Caroline sighed and crushed the cigarette beneath the lofty heel of her shoe. The driver gave her<em>a look</em>, clearly under instruction not to antagonize the girl any more than she already was today, but just as disaproving of her smoking as her grandparents.<br/><br/>The driver unloaded her trunk and carried it to the front steps of the house. Caroline offered no help whatsoever, merely clutching her purse against her belly and scowling as she followed him. The long silver car slumbered behind her like a huge cat basking in the sun; the lack of practicality in stealing a limo when she didn't know how to drive any sort of car was the only thing preventing her from leaping in the front seat and tearing off down the street.<br/><br/>She waited impatiently as the driver knocked on the door. This was a house? She couldn't believe people actually lived in places like this. Caroline grew up striding acres of polished exotic wood and marble floors beneath ceilings that stretched stories high overhead, embellished with inlaid carvings and murals and glass delicacies of light. This was a hovel in comparison to even the hunting lodge her grandfather forced them to retreat to every month or so. Two of these brownstones could fit in that secluded "cabin."<br/><br/>The girl looked as if she'd eaten something grotesque and bitter as she followed the servant inside. She raked the front room with narrowed eyes. Maybe convent school wouldn't be so bad after all.