Cadence of My Heart (2 page)

A torn up music sheet, scattered like confetti in the upstairs hallway, is evidence of two things: that Cadence made it to her bedroom from the music room before Marlee could make it back from the servants’ quarters, and that she’s in a bad mood. Crunching a mint between her teeth, Marlee stops to pick up the pieces, then knocks on the bedroom door and enters.

Cadence is lying on her bed, half curled, hugging a pillow, her back to the door. At five feet seven, the lanky teen—just shy of sixteen years old—is nearly as tall as her nanny.

Indeed, over the last two and a half years, Marlee’s had the very great pleasure of watching a beautiful young woman emerge from Cadence’s childish body. Her first period arrived at thirteen, not long after Marlee’s arrival at Neverleigh, as if the mere presence of her delightful new nanny kick-started her body’s need to reach maturity. Her budding breasts grew steadily larger—as evidenced by the constant need to replenish her underwear drawer—and the curves of her hips and ass became more prominent.

She’s maturing, albeit slower in some ways than others. For one thing, she still suffers from the night terrors that have plagued her since she was five years old. Upon first moving into the house, Marlee had been instructed never to lock the cheater door between their bedrooms, lest her young charge should wake with a fright in the night.

That’d seemed silly at first. After all, don’t children grow out of such things? She complied nevertheless—despite her skepticism—and was shocked one night, several months later, to roll over in bed and find a warm bundle of flesh curled up next to her.

Overcoming her surprise, she’d roused the pajama-clad teen, only to be assured that the old nanny never objected to bed-sharing. This confident proclamation was swiftly followed by a trembling lower lip and the threat of tears, the poor girl feeling rejected at the thought of being cast out into her own room.

Of course, Marlee—her heartstrings sufficiently tugged—allowed her to stay, and this became the first night of many that they slept side by side. In fact, as the months went by, it seemed that the frequency of Cadence’s night terrors was increasing. When it eventually reached the point that Cadence was spending more than four nights a week in her nanny’s bed, Marlee felt obliged to make note of it to the troubled girl’s parents.

Magically, however, when it was suggested that the child should see a therapist about the matter, the night terrors suddenly ceased, leaving Marlee utterly perplexed and somewhat apologetic for having made such a fuss over nothing.

Adding to Marlee’s confusion, the night terrors have lately begun to reappear. Cadence still seeks comfort in her bed, albeit sporadically, but now she dare not complain. Perhaps it’s related to raging hormones? Stress from school? Boys? Whatever the case, Marlee feels sure that it’ll pass in its own time.

Setting the ripped music sheet on top of the dresser, she crosses the room, carefully stepping over a hastily shed pair of Converse shoes and a hoodie. Like a few other rooms in the house, Cadence’s is a strange assortment of modern trappings combined with vintage décor. The bed, dresser, and sofa are antique, and the wallpaper and rug are mock vintage, but everything else is modern and doesn’t pretend to be anything different. Among other things, there’s a laptop, some music devices, a television, various new books, a hairdryer, and an array of contemporary clothing.

“Are you all right, Cady?” Marlee stumbles on a discarded teddy bear.

“Craaaaaamps,” Cadence groans, clutching the pillow tighter. “Will you rub my tummy?” she asks, without rolling over. “Everything always feels better when you touch me.”

Kicking off her slip-on shoes, Marlee moves Cadence’s scruffy ponytail of long chestnut hair aside and crawls onto the bed behind her, molding their bodies together. She slides her hand over Cadence’s jeans at the hip, finds them undone, and worms her fingers inside.

“How’s this, darling?” She presses her hot palm against Cadence’s soft abdomen, rubbing gently back and forth.

“Good,” Cadence murmurs.

“It’s the warmth, you know. It relaxes your muscles.” Marlee kisses the side of her head, breathing in the scent of her recently washed hair. “Do you want me to fetch you a hot water bottle?”

“No.” Cadence puts her hand over Marlee’s, holding her in place. “This is nice. Stay.”

At her wish, Marlee snuggles behind her, spooning, caressing her stomach. She’s been up since before dawn, and it feels nice to lie down and relax for a moment.

Just a moment.

Or longer.

A good hour ticks by, and Marlee falls asleep, her arm draped limply over Cadence’s waist. Suddenly aware of this—aware that Marlee is completely out for the count—Cadence wriggles round and repositions facing her, rolling the peaceful snoozer gently onto her back.

She wonders how old Marlee is. She’s never thought to ask. Her honey blonde hair is thick and naturally wavy, usually restrained in a braid or a bun, but loose today. She’ll wear it like that sometimes, when chores are light and Cadence’s parents aren’t around. It’s a small act of rebellion against the rules and constraints here at Neverleigh.

As Cadence inspects it, she can find no hint of gray, but that might not mean a whole lot. Perhaps she dyes it. She knows her mother dyes her hair. One time, her lady’s maid messed it up and accidentally turned every strand green. Cadence giggles at the memory. Her mother refused to leave the house for a week until it was properly fixed.

