Читать книгу Second Chance Cinderella - Carla Capshaw - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Once free of Sam’s study, Rose followed the footman into the servants’ stairway. Shaking uncontrollably, she reached toward the wall for support as she made her way down the steps.

In the kitchen, the chaos before a dinner party was a situation with which she was well acquainted. Already at a fever pitch from her confrontation with Sam, her senses seemed unusually sensitive to the clamor of voices, banging pots and the aroma of roasted meats and exotic spices.

“Miss Smith?” An aged man with a bald pate ringed by gray hair called from the doorway. “Miss Rose Smith?”

“Yes, sir.” She made quick strides across the room. The man’s formal ensemble and somber mood marked him as the butler. With trepidation, she wondered what she’d done to be called out by the likes of him when it was the housekeeper’s duty to oversee female staff. “I’m Rose Smith.”

“I’m Mr. Hodges, Mr. Blackstone’s butler. Robert tells me the other girl on loan tonight suffered an accident on the journey here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Hodges’s bushy, gray eyebrows pleated together into a straight line. His faded green eyes peered at her through thick spectacles, sizing her up from head to toe. His sigh of exasperation didn’t speak well of his impression of her. “Follow me.”

He led her to a small, oak-paneled office at the end of the corridor and motioned toward a mirror in the corner. “Have you seen yourself? You look as though you’ve been dragged by a runaway mount. How in the world am I to make you presentable in time?”

“In time for what, sir?” she asked, mortified by how mussed and messy she looked compared to the radiant Miss Ratner.

“Mr. Blackstone insists you serve tonight.”

Dismay choked her. “Me in the dining room? But I work in the kitchen.”

“He doesn’t care. He wants you.”

He wants to humiliate me, more like. He no longer loved her and intended to hammer home the point. There was no other reason to toss convention to the four winds just to have her wait on him and his self-important friends. She didn’t remember Sam being such a vindictive swine, but apparently nine years in London had hardened his heart to granite. That ruthless quality terrified her.

“Stay here,” Hodges said. “I’ll have one of the other girls fetch you a cap and something more acceptable to wear.”

Left alone with her untidy reflection, she longed to return to Devonshire and Hopewell Manor. She’d never been this far from Andrew, and her arms ached to hold her son. Exhaustion pressed in on her and hunger pangs cramped her stomach. The entire day had been one foul kettle of fish after another with the worst being the superior way Sam looked down his nose at her. The more she thought about how he’d ambushed her, the more indignant she became. He’d had no right to call her on the carpet, berate her and deny her the chance to explain. Who did he think he was? A pompous nobleman?

And yet...he had returned to Ashby Croft to collect her as he’d promised. He must have done or he wouldn’t have known about Harry. Regret pierced her like a thousand knives. If only she’d found the strength to wait for him a little longer.

The knowledge they were both to blame for losing one another helped to cool her temper. His love may have withered with more ease than she cared to admit, but he had not abandoned her without cause as she’d long believed.

“Lord,” she whispered, taking a moment to pray. “I need Your help again. I feel like David facing Goliath without a sling. How can I defend myself when Sam has already made up his mind? Please, soften his heart. Convince him to give me a proper listen and accept the truth for Andrew’s sake if not for mine.”

Moments later, an older kitchen maid with dark hair and merry blue eyes appeared in the doorway. “I’m Abigail,” she said as she closed the door behind her. “Our ’ousekeeper, Mrs. Frye, sent me.” She extended a short stack of fresh garments. “You’ll ’ave to change quick, dearie. We may ’ave to pin up the ’em a bit, but it’s the best we can do on short notice.”

Unfortunately, the skirt’s length wasn’t the problem. The tightness of the bodice and waist made it nearly impossible to breathe. “I can’t wear this.”

“You must.” Abigail surveyed her with a critical eye. “Tomorrow’s wash day and this is the last acceptable garment we ’ave that might fit you. The skirt is shorter than I expected so at least you won’t take a tumble.”

“Don’t you find it a bit peculiar I’m to serve tonight?”

“I’d say. Especially since the master usually likes things jus’ so. Some say ’e’s extra fussy cause ’e used to be a nobody ’imself and ’e don’t want those lofty new friends of ’is to ream him out behind ’is back.”

