackled it with a hairbrush, Marlee’s hair looked similar: strands tousled and knotted together after being repeatedly fisted and grappled throughout the night.

As of this morning, she’s officially released from her employment contract, and Cadence is seventeen. She’s no more Cadence’s nanny, but her ‘companion’, as Mister Ashlock wrote in the memo line of the generous ‘Thank You’ payment he made to her last night. What does that even mean? Is she being paid to be Cadence’s friend?

Laughing it off, she finishes dressing in one of her favorite nanny outfits, possibly for the last time, and prepares to get the day started. When she reaches the bedroom door, however, she thinks better of her haste. She doesn’t want Cadence to wake alone on her birthday.

Settling on the edge of the bed, she stirs her young lover with shoulder kisses and nibbles. “Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead. It’s your special day.”

Cadence rolls onto her back, rubbing her eyes. “Is it really finally here?”

“Happy birthday, darling.” Marlee tenders her a lip kiss—the first one permitted to them by law.

“We’re legal.” Cadence grins, this birthday meaning so much more to her than any of the others before it. “Why are you dressed?” She yawns, frowning at Marlee’s appearance. “Where are you going?”

“To make you breakfast in bed.”

Cadence rolls her eyes. “I don’t expect you to keep doing this shit for me, Marlee. You don’t have to. Not anymore.”

“Let’s get one thing clear, shall we?” Marlee moves Cadence’s bangs out of her eyelashes. “I’m not doing it because I
have
to, I’m doing it because I
want
to. Anyway, you’re going to be in high demand today, and this might be the only chance I get to dote on you before you’re monopolized by your family.” She reaches under the bed and pulls out a gift box. “Here, you can amuse yourself with this while I’m gone.”

She sets the decorated, red-ribboned box on the pillow beside Cadence, kisses her cheek, and hurries off to fix something quick and delicious. At this time of day, squarely between meals, the kitchen is often deserted. The cook will be taking a nap in her room, while the kitchen maid preps vegetables for lunch in the scullery, leaving Marlee with full run of the kitchen. Gathering up a bowl, a knife, a cutting board, and a selection of fruits—strawberries, blackberries, and a mango—she settles on making a fruit salad.

Happy to be alone with her thoughts, and excited to rejoin Cadence in bed as soon as possible, she’s in a deep daydream when Rachel sneaks up on her from behind.

“Oi, oi. What’s going on ‘ere, then?” Rachel plants her hands on her hips, pretending to be annoyed. “Stealing food are we?”

Marlee pays minimal attention to her, focusing instead on the strawberries.

“Cadence isn’t up yet.” She scoops the cut berries into the bowl. “It’s her birthday, so I thought I’d let her sleep in and bring her something nice for breakfast.”

The tension between them seems worse every time they run into one another, what with Marlee unable to explain the reason for suddenly terminating their friends with benefits arrangement, and then rather abruptly refraining from spending her free time in the servants’ quarters.

“Are we okay, Marl?” Rachel sidles closer. “I feel like we hardly ever see each other anymore, and when we do, it’s … weird.” She tries to walk into Marlee’s sightline, but Marlee maneuvers to avoid her.

“Why can’t you look at me?” She plants both hands on her hips, frustration oozing into her voice. “Did I do something? I feel like you don’t even want to be in the same room with me.”

“It’s not what you think.” Marlee struggles to peel a mango.

“Really?” Rachel leans on the counter beside her. “Let’s see: I think you’re banging someone else, and you’re avoiding me. How true does that ring?”

“Not at all,” Marlee claims. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”

“You’re such a terrible liar.” Rachel grins, elbowing her in the ribs. “You’re having it off with someone, so tell me who it is!”

“Yes, do tell.”

Vince’s voice kills the playful smile on Rachel’s lips, and strikes panic into Marlee. While Rachel straightens up and adopts a stance that befits her status, greeting him politely, Marlee keeps her back to him, continuing to prep the mango.

Ignoring Rachel, he stands in the kitchen doorway, his eyes stuck on Marlee. “Who are you making breakfast for, I wonder?”

“Cadence, sir.” Marlee answers without looking up.

“And where is Cadence?” He steps into the kitchen, determined to rattle her. “I was looking forward to wishing her a happy birthday, but she didn’t attend breakfast.”

“She’s sleeping in.” Still no eye contact.

“Really? I went to her room, but she wasn’t there.” He approaches her with a confident swagger. “Have you any idea whose room she might be in?”

“Mine,” Marlee says quite casually. “We’re going to have breakfast together.”

“Shouldn’t that be my prerogative?”

“This is the last birthday I’ll get to spend with her.” Marlee keeps her back to him, slicing into the mango. “I thought we might be able to enjoy breakfast alone.”

She can feel him moving near her, his body heat radiating against her.

