Larger than the entire first floor of her home in Burnt Oak, it was furnished with everything a bedroom needed and then some. Along the wall closest to the door stood an eighteenth-century mahogany tallboy, its surface shiny and its hardware polished, and to her left was a triple-wide armoire to match. Unlike the sleigh bed in her father’s room, the one Joanna was now admiring sat high off the ground. Surrounded by four massive posts reaching toward the ceiling, they were connected at the top by a thick wooden rail, framing the queen size bed below. On either side of the bed were nightstands with marble tops, and sitting on each were tall lamps with brass-beaded chains dangling just below the ivory fabric shades. In the far corner was a cast iron Victorian fireplace as tall as it was wide, and to its right were two towering windows looking out over the front of the estate.

Joanna moved slowly through the room, and running her fingers along the edge of one of the tallboy drawers, she pulled it open. Joanna did a double take when she saw some of her clothes neatly folded inside, and looking over her shoulder, she realized the rubbish bags containing her clothing were nowhere in sight. “That’s interesting,” she mumbled, pushing the drawer closed. The next surprise came when Joanna opened the door in the right corner of the room. Flicking on the switch, she smiled. She had never had her own bathroom before.

With the claw-foot tub, pedestal sink, and tile covering the floor and walls all white, it was easy to see the room had been designed decades before, but someone had taken the time to soften the starkness by adding accents of color. Pink bars of English rose scented soaps were in dishes near the sink and tub, and while the towels on the bars were as white as the rest of the room, facecloths of mauve, to be used as hand towels, had been rolled tightly and placed in a pyramid by the sink.

“Wow,” Joanna said under her breath. She stood in the doorway feeling more than a little out of her element, but she was also fairly certain that rolled hand towels were the tip of the iceberg when it came to being a Kane. Shutting off the light, she headed to the door in the far corner of the room, and opening it, she flicked on the switch.

She blinked at the brightness, and for a split-second, she believed it to be another bedroom until she noticed the pole running under the shelf on three of the walls. “Oh my God,” she muttered. “It’s a bloody wardrobe.” Shaking her head at the overkill that comes with wealth, she returned to her room and with a giggle, she ran over and flopped onto the bed.