Rose doubted Sam cared much about stray opinions, but he had always been a man of detail. His ability to notice what others failed to see had made him restless as far back as childhood. While growing up in Ashby Croft, he’d been unable to ignore the injustice of their lot and be content. Little wonder Mr. Stark’s promises had stolen him away in a blink. After seeing just a glimpse of what Sam had been able to accomplish in London, she marveled that she’d ever dreamed she might be enough to hold his interest.

“There,” Abigail said as she finished tying the strings of Rose’s long, white apron. “Try lifting that stack of receipt books on the corner of the desk. Were I to fancy a guess, I’d say they’re as ’eavy as most of the trays you’ll be expected to carry.”

Rose reached for the pile of books and hefted them into her arms. The dress’s seams protested, but none of them gave way.

“Thank the Lord for small mercies.” Abigail smiled with obvious relief. “After the way Mr. Blackstone stormed about in a temper this afternoon, he was liable to dismiss us all if anything else went wrong this evening.”

“Don’t be surprised if does. I don’t have the faintest idea about the proper way to serve. I’m afraid I’ll be so nervous I’ll knock over a glass or drop a dirtied plate in someone’s lap.”

Abigail chuckled. “You’ll do fine. Jus’ be sure to steer clear of Miss Ratner’s father, Lord Sanbourne. ’E’s been known to make free with his ’ands when he thinks no one’ll notice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Rose tugged at the tight material bunched at her waist. The clang of pots and pans filtered down the hall from the kitchen. “Anything else I should be aware of?”

“Well,” Abigail said after a thoughtful pause, “I ’ope you won’t think I make a ’abit of carrying tales about Mr. Blackstone or his friends, but if I was you, I’d be careful of Miss Ratner, as well.”

“She and Mr. Blackstone seem very close.”

“Indeed. Tonight is ’er debut as ’ostess ’ere. She’s been in a rumpus all week, giving orders and bragging about ’ow much the master would be lost without ’er. By bringing you on, ’e’s given ’er efforts a punch to the nose, to be sure. She won’t be ’appy about her plans being tinkered with, and she’s the kind to seek revenge on you, not ’im.”

“I’m only here to do my job. If I have my way, I’ll be gone for good before midnight.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Abigail finished pinning Rose’s cap into place. “You’ve got the prettiest ’air. What a pity it ’as to be ’idden under this silly article.”

The rare compliment gave her spirits a boost. “I’ve been a servant most of my life. I know how important it is to blend with the walls.”

“Especially since Miss Ratner searches for things to complain about.”

“She must have something to recommend her. You told me yourself, Mr. Blackstone is taken with her,” she said, denying the sudden ache in her chest had anything to do with Sam and stemmed from her inability to take in enough air.

“I suppose so. ’E’s been with ’er six months— longer than any of the other women ’e’s kept company with in all the years I’ve worked for ’im, more’s the pity. But rumor ’as it she’s angling for marriage, and a clever woman knows nothing is final until she ’as a ring on ’er finger or one in ’is nose.”

A loud clatter and a long stream of angry French drew Abigail’s quick retreat to the kitchen. Rose pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples. Armed with more information than she’d bargained for or wanted, she fought back a dark cloud of depression. Even if she hadn’t been convinced Sam had well and truly moved on without her, she was now.

“Are you presentable?” Mr. Hodges called from out in the hall. “Only ten minutes until it’s time to announce the dinner service. We must go up this instant.”

She took as deep a breath as the gown allowed and whispered a prayer for mercy. Her rattled nerves refused to settle. With one last glance in the mirror, she saw an ordinary servant sausage-wrapped in black wool and starched, white cotton. There was nothing special about her, hopefully nothing to draw Miss Ratner’s ire.

“Robert is managing the soup course, but I shall oversee the fish and carve the roasts,” Mr. Hodges informed her on the way to the first floor. “Hold the platters within easy reach of each guest and allow them to serve themselves. By all means don’t speak to anyone unless you’re spoken to first. If that should happen, keep your responses to a minimum. Some of the ladies and gentlemen present are of noble stock and won’t take kindly to being addressed by a lowly subordinate such as yourself.”

The melody of a violin grew louder as they reached the top step. Both of them were out of breath by the time they paused on the landing. Rose tugged at the tight material bunching about her waist, certain she must be blue in the face while the warm glow of the gas lamps cast Hodges’s wrinkled visage in a golden hue.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the violinist standing in a small circular alcove off the main hall. The somber melody he played added an extra layer of formality to the high, curved ceilings and dark, paneled walls.

