Tansy had said that the servants’ quarters in most grand houses were on the third floor, so Maggie was much surprised when they didn’t proceed beyond the second. She was even more surprised to be led into a spacious chamber with its own small marble fireplace, chintz-covered chairs, a matching mahogany bureau and armoire, and a gigantic four-poster covered with a glistening blue satin spread.

“Surely there’s some mistake, Jeremy,” Maggie protested, almost afraid to enter the splendid room.

“No mistake,” Jeremy said firmly, dragging her over the threshold. “Papa told Mrs. Lavendar to make this room ready and she did, though she fussed over it some. Said you belonged upstairs, like the maids.”

“And what did your father reply to that, may I ask?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Don’t know, miss. He was speaking over the telephone, so I could hear only Mrs. Lavendar’s part. She turned purple as cabbage, but she talked real polite to Papa.” The little boy screwed up his freckled face. “Mrs. Lavendar made Tad and me wash our ears then, and they weren’t even dirty.”

“A strange turn of events, I must say,” observed a quite adult male voice from the doorway.

Startled, Maggie pulled free of Jeremy’s hand and whirled to face Mr. Kirk. He was standing just inside that magnificent room, endeavoring to clasp a cuff link. He was clad in elegant evening trousers and a ruffled shirt.

Maggie found her voice. “I was just telling Jeremy that there must be some misunderstanding—surely I haven’t been assigned a room like this.”

“Oh, but you have, Miss Chamberlin,” her employer assured her smoothly, his jade-green eyes taking in her somewhat crumpled bombazine dress. “Governesses are not servants.”

“Oh,” said Maggie, quite at a loss for further comment.

Again the master’s gaze swept over her gown, frankly disapproving. “Something will have to be done about your clothing. That dress makes you look like a crow.”

Maggie didn’t know whether to be insulted or pleased that she wouldn’t have to wear the hideous dress. “A crow, sir?” she echoed.

Duncan Kirk arched one chestnut eyebrow. “Didn’t I instruct you never to call me sir? Mr. Kirk will do very well, thank you.”

“Tad called Miss Chamberlin stupid,” Jeremy imparted. Having taken gentlemanly offense, he now sought justice.

“Did he?” returned Mr. Kirk seriously, and Maggie found herself liking him for the twinkle of laughter in his eyes. “By all that’s holy, I’ll have the lad drawn and quartered at sunrise!”

Jeremy was satisfied with the sentence handed down for his brother and scampered off to pass on the word.

Mr. Kirk had finished with his cuff link and was now adjusting the collar of his immaculate white evening shirt. “I will discipline the boys, Miss Chamberlin,” he said. “Tad remembers his mother and he tends to resent women he perceives as any sort of replacement for her.”