Duchess For A Day

She was no longer exhausted, but instead filled with a great surge of energy. And, she felt optimistic and hopeful in a way she had not felt since she was a young girl with her whole life ahead of her.

Her sense of excitement escalated when the train screeched to a stop. “Olivia—” she gently shook her companion “—wake up. We’re here! We’re at Saratoga.”

Olivia sat up, yawned, grabbed her silver-headed cane, then reached for the new hat she’d bought back in London. She clamped it on her head. “How do I look?”

Claire reached up and straightened the fashionable straw hat, pulling the brim forward a little, then carefully smoothing a wispy lock of gray hair back from Olivia’s face. “Like an elegant, well-bred lady,” Claire said with a conspiratorial smile.

Olivia’s eyes sparkled.

Both women were smiling when they stepped down from the train onto the platform outside the passenger depot. A building befitting a resort favored by the fashionable set, the little depot was of red brick with elaborate iron trimmings.

Claire took a deep breath, grabbed Olivia’s hand and hurried toward the depot door.

Hank Cassidy stepped down from his private rail car at the train’s rear. He caught a fleeting glance of pale blond hair, gleaming golden in the sunlight. That golden head abruptly turned and Hank saw her face. He smiled foolishly, admiring her. He started to call out, stopped himself, but anxiously stepped down and started toward her.

But the platform was crowded with arriving passengers and friends and family who had come to welcome the travelers. He quickly lost sight of the golden-haired beauty.

Hank uttered an oath under his breath, feeling a sense of loss, then immediately laughed at himself for his foolishness. No need to hurry after her. Obviously, she would be staying at the Springs for the season. They were sure to cross paths at some point in time.

Claire, with Olivia in tow, was swept along with the crowd into the depot with its muted interior of black walnut. The two women fought their way through the crush of travelers and out the depot’s side doors.

Directly in front of the station was an open square adorned with splashing fountains and trees. And parked near the redbrick depot were landaus and phaetons and barouches. Hotel porters shouted and an omnibus driver was calling for passengers desiring transportation.

Claire stepped forward, raised a gloved hand, and called out to a hack driver. Minutes later she and Olivia were driven directly to the long-shuttered estate of Britain’s merry widow, the Duchess of Beaumont.

The impressive estate was secluded on a heavily timbered rise of land a quarter of a mile east of Saratoga. Claire and Olivia exchanged glances of awe when the carriage rolled up before the white stone mansion rising from the leafy forest and surrounded by landscaped gardens.

“I understand only a caretaker lives here full-time,” Claire said, alighting from the carriage, gazing at the mansion’s many windows, all of which had the shades securely drawn. “I imagine we have our work cut out for us.”

“We can handle it,” assured Olivia.

The hack driver left them standing outside the mansion, valises at their feet.

“Shall we go inside and find out what must be done?” asked Claire.

“After you,” said Olivia and lifted her valise.

Midway up the front walk, both abruptly stopped when the aged caretaker came out of the mansion’s front door. Thin, stooped, he looked as if a puff of wind would blow him down. And he was, they quickly learned, half blind and hard of hearing.

Blinking in the dappled sunlight and easing himself down the mansion’s veranda steps, he grimaced as though every bone in his body was aching.

“You must be Walker,” Claire said, smiling, and hurried to him, her hand thrust out.

The thirty-three-year-old Duchess of Beaumont had not been to Saratoga in years. And, like Claire, she was a tall, slender woman with pale golden hair. Squinting, the nearsighted caretaker saw Claire’s light hair and mistook her for the duchess.

“Your Grace,” he said and attempted a creaking bow.

“No, no, Walker. You see, the duchess has not yet—”

“Eh, Your Grace?” he said, cupping a hand to his ear. “Speak up, please.”

Claire gave Olivia a helpless look. Olivia stepped forward. Raising her voice, she attempted to set the old man straight. “Walker, the Duchess of Beaumont will not be arriving until later in the month. This is Claire Orwell and I am Olivia Sutton. The duchess sent us on ahead to—”

Hearing only a word here and there of what Olivia was saying, the caretaker listened, frowning as if in pain, and before she had finished speaking, he interrupted.

“Come along, Your Grace, you must get in out of the harsh sunlight lest you blister.”

Claire tried again, “No, Walker, you’ve misunderstood, I’m not the duchess. My friend, Olivia Sutton, and I have come to ready the house for…” She patiently explained that she and Olivia had been sent ahead to open and staff the house for the duchess’s impending arrival.

When finally she concluded, Claire gave him an expectant look, hopeful that he had understood.

He smiled, nodded, and said, “How many years since you were here last, Your Grace? Five? Ten?”

Claire started to speak, but Olivia touched her arm and stopped her. “Let it go for now,” she said, shrugging. “We’ll clear it up later.” To the old man she shouted, “Thank you, Walker. We can manage from here. You’re dismissed. Go take a nap. A nice, long nap.” She gave her cane to Claire, raised her hands, folded them against her cheek and closed her eyes for a second.

When she opened her eyes the old man turned to Claire, half bowed once again, and said, “If you need me, Your Grace, I’ll be in my quarters out back.”

Six

Once inside the mansion’s shadowy drawing room, Olivia and Claire exchanged looks of dismay. They had been told that an in-town service had an ongoing contract to clean the house thoroughly at least once every two weeks. The service had apparently been derelict in their duties. Sheets blanketed the fine furniture, but the heavy drapery was covered with dust and the entire place smelled musty.

It was obvious that no one had been there for weeks, maybe months. Olivia took off her hat and tossed it on a sheet-draped chair. She and Claire immediately went about yanking the curtains apart and throwing open the windows to admit the fresh mountain air.

“Not to worry,” Olivia assured Claire “We’ll have this place sparkling clean within forty-eight hours.”

Claire nodded and smiled. “And neither of us will so much as pick up a feather duster!”

“Let the servants handle it,” said Olivia in her best impersonation of a high-toned lady of leisure.

They laughed merrily.

When they’d sobered a bit, they explored the mansion, each deciding they’d choose a bedroom. Olivia picked one on the ground floor near the back of the house. They then ventured upstairs. At the top of the curving staircase they opened a set of tall white double doors into a large, opulent suite. A cozy sitting room with a white marble fireplace and covered sofas was open to the raised bedroom, which was reached by climbing three wide white marble steps.

Directly off the bedroom, tall glass-paned doors led onto a balcony overlooking lush gardens.

“The duchess’s suite,” Claire stated the obvious, stepping out onto the balcony, charmed by the total privacy the well-planned garden and tall sheltering trees afforded.

Olivia stepped up beside her. “But the duchess is not here.” She paused, waiting for Claire to respond. Claire remained silent. Olivia ventured, “The suite can be yours until she arrives.”

“Dare I?” Claire asked, eyebrows raised.

“Why not? Who’s to know?” Olivia turned away. “I’ll bring up your valises. Make yourself at home.”

“I believe I will,” Claire said, yanking the covering dust cloth from an upholstered chair, and running her hand over the plush white velvet.

Once their valises had been deposited in their respective rooms, Claire immediately sent Olivia forth to handle the hiring of a small staff of servants, as instructed.

And she set out to explore the picturesque resort.