The low rumble of conversation signaled the direction of the drawing room and the current location of the party. Hodges lifted an index finger to his lips, warning her to keep silent. He pointed to an open set of sliding doors on the left side of the corridor. Rose nodded gravely and followed him to what seemed like her doom.

* * *

In the drawing room, a fire flickered in the hearth and the aroma of savory herbs wafted across the hall from the dining room.

Aware he should be pleased with the early success of the gathering, Sam could not dismiss his impatience to send everyone home. The laughter and light conversation that flowed freely from the assembly of his guests failed to hold his interest when the possibility of renewing his discussion with Rose beckoned him.

By design, he’d left the double doors open and chosen a seat with a clear view of the corridor where Rose would have to pass by. He’d tried to deny his longing to see her, but the simple knowledge that she was somewhere beneath his roof tormented him beyond all good sense and reason.

The music took a somber turn. He stood, intending to request a more cheerful tune, but Rose chose that moment to appear and everything ceased to exist except the slim column of black slipping into the dining room on the butler’s coattails.

To his annoyance, the sight of her eased his restlessness and improved his floundering mood with an immediacy that disturbed him. After all the years they’d been separated and the way she’d broken her promise to wait for him, how was it possible she inspired anything in him except contempt?

Amelia moved to his side and linked her arm with his. “The evening is going swimmingly well, don’t you agree, darling? Just as I predicted, the Ellistons are impressed with the vintage on offer and are already imbibing their second sample.”

“How marvelous for them. I’m going to see about dinner.”

“I’m the hostess. I’ll go.”

“No, stay here and charm your pigeons. I’ll return in a few minutes.” He untangled his arm from hers and moved to the hallway where he caught a glimpse of Rose by the sideboard helping Robert ladle soup into porcelain bowls.

A glossy, blond tendril had escaped her ruffled cap and fallen in a gentle wave between her shoulder blades. An intense longing to touch the soft strands, to touch her, swept over him. He didn’t know what he wanted more: to usher her back into his study and continue demanding answers for jilting him or to kiss her senseless where she stood. He could not have guessed when he first saw her this morning that her nearness would be akin to having a severed arm reattached to his body or his heart returned to his chest.

He must be going mad.

In desperate need of a diversion, he dragged his gaze from Rose and glanced about the dining room. He had to tip his hat to Amelia. For a woman who found it vulgar to speak of money, she possessed a talent for spending his. The trio of crystal chandeliers had been cleaned and reassembled the day before, causing the room to sparkle. No expense had been spared in the crisp white linens, the ornate candelabras or arsenal of silver flatware flanking each set of china. The multiple towers of tropical fruit and hothouse flowers must have cost the earth if they’d cost a farthing.

Had Rose been impressed by the finery on display? Had it dawned on her that, had she waited for him a short while longer, all of this would have been hers?

Behind him, the chatter in the drawing room grew louder and the music progressed into an elegant melody he’d heard somewhere before but didn’t quite recognize. Hodges approached, his weathered features crinkled into an anxious mask. “May I help you, sir? We’re almost ready. Miss Ratner gave strict instructions to announce seating at precisely nine o’clock. We have six minutes remaining.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, waving the older man back to work. Rose had yet to look his way, and her inability to sense his presence when every nerve in his body was fixed on her cut deep. He wanted to rattle her air of efficiency, to make her feel as disjointed as he did. The hour since she’d quit his study had dragged on like a week, and the need to see her face had grown with every tick of the clock.

He willed her to turn around, but she continued her task for an age before finally pausing to glance his way.

She froze the moment she saw him. Triumph surged through him as her dark-blue eyes widened in response and color scored her cheeks. The soup in the ladle she held missed the bowl and puddled atop the sideboard without her notice.

He moved toward her, but Hodges stepped in to scold her, breaking the connection. “What do you think you’re about, you clumsy girl? Look at the mess you’ve caused!”

“I’m so sorry.” She glowered at Sam before dismissing him to focus on the butler. “I’ll tidy up straightaway.”