Turning her attention to Marlee’s face, Cadence explores the faint creases at the outer edges of her eyes. So faint, barely visible. They show more when she smiles, though. So do the little laugh lines at the corners of her mouth. In contrast, Cadence ponders, the lines on her mother’s face are centered around the forehead and above the bridge of her nose. They’re the deep furrows of a perpetual frowner.

Marlee has a cute button nose, Cadence thinks, lightly pushing on the tip with her forefinger. She’s never been sure exactly what a ‘button nose’ is, since the only way noses resemble buttons is that they have two holes, but if any nose could ever be described as such, it would be Marlee’s. Her lips are cute, too. They’re full and red, and they smell like cherries.

Cadence drags her fingertip across Marlee’s lower lip, finding it soft, and viscid with a fresh coat of lipstick. Some of the lipstick comes off on her finger, and she smears it onto her own bottom lip, rubbing her lips together to spread the crimson paste around, flicking her tongue out to taste it.

Moving Marlee’s hair back, exposing her neckline and chest, Cadence trails two fingers downward from her ear, feeling the steady pulse of her carotid artery below her jaw. After a brief pause, those fingers continue down, tickling lightly over Marlee’s collar bone and toward her chest, her skin smooth and flawless.

Younger than Mister and Missus Ashlock, but older than some of the other staff, Cadence concludes, arriving at Marlee’s bosom. Looking at her hand, then at Marlee’s breasts, she assesses them to be more than a handful. But just to be sure …

She places her hand so softly over one breast, barely making contact.

“What’re you doing?” Marlee raises an eyebrow and peers at her through long, mascara-coated eyelashes.

Busted! Not to worry. This is one moment where a bit of residual childlike naïveté comes in useful, and Cadence steers herself smoothly away from any potential awkwardness.

“Why don’t mine look like yours?” She presses a hand on one of her own breasts, giving it a squeeze and comparing it to Marlee’s, wishing she was more than a B-cup.

“All breasts are different.” Marlee yawns and stretches. “Don’t give it another thought.”

“Yours are epic.” Cadence keeps her chocolate-colored eyes pinned to them. “They’re big.”

She makes another attempt to cup one of them, but, after a brief—oh, so brief—hesitation, Marlee pulls her hand away.

“You shouldn’t touch me like that, darling.” Her voice is warm, affectionate, and only mildly chastising.

“Why not?” Cadence pouts.

“It’s …” Marlee searches for the right word to use. “Intimate.”

“So?”

“It’s for grownups, Cady.” Marlee sits up and swings her legs off the bed, stretching out her shoulders. “People who love each other.”

“But we do love each other, don’t we?” Cadence scooches up behind her, wrapping two skinny arms around her neck.

That’s undeniable.

“I love you very much, sweetheart.” Marlee glances at the clock on the bedside table, alarmed to find the afternoon half lost already. “Oh! How long was I asleep? We have to go!”

“Go where?” Cadence rocks back on her heels, sulking as Marlee pulls away from her.

“Well, since you refused to sit for your fittings and have a dress made for you by your mother’s modiste, we have to go out and buy you one. If we don’t leave now, we’ll never be back in time for dinner, and you know your parents don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“What do I need a new dress for?” Cadence makes no effort to move as Marlee retrieves a hairbrush from the dresser and pats the edge of the bed, beckoning her closer to have her wild chestnut locks tamed.

“You know what for, Cady.” Marlee forces her to sit and have her hair brushed. “It’s your birthday party on Friday.”

“Don’t call it that.” Cadence scowls. “If it was my birthday party, I’d get to invite my friends and have ice cream cake.”

“Your first debutante party, then,” Marlee concedes.

“It’s not a party of any kind,” Cadence contends. “It’s an auction.” She folds her arms in protest. “You may as well just slap a price tag on me, leave me at the Sunday flea market, and hope for the best.”

Unfortunately, she’s right: it
is
like an auction.

A far cry from the sophisticated balls of the Victorian era, modern debutante affairs are much more sordid. The parents of an upper class coming-of-age girl will throw a party for the parents of all her potential suitors to attend. The parents meet the girl, quiz her on things of importance to them, determine whether or not they’d like to match her with one of their own offspring, then talk financials. Cadence will effectively be sold to the highest bidder.

“Oh, darling.” Marlee kisses the top of her head. “I know you don’t like being put on display, but this is an unavoidable part of growing up. I’m sure your parents will pick a wonderful match for you, so don’t fret.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” The frustration in Cadence’s voice is laced with anger. How dare Marlee be so blasé!

If only she knew the truth.

Marlee is far from calm. She’s been dreading this since the party was first announced. The thought of Cadence—her darling Cadence—being thrust into the arms of some strange boy she’s never met and forced to accept him as her husband at the tender age of eighteen is both painful and horrifying. Not only that, but she won’t even be around to witness it.

She won’t be able to comfort Cadence in the days and weeks leading up to the marriage. She won’t be able to counsel her on what to expect when she goes to live with her new husband. She won’t get to offer her support on the morning of the ceremony. Why? Because her engagement, whenever that occurs, will spell the end of their time together. Too grown up for a nanny, she’ll be assigned her own lady’s maid instead.