by Marie Force
Her final two words touched him profoundly, because he sensed pain, betrayal and something infinitely sad in them. He desperately wanted to know more about her, and he vowed to use the time they would spend working together to find out who or what had hurt her so deeply. “Where shall we begin?”
“Since you can’t very well sleep in the butler’s quarters, we shall begin by preparing a bedroom for you to use.”
Aubrey bit his tongue so he wouldn’t be tempted to comment on the fact that he’d have her to himself in his bedroom. The thought amused him, especially when he considered her potential reaction to him saying such a thing.
She swept past him, head held high, leading the way. “Which room is yours?”
“Third door on the right.”
With a growing feeling of trepidation, he followed her out of the ballroom, down the hallway to the closed door. What level of disaster awaited them inside the room?
“I haven’t been in this room yet, so I don’t know what to expect.” Maeve rested her hand on the door and glanced at him, her expression indicating that she shared his concern about what they might find.
“Let’s get it over with.”
She opened the door and stepped inside.
Aubrey went in after her to find the room exactly as he’d left it.
“This is one of the only rooms on the back side of the house that wasn’t damaged.” She glanced at him. “That must mean the former staff held you in high regard.”
“I should hope so. I was never anything other than kind to them.”
Maeve went to open the windows, pulling the curtains back to let in the cool spring air.
Other than a light layer of dust, the room was in good condition. Aubrey rolled up his shirtsleeves and tossed his coat on one of the fussy Louis XIV chairs that had come with the house. His mother adored those chairs. He and his siblings often joked that she seemed to love her furniture more than her children, which she hadn’t denied. “What can I do?”
Maeve bit her lip as if trying to decide.
“I’m quite capable of anything you need done. It may surprise you to learn that I wasn’t raised as a pampered, privileged son of fabulously wealthy parents. The big money came later.”
“It does surprise me.”
Aubrey realized she was teasing and laughed, delighted to discover that she could be quite witty. “Touché. My father made his fortune with the advent of the railroad. Prior to that, his company manufactured church bells. There’s far more demand for railroad components than there was for church bells.”
“I imagine there is.” She pulled on work gloves and handed him a feather duster that she produced from a closet in the adjoining bathroom.
He accepted it from her with a feeling of victory that she had decided to allow him to assist her.
“Isn’t your mother the daughter of a British earl?”
“She is indeed, but my grandfather had squandered most of the estate’s resources by the time she was of marriageable age. Because she had no dowry to speak of, she had to settle for an uncouth American who had more in the way of potential than he did resources.”
“Theirs is not a love match, then?”
“Oh God, no.” Aubrey snorted with laughter. “Not at all. They can barely stand to be in the same room with each other, but it’s been a very effective partnership. Luckily, when Father stumbled into a disgusting fortune, Mother knew how to navigate the social aspects of their newfound wealth. Thus the house in Newport where people of quality and disgusting riches gather for the summer. Apparently, she has much to learn about how to properly manage a staff.”
“Wait until you see the carnage in her room.”
Aubrey grimaced. “I can hardly wait.”
Chapter Three
Maeve didn’t want to be fascinated by the handsome, down-to-earth son of her famously difficult employer. She didn’t want to be charmed by his willingness to help prepare the house for his illustrious guests or be drawn in by his stories of humble beginnings.
As she led him into the wreckage of his mother’s suite of rooms, she didn’t want any of those things and yet, she was charmed, intrigued and alarmed.
He’d walked into the house a mere hour ago and had completely upended her plan to remain aloof and disengaged from everything and everyone having to do with her new position. She was here to do a job, not become involved in any way. Becoming involved hadn’t worked out well for her in the past, and she’d like to think she’d learned her lesson.
But the handsome, charming son of her employer had her hanging on his every word, wanting to know more about him despite her fervent desire to remain uninvolved. The man was too handsome for his own good, with silky dark hair and warm brown eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled. And he smiled often.
She opened the door to hell and moved aside to let him go in ahead of her.
He stepped inside and stopped short at the sight of disaster. “Dear God.”
His whispered words summed up the destruction she had found in his mother’s room on her first day at the house. She hadn’t been back in here since that day as the sheer madness of it had daunted her to the point of nightmares.
Maeve had learned everything she knew about keeping a home from her mother and her family’s beloved housekeeper, Bridie, which was short for Bridget. Maeve’s earliest memories included Bridie. Watching her mother and Bridie manage a much smaller home had prepared Maeve well enough to pretend she had the skills necessary to run a grand house. The only reason she had landed the job was because no one else wanted to work for Mrs. Nelson. However, no amount of formal training could’ve prepared her to contend with the nightmare in Mrs. Nelson’s bedroom.
Maeve covered her face with a lavender-scented handkerchief that she’d been carrying since that first day. “It’s my belief that the former staff left food in here to encourage the rodents to take up residence.”
Mr. Nelson took a long look around, his expression one of shock and revulsion.
