Mrs. Wellborn seemed always to be in motion. Both with her hands and her voice. Nicole had liked her immediately upon their first meeting, and that impression had only grown stronger over the last hour.
“Yes, indeed. It will be wonderful to have another womanaround to talk to. Don’t get very many visitors at Oakhaven. Not like we did back in New York. ’Course there were plenty of maids and other household staff to talk to there. Not like it is here with just Arthur and me. But I’m not complaining,” she assured Nicole as she wiped a smudge from the tiny mirror above the washstand with a corner of her apron. “Mrs. Thornton was right to send us out here to care for the young master when he decided not to come home after the accident. The man barely eats as it is. If left completely to his own devices, he’d probably wither away to nothing in less than a month’s time.”
Nicole’s ears perked. What accident? Why wouldn’t he go home? What was keeping Darius Thornton at Oakhaven? She clamped her lips against the questions, though, fearful that if she drew attention to the details Mrs. Wellborn was inadvertently revealing about her employer, the housekeeper would cease her informational prattle. So instead, Nicole fiddled with the placement of her brush and hairpin box atop the bureau.
But it seemed Mrs. Wellborn was done imparting jeweled tidbits anyway, for she turned around, straightened her apron, and reached for the door handle. “I’ll leave you to finish settling in. Come to the kitchen in about thirty minutes, and I’ll have supper on the table. Mr. Thornton always dines in his workshop, so you need not worry about dressing for dinner. You may eat in the dining room if you wish or join Arthur and me in the kitchen. Whichever you prefer.”
The woman kept her voice carefully neutral, but after the way she’d gone on about having company, Nicole would’ve had to be dreadfully thickheaded not to guess the correct response. “I’d be delighted to join you and your husband in the kitchen, Mrs. Wellborn. If you’ll have me. I can’t imagineanything more unappetizing than eating alone in the dining room.”
“Splendid!” The housekeeper beamed. “I’ll set another place.” She bustled out of the room with the same energetic spirit she’d entered with earlier, leaving Nicole smiling in her wake as the door clicked closed.
Should the eccentric Mr. Thornton ever decide to sup in the dining room, her family’s status as well as her professional position in the Oakhaven household would demand that she dine in his company, but until then, she’d gladly take her meals with the amiable Mrs. Wellborn and her taciturn husband.
First, however, she had to find a secure place to hide her dagger. Propping her foot against the bedpost, Nicole reached beneath her burgundy skirts and unstrapped the sheath. A sigh of pleasure passed her lips at the removal of the bulky weight. Her fingertips ran over the reddened skin where the hilt had rubbed against her thigh. She winced a bit at the sting. Obviously, she wouldn’t be able to wear her own blade for a few days if she wanted the area to heal. But since transcribing logbooks was a fairly innocuous occupation, she didn’t expect to need it.
The Jenkins threat still hung over her head, but John and Mathis would have ensured that the brothers hadn’t followed her from Galveston. Fletcher and Will might eventually track her down, but for now she was safe.
Glancing around her room, Nicole tapped the flat of the dagger blade against her hip. The wardrobe was out. With the table linens stored there, Mrs. Wellborn would have cause to dig around inside on a regular basis. The bureau? She could wrap the dagger in a spare petticoat and stuff it in the bottom of a drawer. Nicole frowned. Better not. Should the Jenkins brothers find her, they would immediately search her belongings, and she doubted the presence of frilly unmentionables would deter them.
The bed?