Chapter 17

There was nothing to see, but I still feel as if he caught us in a compromised position.

Clearing his throat, he intones, “Supper is served, ma’am.”

Miss Lucille pats her hair, her collar, then her skirt, as if afraid she might have somehow become disheveled. “Thank you, Kenny. We were just finishing up with the payroll. Can you take Mr. Nat to the kitchen to wash up before we eat? I have to put away my ledger.”

She shoots me a questioning look, so I nod quickly and hurry to the door. Kenny’s far-seeing gaze drops to meet mine, and the faintest hint of a smirk crosses his face before he presses his mouth into a thin, dour line. “Right this way, sir,” he says, leading the way.

As I follow, it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he didn’t see whatever it was he thought he saw, but I realize any protest I make will only fan the flames of his curiosity, so I wisely keep quiet. 15