“Thankfully,” she continued, “once the food was gone so too were the rodents, but as you can see, they left their mark.”
“I would say so. Where do we even begin?”
“If I may make a suggestion . . .”
“By all means.”
“I would dispose of everything that can be removed and acquire new furnishings. Nothing here can be salvaged.”
“I tend to agree.” He withdrew his own handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth. “The smell is . . .”
“Revolting.”
“Indeed.” Glancing at her, his eyes conveyed boundless empathy. “I’m so very sorry that you’ve had to contend with such filth.”
“I’d like to say I’ve seen worse, but I can’t say that in this case. If you wish to rescind your previous offer of assistance, I would certainly understand.”
“I would never leave you or anyone to contend with this on their own.” He crossed the room to the windows and peered down to the yard below. “We will toss everything out the window and burn it.”
Maeve admired the plan and the determination she heard in his tone. She hadn’t thought of tossing the contents of the room out the window or the possibility of burning everything. “That would be the best course of action.”
“I’ll do it.”
“I’ll help you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I will help you.” She gave him the mulish look that had gotten her into trouble with her mother as a girl—and later as a woman with her husband. But she couldn’t think of that, wouldn’t think of it. Not ever again. She had left the past where it belonged when she stepped onto the ship that brought her to America, giving her a fresh start in a new country where no one knew her. She prayed every night that she wouldn’t be found. They had to be looking for her.
Maeve realized Mr. Nelson was watching her closely and shook off the unsettling thoughts.
“It’ll go quicker if we work together.”
&nb
sp; “If you insist,” she said.
“I do.”
Maeve went to the far side of the bed and opened the other set of windows. The fresh air couldn’t compete with the rank odor, but it made it possible for her to tuck the scented handkerchief into the sleeve of her dress, freeing her hands to begin stripping the soiled linens from the bed. Wincing from the now-familiar pain coming from the palm of her right hand, she rolled the linens into a large ball that Mr. Nelson hoisted and tossed from the window.
“The mattress must go, too,” he said.
Maeve choked back a gag at the stains and the smell that emanated from the fouled mattress. “Agreed.”
Working together, they lifted the mattress, dragged it to the window and pushed it out. She tried not to think about what she might be touching.
It took more than an hour to haul everything that could be removed from the room to the window and drop it to the yard below. When they were finished, only the bed frame, antique dresser and vanity remained. With a good cleaning, they could possibly be salvaged. The scent of the room had improved vastly as the soiled items were removed.
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible to save this room,” Maeve said, “but we’re well on our way to restoring it to rights.”
“The walls will need to be scrubbed, and we’ll need to order new bedding immediately to have it here in time for my mother’s arrival.”
“I’ll see to that. The household has accounts with several local merchants who can provide the quality required.”
“Thank you for taking care of that.”
“Will you tell your mother about what happened?”
“I suppose I’ll have to when she notices that everything is new.”
“I must confess that I was concerned about her getting here before I could clean the mess.”
“She would’ve been here in my stead, but my father has taken ill. They’re visiting various doctors trying to determine what’s wrong with him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is he seriously ill?”
“He may be.” Mr. Nelson’s grim expression indicated his concern. “He’s had a terrible cough for a number of months now.”
“Is it consumption?”
“They don’t think it’s that, but they don’t know what it is. It’s very concerning. Since she couldn’t be here, my mother sent me to make sure the house is ready for my friends from England.”
“What took you to England?”
“The Season.” He seemed almost embarrassed. “My mother had the idea that I might marry into the British aristocracy.”
“Oh, I see.” She went into the adjoining bathroom, returned with a bucket of soapy water and turned her attention to the crusty surface of a priceless dresser, scrubbing it with determination to think about anything other than the handsome Mr. Nelson flitting about with British debutantes. He must’ve been very popular.
“No, you don’t see. That was her plan for me, not mine for myself. I indulged her with two spectacularly unsuccessful efforts.”
Maeve told herself it was none of her business but knowing that had never stopped her before. “Are you not past the point where you can choose your own wife?”
“You would think so, but you haven’t met my mother.”
She glanced around the destroyed room. “And yet I feel as though I have.”
He unleashed that potent smile that made her feel warm and tingly. The last time she’d felt that way about a man, she’d ended up running for her life from the only home she’d ever known. Shame and misery overwhelmed her as she recalled the terrifying last day that had changed her life forever and forced her to vow that no man would ever again have power over her.
Maeve trembled, shook her head and forced those troubling thoughts from her mind. She’d put an entire ocean between herself and the nightmare she’d left behind, but the fear had followed her.
“Miss Brown.” Mr. Nelson’s voice cut through the silence, startling her from her troubling thoughts.
She turned to face him, forcing a smile.
He looked at her with concern that she didn’t want. Not from him. Not from anyone. “Are you quite all right?”
“Of course.”
“Your hands are trembling, and your face has gone pale.”
