Maggie didn’t see how she could be expected to educate Jeremy and Tad if they were allowed only half days for their schoolwork, but something in Mr. Kirk’s manner made her hesitant to argue. He was behaving rather oddly, though not, she had to admit, any more so than usual. “I’ll take the boys to the park then, or perhaps to the menagerie.”

“You will rest,” Mr. Kirk corrected her, as he was forever doing. “Tonight’s festivities will go on until the early hours of the morning.”

“But—”

“Miss Chamberlin.” The words were spoken as a weary warning, and Duncan Kirk was already absorbed in his paperwork again.

Maggie went back to her room to change and found a maid waiting there, setting out a plate and silverware from a luncheon tray. She assessed Maggie’s dress with round eyes and muttered, “Coo, ain’t you the elegant one, miss!”

Suddenly lonely for Tansy, Maggie swept around behind the changing screen in the far corner of the room and began taking off the gown. The maid, the same young girl Maggie had encountered the day before in the nursery, came right behind her and insisted on helping.

Resigned to eating and then following Duncan Kirk’s order to rest, Maggie put on a wrapper instead of donning her shirtwaist and slim black skirt again, and she took down her hair as well. The young maid brushed the silvery-blond tresses while Maggie ate, then tucked her into bed as though she were a child.

Maggie had not expected to sleep, but she did, and soundly. When she awakened, her cheeks were pink from the erotic dreams she’d had, all of them featuring Reeve McKenna. She splashed cool water over her face until her flesh was once again its normal temperature, but there was nothing she could do about the tingling ache in her middle. She got out paper and a pen and started a letter to Tansy.

The task proved impossible, given that Maggie could think of nothing but that obnoxious Irishman and the way his hands had felt on her body those wondrous nights in Parramatta, so she put her governess clothes back on and went for a walk. By the time she’d circled the block three times at an industrious pace, she was calmer.

Returning to Duncan Kirk’s house by the rear entrance, of course, Maggie encountered his housekeeper for the first time. Unlike Mrs. Lavendar, this woman was voluptuous but not obese, and her heavy hair was a coppery color, her skin a flawless white. There was a lush, sensual quality about her, and one look from under her dense lashes convinced Maggie that she had no intention of becoming friendly with the new governess.

Nonetheless, Maggie tried, being a gregarious soul. “My name is Margaret Chamberlin,” she said.

“Bridget,” replied the housekeeper in a terse tone. “Bridget O’Malley.”