CHAPTER ONE

I wake at six a.m., as I always do. The vague unease I feel the afternoon before when I arrive remains with me as I dress. I'm not sure at first what it is that leaves me still feeling uneasy. Inside, the house is not so forbidding as the outside would suggest. Still, I can't shake the feeling of disquiet as I leave the room and begin my first day of employment with the Ashfords.

Today being my first with the family, I believe I will use it to acquaint myself with my employer and my charges. Mrs. Ashford stated in my interview that their personal chef would be responsible for the children's meals, so I need only ensure that they are awake and ready for breakfast by seven-thirty each morning.

The children's rooms are near mine, obviously, so in the future, I will be able to reach and rouse them quickly, but as it is still early, I choose to familiarize myself with the house.

From the outside, Ashford Manor appears very large. From the inside, those dimensions grow to cavernous. I am no stranger to wealth, having grown up in a very rich family myself, but while our family home was certainly far more spacious than most homes, it is absolutely dwarfed by the manor. Not that a person's wealth matters. If anything, it's only another shell that says more about a person than it hides. My parents were certainly no better than anyone else for all their money.

The home consists of a central home with two wings, one each to the north and south. I and the children are in the south wing. Mrs. Ashford, of course, has the master suite in the central home. The other servants reside in quarters in the north wing. All the bedrooms are on the top floor, it appears.

The second floor is dominated by a theater with a nineteen-foot-screen and seating for over sixty people. Its modernity is a striking and rather aesthetically unpleasant contrast to the overall aged appearance of the house. Behind this theater, the only other structure is a large, covered balcony which reveals the grounds beyond.

The first floor of the north wing contains a vast library that opens directly into a study with a massive mahogany desk and shelves full of even more books. Beyond that is a gallery with a surprisingly modest collection of paintings and sculptures.

I make my way to the south wing and find the kitchen. Like the theater, it is a thoroughly modern affair and it's somewhat disconcerting to leave the dark hues of the foyer and enter the polished metal sheen of the appliances and countertops in here.

Beyond the kitchen is a grand dining room with a twenty-five-foot table surrounded by thirty chairs. Three massive chandeliers hang over the table, and the floor is of hardwood polished almost as brightly as the stainless steel in the kitchen.

After that dining room is a much smaller one with much more modest dining furniture arranged for six people. It's at this table that I see Cecilia Ashford, sitting alone holding her cell phone, a cup of coffee cooling next to her.

"Now is not the time for this conversation, Elena," she says into the phone. "Johnathan is barely a month in the ground, and you want to talk about a succession plan?" After a pause, she says, "The business is running itself quite nicely. Unless you're telling me that the financial reports I've received from the board are in error."

I clear my throat, and her eyes snap up to me. "I have to go, Elena." She hangs up and frowns. "What are you doing here?"

I manage a smile and say, "I always wake at six. I thought I would familiarize myself with the house."

She looks at me a moment longer, than says, "Come join me, Miss Wilcox."

I find my voice and nod. "Thank you, ma'am."

I sit across from her and smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you."

"No need to be sorry," she replies. "There's nothing you could do to make my life any worse right now."

I want to ask who she was talking to on the phone, but I don't feel it's my place. Instead, I only say, "I am so sorry for your loss."

"You know, I've been hearing that a lot," she says. "I'm sorry for your loss. I wonder, is anyone truly sorry?"

"I am."

"Why? You didn't know him. For all you know, he was a cold monster who terrorized my every waking moment and made the children's lives a living hell."

I smile compassionately at her. "Even if that were true—and something tells me it isn't—the loss of a fixture in someone's life is tragic and very difficult to overcome. Were Johnathan a monster, his loss would create a vacuum that you and your children would have to fill with no knowledge of how to do so. Were he, as I suspect, a loving father and a devoted husband, then he has left behind a hole that may never properly be filled. So, I am sorry."

She searches my face a moment, then says, "You think yourself very wise, don't you, Miss Wilcox."

"I don't know about that. I've just been around for a while. When you live life long enough, you observe enough that some things start making sense. Not everything, but some things."

She says nothing for a moment. I'm about to apologize again for interrupting her when she says, "I'm sorry. I've been quite rude. Would you like some coffee?"

I stand and say, "I would, and I would like you to sit here while I bring it and some more for you."

