Married By Mistake

with chilly politeness, “Mrs. Carmichael, I am not used to having my work questioned. You may no longer require my services, but many other people do. I will leave now, and I will telephone Mr. Carmichael to send on my wages.”
    Ten minutes later, she was gone.
    The kitchen clock showed quarter to six. Casey’s new mother-in-law—or was she a stepmother-in-law?—was due in fifteen minutes, and right now dinner comprised a half-assembled hors d’oeuvres tray, several piles of chopped vegetables and a bowl of marinating meat.
    This was all Adam’s fault, she thought crossly. He’d promised to be home by five-thirty. If he’d been on time, he could have cajoled Mrs. Lowe into staying.
    Reluctantly, Casey decided to phone him and confess. It would mean facing his anger sooner rather than later, but at least he could call Eloise and ask her to postpone. By tomorrow, Casey could whip up a decent meal.
    She dialed his cell phone on the assumption he was on his way home. When he answered, the tension in his voice made her hesitate to give him the bad news.
    “I’m glad you called, Casey. I’m afraid I’m going to be late, so you’ll have to look after Eloise for a while. I wouldn’t ask, but it’s an emergency.” She heard agitated voices behind him, and Adam lowered his tone to murmur, “I’m in a room full of lawyers, trying to figure out how not to lose several million dollars.” He paused. “Did you want something?”
    “Uh, no, nothing important. I’ll see you later.” Casey hung up the phone. She briefly considered ordering pizza, but if Eloise was a stickler for routine like her stepson, that would be a very bad idea.
    She looked at the dinner ingredients on the counter. Steak, mushrooms, potatoes, salad, garlic, strawberries... She could do something with these.
    * * *
    C ASEY HAD EXPECTED Adam’s stepmother to display the same unshakeable love of order as he did, and arrive right on time. But fortunately, the doorbell didn’t chime until twenty past six. Casey went to the front door, only remembering as she opened it that she was still wearing Mrs. Lowe’s voluminous apron.
    The tall, elegant, silk-clad woman on the doorstep had light-blue eyes that right now were coolly assessing.
    “Mrs. Carmichael?” Casey said brightly. “I’m Casey.”
    “Well.” Eloise sounded bemused rather than hostile. “You look rather different from when I saw you on television on Friday.” Then, as Casey hesitated, she asked, “Are you going to invite me in?”
    “I’m working in the kitchen,” Casey explained as she followed her mother-in-law across the foyer. When Eloise looked around, bewildered, Casey wondered if she even knew where Adam’s kitchen was. She led the way, aware of the silent tread of her bare feet in contrast to the clack of Eloise’s heels on the parquet floor.
    “Where’s Mrs. Lowe?” Eloise surveyed the clutter on the counter, sniffed the baking shortcake. She cast a wary glance around.
    “I’m afraid she’s gone,” Casey said. “I said something to offend her—again—and she walked out.”
    Eloise broke into a huge smile that stripped away the suspicion, the cool elegance, and left her looking like someone’s mother. “Bravo, my dear,” she said. “If I’d known it was that easy, I’d have tried it years ago. This calls for a drink.”
    She got a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator, but clearly had no idea how to open it. Casey did the honors. Eloise raised a glass of the fizzing liquid.
    “Good riddance to Mrs. Lowe,” she said.
    Casey joined her in the toast, feeling rather disloyal to Adam, but sharing the sentiment wholeheartedly.
    “So,” Eloise said, “have you told Adam yet?” Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.
    “I called, but it wasn’t a good time. He’s running late, by the way, and sends his apologies. Mrs. Carmichael, do you think—”
    “My dear Casey, you can’t call me Mrs. Carmichael,” she said in her soft Southern drawl. “You may call me Mother—” she saw the doubt on Casey’s face “—or Eloise, if you prefer.”
    “Eloise, then.” Casey looked around the kitchen, a trifle wildly. “Adam’s having a really bad day at work. Yesterday his car got smashed thanks to
me—” Eloise drew in a sharp breath that acknowledged the importance of the Aston Martin “—and now I’ve lost his precious housekeeper. Maybe I should tell him tomorrow, let him think Mrs. Lowe cooked tonight.”
    Eloise tilted her elegantly