Maid to Match

by Deeanne Gist

  He scowled. “Of course not. I’m a useful man. Not a footman.”

  She squelched her smile. “I see. Do you make lots of money, then?”

  “I do.”

  All teasing dissipated. She released her friend’s hand and took a step forward, eyes alighting with hope. “Have you come to take me with you?”

  “Not yet. I don’t make that much money. But if I’m careful and if I don’t lose my job, then in a couple of months I should have enough put aside to pay for your room and board somewhere.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t worry about the board, Mack. I can get a job and earn enough to feed myself. It’s just the room I’ll need help with.”

  “All the same, it’ll probably take at least two months.”

  “What makes you think you might lose your job?”

  He hesitated. “I’ve gotten into a couple of scuffles.”

  “With who?”

  “The butler and an underfootman.”

  “The butler!” Her jaw dropped. “Well, that was a really stupid thing to do.”

  He bristled. “He was using his position to push around someone he considered beneath him.”

  She shook her head again, her brown eyes softening. “That’s my big brother. Fight first. Think later.”

  He sighed. “I’m trying to do better.”

  “Anything else?” she asked. “Anything else that might cause you to lose your job?”

  An image of Tillie flashed through his mind. He decided not to answer. His sister was only thirteen. What was she doing grilling him, anyway? Those months she’d been in charge of the boys had clearly gone straight to her head.

  He glanced at Irene. During their conversation, she had inspected every square inch of the room with awestruck eyes.

  “Have you not seen the parlor before?” he asked the girl.

  She turned her gaze to his. “It’s lovely. So different than the back o’ the place.”

  He frowned. “What does the back look like?”

  She immediately averted her attention to the floor.

  He turned to Ora Lou. “What does the back look like?”

  “Nothing like this, I can tell you that.” Striding forward, she grabbed his shirt front and pulled him down for a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for taking the Biltmore job. When will you come back?”

  “I have every second Sunday off from now on. You can count on my being here. Is there anything you need me to bring you?”

  She gave a quick shake of her head. “They’d just take it away from me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But instead of answering, she clasped Irene’s hand and pulled her back out the door. “Bye, Mack. Try to keep your fists to yourself and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

  Tillie knocked on the door of the storage room.

  “Come in,” her brother’s voice answered.

  She opened the door, then froze. Mack stood stiff and scowling behind an old table wearing his typical workaday clothes, but with pristine white gloves sheathing his large hands.

  An empty place setting, complete with glassware, lay before him on the bare table. Beside it were a variety of serving dishes and trays. Allan looked at her, a harassed expression on his face.

  “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She glanced about the room. Cleaning supplies, old lanterns, china chamber pots – the gold-rimmed for guests, the plain for staff – and sundry items clogged the shelves lining the walls. Still, not a speck of dust had collected. “I was told Mrs. Winter wanted to see me in here.”

  Allan waved her in. “No, I’m the one who needed you.”

  After a slight hesitation, she entered, closing the door behind her. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Mack. The sharp words they’d exchanged last week had strained the easy camaraderie they’d had before. Still, she’d felt his gaze follow her every time they were in proximity of one another.

  She might’ve had trouble ignoring the attraction she felt growing between them if she were the only one affected, but she wasn’t. Much more was at stake. This was likely her only opportunity to make more of her life. To help her family and those little ones at the orphanage. To fulfill her mother’s dreams for her. Her own dreams.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Allan ran a hand through his hair. “Mrs. Vanderbilt wants to train Mack to serve.”

  She gaped at him. “Serve? Mack? But he’s barely been here two weeks.”

  “Two and a half,” Mack corrected.

  “But we have guests coming,” she continued, ignoring him. “A thousand things to do. You don’t have time to train him right now.”

  Allan nodded. “I know. That’s why I sent for you. I need your help.”

  She balked. “My help? Why me? I’m already juggling my normal duties along with the new lady’s maid duties I’ve been assigned. I don’t have time, either.”

  “You have more time than I do. Especially in the afternoons.” He sent her a pleading look. “Please, Till.”

  “What’s wrong with Aaron or Conrad or Kirk? Why can’t one of them train him?”

  “Because when Mack thinks he’s being bullied, he uses his fists and I’ll be accountable for it. But he won’t hit a woman. At least, I don’t think he will.” Allan turned to Mack. “Do you hit women?”

  A tick began to beat at the back of Mack’s jaw. “I do not.”

  Allan gave her a triumphant look. “See. You’re safe.”

  She swallowed. It wasn’t Mack’s fists that concerned her. “Bubby, please. There must be someone else.”

  Her brother was already heading to the door. “There’s no one. Besides, I had to get special permission from the matron to pull you away. So it’s all decided.” He pinched her chin. “Thanks, brat.”

  Then he was gone.

  The hiss of the lantern sounded loud in the room.

  “This is a waste of time,” Mack said. “I’m not doing it.”

  She sighed. “How far have you gotten in your lesson?”

  He tightened his lips. “I’m not doing this.”