She gives me a look that might be a smile. I can't tell if it's motivated by gratitude or amusement. "Very well."

I return to the kitchen and brew fresh coffee. If nothing else, I'll have a moment to gather my thoughts.

The coffee maker is an automatic one that brews from pods. I prefer coffee boiled in a percolator or steeped in a press, but I don't expect everyone to be as old-fashioned as me.

I return to the kitchen and set Mrs. Ashford's mug in front of her.

She lifts it to her lips and sips. I watch as the warmth of the brew suffuses her. She closes her eyes, breathes deeply, and releases the breath in a cleansing sigh. Her shoulders relax, and this time, when she smiles, there is clear gratitude. "Thank you."

I feel a rush of warmth at being able to do something kind for her. "It's no trouble at all. Grief tries to prevent us from caring for ourselves. That is a temptation we must resist at every turn."

"You speak as though you have some experience with grief."

Annie's smile flashes across my face, and my ears echo with her laughter. I feel a touch of sympathy for the grief the family must have endured. I understand their pain all too well. I nod and say softly. "I do."

"A husband?"

"No. A sister."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. But she was lost to me nearly thirty years ago. I have had time to come to terms with my grief." I hope that's the only lie I need to tell her. I smile at her. "I am here to help you and your children come to terms with yours."

She frowns. "That seems a bit presumptuous for a governess, don't you think?"

I feel heat climb my cheeks. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I only meant that I hope to relieve some of your burden." "You needn't worry about my burden, Miss Wilcox. You are here to care for the children. When the time comes, we will discuss whether you shall be responsible for tutoring them as well or whether we'll send them to school. In the meantime, I suggest you limit your concern to ensuring the children are fed, bathed and clothed."

I incline my head respectfully. "Of course, ma'am. I didn't mean to intrude."

She leans back and regards me. After a moment, she says, "Why did you accept this position, Mary?"

I'm not sure how to respond. I stammer a bit, then say, "Well, I felt I could be of use here."

"Hmm. I looked into your background a bit before I hired you. You come from wealth."

"Well… not so much as you, ma'am, but yes, I have a tidy estate."

She continued as though I hadn't spoken. "Yet you chose to live in an apartment for the past twenty-five years. You also chose to abandon a graduate program in psychology to pursue a career as an elementary school teacher. Why?"

Once more, I stammered, taken aback by the personal question. I'm about to work up the courage to suggest that my past career choices have no bearing on my work for her when the door opens, and I hear, "Miss Cecilia, we need to…"

The voice trails off, and I turn to see its owner. She's around my age, perhaps a few years older. She wears the dark blue dress and long white apron of a maid. That would be the housekeeper, Theresa Godwin.

My suspicion is confirmed a moment later when Mrs. Ashford says, "Theresa, this is Mary Wilcox, the governess. Mary, this is Theresa, the housekeeper. She's been with the family for many years."

So, either she is older than she appears, or she was brought to service as a teenager. I stand and smile, extending my hand toward her. "It's lovely to meet you."

Theresa's expression makes it clear that it's anything but lovely to meet me. She gives a barely perceptible nod, then pointedly ignores me as she turns to Mrs. Ashford. "Miss Cecilia, there are…" she looks suspiciously at me "…matters we need to discuss."

I nod and turn to Mrs. Ashford. "Thank you for a lovely cup of coffee, Mrs. Ashford. I look forward to getting to know you and your family better."

Cecilia gives me a distracted smile, her mind already turned to other things. I turn my eyes to Theresa to see her still staring daggers at me. Quite intentionally, I return a steady gaze of my own, even as I smile and say, "It was lovely to meet you, Theresa. I look forward to getting to know you better."

She offers a sickly grimace that I believe she intends to be a smile and at the same time intends to be a look of disgust. I hold her gaze a moment longer, then turn and leave the dining room.

For a moment with Cecilia, I felt as though I might have a chance to break through the grief and establish a real relationship with this family. In hindsight, I suppose that was a bit presumptuous of me, but I want so much to spare them the grief that I still carry after Annie's loss.

But how can I connect with them when the matriarch of the family doesn't trust me? How can I earn her trust when even the other staff treats me with disdain.

I remind myself that it's only the first morning. I still have time. Not every interaction will turn out like this one.

Still, the chill I feel from the moment I arrive at the Ashford Estate remains wrapped around me like a blanket.