“See that you do and be quick about it.” Hodges consulted his pocket watch. “Four minutes until we must announce the meal. Miss Ratner—”

“Hodges.” Sam joined them at the sideboard. “Is everything well?”

“Everything except this simpleton, sir. She’s bound to be a detriment. I did try to explain that she’s never served at table, but—”

He dealt his usually mild-mannered butler a quelling glance before motioning toward the table and the flawless crystal goblets sparkling in the candlelight. “There are fingerprints marring several of the glasses.”

“Fingerprints on the glasses? Oh, dear! I just wiped them down. I don’t know how I missed them, sir.”

“A tragedy to be sure. I trust you’ll see to the matter straightaway.”

“Certainly, sir.” The butler shuffled away with all the meager speed he could muster. “Robert, come quickly. It seems renegade fingerprints abound on the tableware.”

Sam turned back to Rose once Hodges passed out of earshot. “Look at me, Miss Smith.”

“I have to see to this soup you caused me to spill,” she said as she searched the drawers in the sideboard for a cloth.

“I caused you?” He smiled at the dig. She’d always been cheeky, especially when her ire was up. “I was nowhere near you.” He took a clean square of linen from his pocket and mopped up the hot broth. “All better. Now look at me,” he insisted.

She tossed her head back. Eyes bright with hostility glared at him. “Why are you hounding me?”

“Is that any way to speak to your employer?” He placed the damp linen on a nearby tray of used items bound for the kitchen.

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “You are not my employer, Mr. Blackstone. I work for Baron Malbury. I realize you have the power to see that I’m dismissed if you choose, and I sincerely hope you will not, but I was sent here to help in your kitchen, not endure humiliation just because you want to teach me a lesson.”

“How have I humiliated you? You’re a servant. I’ve tasked you to serve.” Noticing Hodges and Robert glance his way, he lowered his voice. “I’ve made you a footman for the evening. If anything, you’ve been promoted.”

“We both know what you’ve done and why.” She located an extra cloth and shut the drawer with a not so gentle shove. “There are rules to these sort of functions, Mr. Blackstone. I may be a simple cook’s assistant, but even I understand your guests won’t see me as anything but a mistake that will make your hostess appear inept. I’m not trained to serve at table. Most likely I’ll commit one blunder after the next.”

“And that will humiliate you? Who cares about the opinion of a bunch of uppity toffs?”

“Don’t you? They’re your friends.”

“Hardly. They’re an experiment.”

She frowned. “And Miss Ratner?”

“She’s my concern, not yours.”

She used the clean cloth to wipe excess drops from the edges of the steaming bowls of soup. “That may be, but from what I understand she’s put a good deal of effort into making this dinner party a grand occasion. It seems small of you to mar her arrangements just to show me what I’ve missed.”

His eyebrow arched in vexation. It had been years since anyone had dared to bring him down a peg. Even longer since he’d conceded he was in the wrong, but he did now. When Amelia first brought up the idea of tonight’s engagement, he’d considered it a lark, the first move in a game to see if a low-born weevil such as himself could worm his way into the upper crust. Little wonder he’d found it easy to change the rules the moment something more interesting came along.

He cupped her shoulders and turned her to face him. She looked up, her blue eyes pleading with him to understand something he didn’t quite grasp. Her soft lips tempted him without mercy, but as much as he wanted to kiss her, she belonged to someone else.

Bitterness burned him. His hands dropped back to his sides. “Despite our past association, don’t think you know me well enough to lecture me. What I do with Miss Ratner is my business. You know nothing about our arrangement.”

“You’re right, except that I don’t know you at all. The Sam I knew was loving and kind. As far as I can tell, that Sam is nowhere to be found. It seems London’s made you rich, but it’s also made you heartless.”

“Rich, yes, but heartless? You can’t blame London on that score,” he scoffed. “That honor belongs to you, nothing and no one else.”

The clock chimed nine. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Hodges ringing his hands. “Mr. Blackstone—”

“It’s time, Hodges.” An agitated Amelia stood in the doorway. “What did I tell you about being prompt? Where has Mr. Blackstone gone? Oh, there you are, darli—”

The word died as her eyes narrowed on Rose. “Why are you consorting with this...this housemaid?” she asked Sam.

Ignoring the question, he stepped in front of Rose. “All seems to be ready. Hodges has outdone himself just as I suspected he would do. If you’re ready, let’s begin.”