He saw too much, and that made him the greatest threat yet to her new life. “This time of year,” she said haltingly, “I suffer from congestion when the trees begin to bloom.”
“I have a sister who suffers similarly.”
“Do you have many siblings?” Maeve asked, taking the focus off herself.
“I have four older sisters, all of whom are married with children, and two older brothers, neither of whom is married. They work for my father’s company as do I when I’m not being paraded through the London and Newport social circus.”
“You’re the baby of your family then.”
“Yes, and they never let me forget it. They say I’m my mother’s favorite, but I think my brother Anderson is her favorite.”
“Do you all have names that begin with the letter A?”
He cringed. “Unfortunately, we do: Anderson, Alfie, Aurora, Audrey, Adele, Alora and yours truly.” He ended with a dramatic bow. “Aubrey.”
“They’re lovely names.”
“I’m glad you think so. We took some teasing about the A names when we were children. What about you? Do you have siblings?”
“I have three sisters, all of them younger.” A pang of sadness struck in the vicinity of her heart. Leaving them had been excruciating, but she’d had no choice. She hoped they knew that but had no way to know for certain. Cutting off all contact with her family had been necessary to ensuring her safety.
If Mr. Nelson ever found out what she’d done . . .
No. He wouldn’t find out. No one knew her here or knew about her past. Her stomach ached at the thought of him finding out. That couldn’t happen.
“Miss Brown?”
She realized he’d said something that she had missed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked what your sisters’ names are.”
“Bridget, Aoife and Niamh.”
“They are beautiful names, as is Maeve.”
“Thank you.”
“What does Maeve mean in Gaelic?”
Her face heated with a flush. “It means ‘she who intoxicates. ’”
Mr. Nelson cleared his throat. “Well, the name certainly suits you.”
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, even though she desperately wanted to. Instead, she moved on to scrub the bird refuse from the silk wallpaper. That was easier than confronting the yearning Mr. Nelson inspired in her. Not for the first time, Maeve suspected something was wrong with her. Why did she feel things so intensely? Why did her body betray her by wanting things that were bad or wrong or destined to cause trouble that she didn’t need?
It had always been that way, from the time she was a young girl and the careless slights of other children would sear her heart. Children could be awful to each other, and while others let the painful moments roll off their backs, Maeve carried those scars with her to this day. Her propensity to feel everything had the potential to ruin this new life she’d made for herself, and she couldn’t let that happen. She was here to work and only to work.
If she kept telling herself that again and again, perhaps she could reverse the downhill slide into the kind of emotional upheaval that had been the hallmark of her troubled existence. She simply didn’t have the fortitude to go through that again, not when she’d risked everything to start a new life in America, far away from the pain of the past.
“Miss Brown?”
Jolted again from her thoughts, she looked up to find Mr. Nelson looking at her with concern etched into his handsome features. Tingles ran up and down her spine. This was not good. Not good at all. “Yes?” Her voice wavered.
“You’re scrubbing a hole in the wallpaper.”
She shifted her gaze to the spot she’d been scrubbi
ng while thinking about all the reasons she could not—would not—be taken in by the charming son of her employer. Sure enough, the bird refuse was long gone, and she’d nearly succeeded in creating a hole in the priceless wall covering. “My apologies.”
“No need to apologize. I admire your dedication to your duties.”
She tried to ignore the charming smile that accompanied the compliment, but she couldn’t ignore the tingles or the flutters. “I can finish in here if you’d like to tackle your father’s rooms. They didn’t fare much better than your mother’s.”
“I’ll take care of removing the items that need to be added to the bonfire we shall have later. And then I’ll venture into town to see what I can do about finding us some more help.”
“Very good. Thank you for your assistance.”
“I’m happy to help you, Miss Brown.”
The formal way he said her name sent new tingles down her spine.
This wasn’t good at all.
* * *
After clearing the fouled bedding and furniture from his father’s rooms and hurling it out the window to the growing pile below, Aubrey went into his own room to bathe and change his clothing. The tepid water in the tub went a long way toward cooling his overheated body. Cleaning was hard work, especially when dealing with the kind of mess that had befallen Paradis Trouvé. That name . . . Aubrey and his siblings had tried to compel their parents to give the house a less pretentious name, something like Sea Swept, which had been his suggestion.
But his parents had loved the French name given to the home by the preeminent architect Richard Morris Hunt and had rejected all their children’s suggestions in favor of keeping the home’s pedigree intact. Hunt had designed and built most of the palatial cottages that lined Bellevue Avenue, nearly all of them fashioned after a European home of similar distinction.
The Nelson house, like the others in the neighborhood, was filled with Aubusson rugs, priceless artifacts shipped from France and Italy, paintings by the Old Masters and Louis XIV chairs so fragile that one risked one’s own life by sitting on them. A guest last summer had chosen to sit on the hearth rather than take a chance on destroying the priceless piece.
