by Marie Force
As the house came into view, she began to run, desperate to escape the fierce longing he’d inspired in her for things she could not have.
He’d looked so sad telling her about the woman he’d loved and lost and the wedding that should’ve happened ten years ago today. She’d wanted to hug him, to pat his back and tell him everything would be okay, even if she had no way to know if that was true. She wanted to offer comfort she had no right to give to a man who was so far off-limits to her he may as well have lived in a different world.
The world she lived in required her to work in order to stay alive. She entered the house through the kitchen and encountered Mrs. Allston tending a huge pot on the stove.
“How was the picnic?” she asked, her smile friendly and free of judgment. Or so it seemed, anyway.
“The luncheon was delicious. Thank you for preparing it.”
“I’m glad you got a spot of fresh air. It can’t be healthy to breathe in so much dust and refuse.”
Maeve studied the other woman, looking for some sign of disapproval, but couldn’t detect anything but genuine concern. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Well, I must get back to work.” She went upstairs and picked up where she’d left off, atop the ladder cleaning the spiderwebs from the chandeliers in the ballroom and thinking about a handsome man with warm brown eyes who saw far too much.
She worked until she was so tired she couldn’t see straight, ate a solitary dinner in the staff dining room and passed an all-but-sleepless night, tossing and turning and wishing for things that could never be. Perhaps she could find a way to avoid him completely, but that didn’t seem feasible with only four people in the house and more work to do than could be completed in a month of twenty-four-hour days.
Awaking from a restless doze when the sunrise filtered into her room, she rose to wash and dress for another day of scrubbing. Her hands ached from the days of hard work, and the harsh soap that seeped through the thin gloves, leaving her skin red and raw. She had badly burned her right hand in the incident that resulted in her fleeing Ireland, and two months later, the new skin on her palm was still pink and tender. She worried all the time about contracting an infection where the burn had been, which is why she wore the gloves while working. In addition, her back ached and she had an odd crick in her neck, probably from hours of looking up at the chandeliers the day before.
She hadn’t seen Mr. Nelson since she left him at the shore yesterday and hoped she could get through this day without having to encounter him.
A soft knock on her door had her hoping it wasn’t him, coming to tempt her some more with that face and those eyes and the lips that made her want things she had no right to. Not anymore.
She opened the door to Mr. Plumber.
“Pardon the interruption, Ms. Brown, but there are men at the kitchen door, claiming to have been hired by Mr. Nelson to assist in preparing the house for the Season.”
“Ah, yes. I’ll be right down.”
“I, um, would be remiss if I did not inform you that they seem rather . . . rough.”
“I’m sure they are, Mr. Plumber, but in these desperate circumstances, I’m afraid we can’t afford to be fussy about whom we hire.”
“As you wish, ma’am.” He nodded and departed, but his concerns stayed with her as she headed downstairs to see what the cat had dragged in.
* * *
Aubrey woke with a sore head, a dry mouth and a stiff neck. The copious amounts of whiskey he’d consumed the night before had gotten him through the difficult day and torturous night full of memories of a young woman who’d been lost far too soon. Per his tradition, he allowed himself to wallow in the grief on one of the two dates that arrived four days apart every year with maddening regularity. He couldn’t bear to mourn the day she died, so he instead descended into the pits of despair on what should have been their wedding day.
After all this time, his memories of Annabelle had grown fuzzy. Sometimes, he couldn’t remember the sound of her voice or recall specifics about her. It all ran together in a stream of disconnected thoughts that showed up to torture him this time every year. He’d grown accustomed to it by now, but knowing it was coming didn’t make enduring it any easier.
He felt like death itself as he dragged himself out of the chair he’d slept in, picked up the empty bottle from the floor and placed it on a sideboard before pouring himself a glass of water that he downed in greedy gulps.
Where would they be now, he wondered, if Annabelle had lived? Would they have remained in New York to raise their family or perhaps headed west in search of new adventures? She had been an adventurous sort who’d craved travel and experiences and new people. They would’ve had a jolly good time, for sure.
But in the last few days, something else had nagged at him, something dark and disturbing and altogether disrespectful of Annabelle’s memory. It had started the first moment he caught sight of Miss Brown’s delightful neck and had continued unabated every time he’d been in her presence—desire. Hot, desperate desire, the likes of which he had never once felt for his beloved Annabelle.
Shame had his stomach turning with disgust at the direction his thoughts had taken. How could he admit such a thing to anyone, even himself? In the desperate hours, days, weeks, months and now years since Annabelle’s sudden and tragic death, he’d vowed to protect her memory and to love her always. How was he to do that if he was forced to admit that what he’d felt for Annabelle paled in comparison to the fiery passion the lovely housekeeper had inspired in him over the course of two short days?
It was because he’d gone without a woman for far too long. He and Annabelle had been creative about finding ways to be alone with each other and had been having relations for years when she died. Since he lost her, he’d been with a few women, here and there, but only out of desperation, not because he actually wanted them.