  “Then you’ll be dismissed and asked to leave the estate. Do you want to keep your job, Mack?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “Then you do whatever Mrs. Winter assigns you to do. At the moment, it seems she wants you to have a lesson on table waiting. Now, what have you learned so far?”

  The tick grew more pronounced. “Serve from the right, remove from the left.”

  She blinked. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve covered?”

  “Hold the plate with my thumb on the rim of the plate and two fingers extended under the bottom.”

  She nodded. “What else?”

  He explained which linen-covered trays were for knives, which were for glasses, and which were for plates.

  Nothing. They’d done absolutely nothing.

  “How long have you been down here?”

  “A while.”

  “What’s taking so long?”

  “I’ve been uncooperative.”

  She lifted a brow. “Well, I have a million things to do, and training you isn’t one of them. So look sharp and pay attention.”

  She rounded the table, sat down, and placed a covered soup dish in front of her. “When the guests first come to the table, their soup or fish will already be waiting for them. You must remove the cover. If it’s fish, you’ll need to remove the cover from the sauce as well.” She gave him a nod. “Go ahead.”

  He approached her left side and removed the cover.

  “No, no. You have to take care that you don’t dirty the cloth with drops of steam. Turn the cover up quickly. Try again.”

  He did it again.

  “Much better. Set it on the dinner tray until you have time to take it out of the room.”

  He placed it on a tray behind them.

  She frowned. “Next time we practice, you need to be wearing some tight shoes or thin pumps.”

  “No.”

  S
he lifted her gaze. “You can’t move quickly or lightly in those big boots, Mack.”

  “No.”

  Leaning back in the chair, she tilted her head. “Have you not realized why Mrs. Vanderbilt hired you?”

  “She needed a useful man.”

  Tillie shook her head. “You’re Earl’s twin. And Earl looks absolutely stunning in his livery. Mrs. Vanderbilt wants to, at some point, have you and Earl serving her guests. On the first floor. In the parlor. And eventually in the banquet hall. I can’t even imagine the sight the two of you would make side by side.”

  He paled. “I figured all that, but I thought it took months and months, years even, to work your way up to footman.”

  “Ordinarily it takes a great deal of time, experience, and references. But because of your height, your looks, and your twin brother, well . . .” She shrugged.

  “What if I sabotage my chances? What if I dribble the gravy, drop a plate, knock over a glass?”

  “They’ll send you packing.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, the white gloves completely out of place with his rolled-up sleeves and chambray shirt. “Why wasn’t I warned about this earlier?”

  “Probably because it never occurred to anyone you wouldn’t want to be a footman. It’s more pay. More prestige. Less heavy lifting. For mercy’s sake, there’s a long line of men in town who’d jump at the chance you’re being given.”

  He scowled. “Well, they can have it. I am not wearing those, those . . . fancy clothes.”

  “Why not?”

  “They look ridiculous!”

  She lifted a corner of her mouth. “Not from where I’ve been standing.”

  He paused a second, then headed toward the door. “I’m not doing it.”

  Scrambling from the chair, she grabbed his arm. “If you walk out, it will be Allan who suffers.”

  “That’s not my fault.”

  “It is. You’re being stubborn and muleheaded and downright silly. It’s just a uniform.”

  His eyes were dark. Fierce.

  “Is it really worth your job, Mack? Worth Allan’s?”

  He slammed his eyes shut.

  She slowly released his arm, then returned to her seat. “Drinks are next.”

  He stared at her for a long moment before returning to her side and all but slamming a glass down beside her.

  “Be careful. That’s crystal. And you’re supposed to hand it to me.”

  He picked it up and shoved it toward her.

  “It’s improper to give anything with the naked hand.”

  “I’m wearing gloves. Female-looking gloves. Which I hate and resent and – ”

  “The tray, Mack. Go get the hand-waiter and put the crystal on it.”

  Flexing a fist, he spun around, retrieved the cloth-covered hand-waiter, and placed the goblet on it.

  After they’d covered countless procedures for the first course, he looked ready to explode.

  “I think we’ll stop for now,” she said. “I really do have some things I need to attend to. Meet me here tomorrow, same time. We’ll review what you’ve learned, then start on the second course.”

  Peeling off his gloves, he threw them on the table and slammed out of the room without so much as a word.

  She stared at the door, trying to comprehend how he could get so upset about the possibility of a promotion simply because he didn’t care for the uniform.

  Ridiculous. But truth be told, she preferred an angry Mack to the one who had swept her about the entry hall last week. Yes, an angry Mack was by far the safer.

  She pushed back her chair. As long as she demanded perfection during these lessons, she should be all right.

  CHAPTER

  Ten

  When Mack stepped into the storage room the next day, his eyes went straight to the pair of large but thin shoes in Tillie’s hands. She smiled to herself. Nothing like landing the first punch.

  “Put these on, please.” She set them on a chair next to his gloves. “I’ll ready the dinnerware.”

  He didn’t move.

  She busied herself with the trays, gravy bowls, and tureens. “Step lively, now. We’ve a lot to cover and not much time to do it in.”