“By all means.” He thieves a chunk of mango. “Say your goodbyes as you please.” He bites into the fruit, grinning. “I’ve no wish to deprive you of such a fleeting pleasure. After all, she’ll be out of your hands soon enough.”

Marlee doesn’t take another breath until he leaves, his presence oppressive.

“What’s his problem?” Rachel snorts. “Why’s he acting all jealous like you’re …” Her voice trails off, a suspicion sprouting. “No!” She turns to Marlee, her eyes wide. “You’re never?!”

Marlee doesn’t deny it.

“I thought we were being so careful.” She leans on the counter, cursing herself for having been so overconfident. “Turns out it’s a lot harder to conceal a love affair when there’s actually someone around who’s paying attention.”

Rachel’s jaw flaps for a while before any words come out, and when they do, her voice is so shrill it’s almost a screech: high pitched and loud.

“You’re diddling Cadence Ashlock?!”

“Quiet!” Marlee gestures to lower her voice. “I’m not diddling her,” she whispers. “I’m just … oh, fuck it.” She needs to unburden herself. “If you must know, I’ve somehow fallen very much in love with her.”

Silence.

Rachel rolls that around in her head for a while before reaching a verdict on the matter. “I think a tipple is in order.”

Marlee checks the clock. “It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

“So it is, and you look like a woman who could use some booze.”

Rachel drags a chair over to a crockery cabinet and stands on top of it, fumbling for something hidden above: a bottle of the cook’s most expensive dry sherry.

“Ta-da!” She wields it proudly, promptly hopping back down to the floor. “Go on, grab us some glasses.”

Marlee grabs two from the draining board and sits at the table, Rachel taking a seat opposite her. What kind of lecture is she about to receive? Does Rachel think she’s a pervert? Why shouldn’t she? This is hardly conventional. Ugh, this is embarrassing.

“So you’re diddling Miss Cadence, huh?” Rachel sighs. “That explains a few things.” She pours Marlee a generous measure of sherry. “Like why that bloody girl keeps giving me the evils every time she sees me.”

Marlee nods. “I’m sorry. I’ve been terribly unfair to you. Cady was jealous when she saw us together that time, and I tried to make things easy for her by not seeing you anymore.” She accepts the glass. “I suppose I’ve been avoiding you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to make some compensation for her age.”

“Hmm.” Rachel pours herself a measure. “And what’s that like? Tending to the emotional needs of a sixteen-year-old?”

“She’d never been in that position before: being jealous of someone romantically. She was too young to cope with all the adult feelings she was suddenly having, and the easiest solution was for me to pull away from my friendship with you.”

Rachel raises an eyebrow. “But she wasn’t too young to get two fingers deep in her nanny?”

“Believe me”—Marlee stares into the bottom of her drink—“I know how bad this looks. I stuck my fingers in a girl under my care. It’s not exactly my proudest moment.” She downs her sherry, then reaches for the bottle.

“Steady on, Marl.”

“If I had any modicum of control over this, I’d have waited until she was eighteen before I let anything happen between us.” She refills her glass. “But given the circumstances of her life, that was hardly an option. I always knew she’d be snatched away from me by some awful boy, and … good god.” She takes a sip. “Give me enough time and I’m sure I can find a hundred different ways to justify it. None of which excuse me from the fact that I could’ve gone to prison for what I’ve done.” Another sip.

Rachel snorts. “Bugger that now. The girl’s of age, and you ain’t her nanny. What about her parents, though? Are you gonna tell ‘em?” Rachel’s full of questions. “How are you gonna stop ‘em from marrying her off to that snotty little Cartwright kid? It’s not like they can just call off the engagement willy-nilly. Not even if they wanted to, which I’m pretty sure they don’t.”

“Why not?”

“They’ve signed contracts, yeah? The penalties for breaching will be too harsh, and they’d never let their only child off the hook for a lowly domestic.” Rachel looks down into her drink, knowing that’s not what Marlee wants to hear. “No offense.”

Marlee swirls her sherry, tempted to knock another glass back in one gulp. It hadn’t occurred to her that there’d be a breach clause in Cadence’s marriage contract—how stupidly naïve of her!—but since the Ashlocks aren’t going to have any say in the matter anyway, the fine print is neither here nor there.

She lifts her glass to her lips, taking a shaky gulp. “They won’t have a choice.”

“How’s that?”

“Cadence and I are leaving for Scotland in the morning: the annual long weekend. We’d normally be accompanied by the Ashlocks, of course, but since it’s supposed to be our last few days together before Cadence’s new maid gets here, they thought we might like to have a few days to ourselves.”

“Any excuse.” Rachel huffs derisively.

“The thing is, we were rather counting on their lazy parenting this time,” Marlee confesses. “Because we’ve arranged to be married.”

She finishes her second sherry and makes a grab for the bottle, but Rachel moves it out of her grasp, eyes wide and jaw dropped.