His reactions toward Miss Brown surpassed pedestrian feelings such as want or need and went straight to craving. He craved her, and he had no idea what to do with such inappropriate feelings that she most certainly did not welcome. There had been a moment, at the shore yesterday, when he told her about Annabelle, when he’d felt her soften toward him.
But that had been out of pity. She felt sorry for him, for what he’d lost. Sympathy did not equate to desire, and it would do him good to remember that and not make it into more than it had been.
The sound of voices in the hallway had him running his fingers through his hair, straightening his clothing and heading for the door to see what was going on.
He opened the door to bedlam. A dozen men in ragged clothes, many without a full set of teeth and one with an eye patch, followed Miss Brown up the stairs like a ragtag army under the command of the most magnificent general who’d ever lived.
“We have just over a week to put this house to rights, and we’re willing to pay for a hard day’s work. Anyone who isn’t pulling his weight will be dismissed immediately and paid only for the time worked. You’ll be provided with a meal at midday, and if you should happen to do exemplary work, you’ll be considered for a permanent position.”
The men were rapt, their gazes fixed to the gentle swell of her backside as she went up the stairs, hanging on her every word.
That would not do.
“Gentlemen.”
The brigade halted halfway up the stairs and turned to face him.
“I’m Aubrey Nelson. This house belongs to my family, and I’m appreciative of your willingness to work.”
Was it his imagination or was Miss Brown refusing to look at him?
“Miss Brown is in charge. You will do whatever she asks of you, and you’ll behave as gentlemen in her presence, or you’ll deal with me. That means you will not leer at her, speak to her unless spoken to, or in any way make her feel uncomfortable. Am I clear?”
Muttered responses of “yes, sir,” and “whatever you say, gov’na,” echoed through the vast front hall.
“Very well. Carry on.”
&n
bsp; Maeve turned and continued up the stairs, leading her ragtag army into battle.
In need of food and coffee, Aubrey headed for the kitchen where Mr. Plumber was discussing the men with Mrs. Allston.
“It’s unheard of to allow ruffians to work in a house of this caliber,” Plumber said, sounding every bit the upper-crust butler.
“If it’s them or no one,” Mrs. Allston said, “I suppose we have to take what we can get.”
“We’ll be the talk of the town,” Plumber said. “Surely Mr. and Mrs. Nelson wouldn’t approve of such people working in their home.”
“I can assure you they would most definitely not approve,” Aubrey said when he joined them.
Mr. Plumber sputtered with mortification. “I apologize, sir. I was merely expressing my concerns.”
“Your concerns are valid, Mr. Plumber, but alas, the ruffians are the best we can do on short notice, and perhaps under your tutelage they could be whipped into a staff in time for the arrival of my family and guests.”
Plumber stared at him as if he were speaking in tongues. “You can’t be serious, sir. If I had a lifetime to spend on the effort, I couldn’t turn that group of misfits into anything more than what they are—street urchins.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain. They’re men, just like you and me, who have perhaps fallen on hard times. With the right incentive and training, who’s to say they couldn’t become first-rate footmen, drivers, stable men and gardeners?”
“And you expect me to bring about this miracle of which you speak?”
Aubrey held the butler’s gaze, refusing to blink until the other man did. “I expect you to try.”
“Mr. Nelson, with all due respect, what you’re asking is not only impossible, it’s . . . well, it’s ridiculous.”
“Be that as it may, they are the staff we have to work with. Do what you can with them, and I’ll take the blame for anything that goes wrong.”
Before Plumber could respond, Aubrey turned to the cook. “Good morning, Mrs. Allston. I’ll take my usual in the dining room, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll be right up.”
If she wondered why he was still wearing yesterday’s clothing, she didn’t let on. Rather, she got busy preparing his breakfast.
He would’ve moved toward the dining room, but Mr. Plumber’s hulking presence blocked the way. “Was there something else, Mr. Plumber?”
After a long pause, Plumber shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Very well. Please keep a close eye on the goings on upstairs. If anyone steps out of line, let me know, and we’ll remove the perpetrator from the premises.”
“As you wish, sir.” Plumber spun on his heel and left the room.
“Well, that went well, wouldn’t you say?”
Mrs. Allston snorted out a laugh. “You’ve shocked poor Mr. Plumber into a near apoplexy.” Like Maeve, she spoke in the lilt of Ireland, but her speech wasn’t as refined as Maeve’s.
“I suspect he’ll survive. What else are we to do with so much to accomplish and so little time in which to do it?”
“What else, indeed?”
“Will we really be the talk of the town?”
“Yes, you will, but I suspect you’ll survive the scandal, which will promptly be forgotten when your illustrious guests arrive.”
“True,” he said, chuckling.
“If I may say one thing, however . . .”
“Of course. Please speak freely.”
“I can’t help but notice a spark between yourself and Miss Brown.”
Aubrey opened his mouth to deny it, but he couldn’t lie to the woman’s face, so he closed his mouth.
“She’s a very special young lady, and I only ask that you be careful with her. Men of your social standing have the power to ruin the life of someone like her while you go about your merry way.” She quickly added, “I mean no disrespect.”