  The door clicked shut. For a moment she thought he’d left. Then she heard him cross the floor and move the shoes and gloves to the table.

  She peeked over her shoulder. The spindle chair faced away from her, creaking as he settled into it. Its back barely reached his shoulder blades and in no way spanned the breadth of his upper body.

  For a moment he sat, blond head hanging, before finally dipping his right shoulder and grabbing the heel of his boot. His shirt stretched taut, outlining shoulders, back, and trim waist.

  The boot thudded to the floor. He repeated the ritual, dipping his left shoulder and leaning back for leverage. Muscles bulged and rippled, drawing her eye over every ridge, every vale.

  She stood frozen in place. She had no idea backs even had muscles.

  The boot came away in his hands. He gripped it, his knuckles white, before carefully arranging it on the floor next to the other.

  Grabbing a thin pump off the table, he bent over, chest to thigh, working the shoe onto his foot. Hooking his fingers into the strings and yanking them tight like those of a corset before tying them in a swift bow. She watched as he did the second, fascinated with every nuance of movement. Quick. Sure. Efficient. And so different from her own.

  Straightening, he reached for the gloves, dropping one on his leg while pulling the other onto his hand. Finally, he slapped his knees, pushed up off the chair, and caught her ogling him.

  Their eyes met and locked. His immediately darkened, the pupils dilating, obscuring all but a hint of brown.

  Without ever breaking eye contact, he brought his right hand to his mouth, nipped the tip of each finger with his teeth, loosening the glove. Then, giving his head a shake like a dog with a dish towel, he tugged it off entirely.

  Something leapt within her abdomen. Something not totally pleasant, but not totally unpleasant. Whatever it was, it began to spread from her stomach to every extremity to every nerve.

  She needed to make him mad. Distract him. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t formulate a single sentence.

  The glove hung limp from between his teeth. He drove a single burst of air from his lungs, sending the glove to the ground beside him. Then quickly removed the other one, crinkling it in those large hands before slinging it to the side.

  She tried to back up, but the shelves were behind her. She had nowhere to go.

  His attention moved to her lips. “Your mouth drives me crazy. Did you know that?”

  Her throat closed. She tried to suck in air but couldn’t. The room began to fuzz. She felt a bit like she did when she rode in a carriage.

  His gaze lifted. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the moment I saw you.”

  She closed her eyes but could still picture his gentle expression. Hear the earnestness in his voice. Feel the spot on her palm he’d kissed last week.

  He stepped close, hooking a finger beneath her chin, raising it. A quivery sensation raced along her neck and arms. Her hands fluttered to his chest in one last effort to stave him off. The thudding of his heart pounded against her fingers, transferring its rhythm from her hand, to her arm, then straight to her heart. We cannot.

  But the thought never made it from her brain to her lips. He cupped her face, drawing her up, almost to her toes.

  Voices just outside the door shattered her stupor. Snapping herself straight, she shoved him back, scrabbled away from the bookshelves, and flew to the opposite end of the table.

  “Put on your gloves, please.” It was her voice. Calm. Collected. No one entering now would suspect every nerve in her body trembled with need.

  And need it was. She wanted that kiss. She wanted it like nothing she’d ever wanted before . . . except for a position as lady’s maid.

  The voices passed by, never knowing she and Mack wer
e even in here. But they could have. Could have opened the door and caught the two of them, and that would have been the end of it. Just like that.

  No lady’s maid position. No Biltmore position. No references. What would her mother say?

  She gripped the chair in front of her. Her mother would be devastated.

  Mack took a step toward her.

  She scurried to the left, keeping the table between them. He reversed directions. So did she. He eyed the table.

  Good heavens. He was going to vault over it.

  “Don’t!” she cried. “You’ll take out everything on the table.”

  “Then come back here.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t, Mack. Don’t you see? I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “That too.”

  “I don’t understand. Is it me?”

  She crinkled her apron in her hand. “No. I already told you. It’s our jobs.”

  “If it weren’t for our jobs, would you have kissed me just then?”

  Yes. Oh, most definitely, yes.

  She didn’t answer out loud, but he must have read it in her expression. They both leapt toward the door. In his hurry, his leg rammed the table, sending several glasses and a tureen flying.

  The crash of glassware and silver rang in her ears. Not staying to investigate the damage, she scurried into the hall.

  “Tillie!” His swift, long strides caught up to her at once. “How much longer are you going to deny what’s happening?”

  “Keep your voice down,” she whispered, her eye on the end of the corridor, where the servants’ stairs and elevator were. “And nothing’s happening.”

  “It is.” He dropped his tone to match hers.

  A second-floor chambermaid carrying a wad of soiled linens eyed them with interest. Tillie gave her a brief nod as they passed, then increased her pace.

  Mack matched her step for step.

  “I thought you wanted to keep your job,” she hissed.

  “I do. But only for as long as it takes to earn what I need to secure Ora Lou a decent place to live.”

  “Well, I intend to stay here the rest of my life.”

  He grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him, halting all forward progress. She expected to see fury in his eyes, but what she saw was hurt. Confusion. “I don’t understand.”