“I know you don’t, and I appreciate your concern for her.”
“I’ve been where she is, and it’s not easy to be a woman alone. Before I married my dear Mr. Allston, I was like Miss Brown, on my own and trying to make ends meet, at the mercy of an often merciless world.”
The thought of Miss Brown alone and frightened and at anyone’s mercy filled him with fear and despair.
“I understand what you’re saying, and I promise to be careful with her. Always.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nelson. You’re a decent sort of man. I could tell that about you right away.”
“I’ve always tried to be.”
“I have a feeling our Miss Brown is working below her station in life. It’s nothing I can say for certain, but the way she carries herself, her manner of speaking . . . I could be very wrong.”
“I don’t think you are. I had suspected the same thing. She told me her father was a banker and saw to it that she and her sisters were educated.”
“That would make sense. At any rate, it’s none of our business. I’ll bring your breakfast right up.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Allston.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
After Aubrey ate the eggs, potatoes and sausage Mrs. Allston had prepared for him and drank two cups of the strong coffee she brewed just the way he liked it, he began to feel somewhat human again. He went upstairs, intending to bathe, change his clothes and make himself useful. At the top of the stairs he followed the sound of voices in the drawing room and went to see how Miss Brown was making out with her new workers.
They had wrought a miracle in the drawing room. In one hour, they had cleared away the cobwebs, removed the soiled dust covers from the furniture and had attacked the dust. The room actually smelled clean, which was a miracle in and of itself.
In the middle of it all, amid the raggedy workforce she commanded, Maeve shone like a jewel sparkling in the sunlight.
Aubrey stood in the doorway, unable to look away, barely able to breathe as he watched her. In that moment he understood that he would never tire of being in her presence, of hearing what she had to say, of watching the confident, graceful way in which she moved.
Her gaze connected with his, and when she realized he was staring at her, she faltered, albeit briefly, before recovering herself to continue directing the workers. The only reaction she had to his attention, that he could see, was the flush that overtook her porcelain complexion.
Aubrey shook off the stupor she caused whenever she was nearby and rolled up his sleeves to help the men move furniture so they could clean under it. He could bathe and change later.
When they had the drawing room returned to its original splendor, they moved on to his mother’s room where he broke a sweat moving furniture, sweeping, mopping and dusting along with the rest of the men. It took the remainder of the day, but by the time they sent the men home with full stomachs and a day’s wages, the room was ready for occupancy.
Throughout the day, Miss Brown never again looked his way or said so much as a word to him. After the men left, she disappeared and he didn’t see her again until he went downstairs to join her and Mr. Plumber for dinner.
“I’d be happy to serve you in the dining room, Mr. Nelson,” Mrs. Allston said.
“This is fine, thank you.” Eating alone in the dining room had been fine for breakfast, but now he found himself in need of some company. “No need to be formal when it’s only the four of us in residence. However, we will need to hire you some kitchen help before the others arrive at the end of next week.”
“I have several nieces I could hire with your permission.”
“That would be fine.”
She served a pot roast with potatoes, carrots and baby onions that was so delicious that Aubrey happily accepted a second serving.
His mouth went dry and his heart skipped a beat as Maeve’s eyes lit up with delight when Mrs. Allston served hot apple crisp with vanilla ice cream for dessert. He wanted to see her eyes light up with every kind of delight, but he kept that thought to himself.
Their
days fell into a predictable pattern of long, fruitful workdays followed by quiet dinners in the basement. After dinner, he spent long nights alone in the library where he drank away his frustrations. As the house was returned to its former splendor, Aubrey slipped deeper into a state of frustration and pervasive loneliness at knowing the woman he desired was close by but so far out of his reach. If he pursued her the way he wanted to, he ran the risk of ruining her reputation and endangering her livelihood. He would never do either of those things, so he kept his distance out of respect, reliving their picnic to the shore over and over again until even that memory could no longer bring solace.
This must be what it was like, he thought, to slowly go mad from wanting something you could not have. The feeling reminded him far too much of the dark days and familiar despair that had followed Annabelle’s sudden death.
More than once, he considered leaving, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave Miss Brown, Mrs. Allston or Mr. Plumber to his mother to terrorize, nor could he abandon the guests he’d invited to join them for the summer. But he wanted to get on a horse and get the hell out of there before he did something that couldn’t be undone.
He went into the kitchen, looking for more of the chocolate cake Mrs. Allston had served for dessert that evening, cut himself a healthy piece and then cut another one and placed it on a second plate.
What is your plan?
I don’t have a plan.
He had the conversation with himself as he carried the two plates up the backstairs to the third floor, which was deserted. Mr. Plumber’s room was at the other end of the long hallway, and Mrs. Allston didn’t live there. She went home to her own house in Newport’s Fifth Ward at the end of every day.
Aubrey tapped lightly on Miss Brown’s door.
He could barely bring himself to breathe as he waited for her to answer.
The door opened, and he nearly dropped the plates when he saw her glorious hair down around her shoulders and the subtle hint of curves under her robe.
