by Merry Farmer
Flossie swallowed and surveyed the situation. “It shouldn’t take much longer to finish mopping, am I right….” She realized with a start that she hadn’t learned the bellboy’s name yet.
“Frank,” he said.
“Frank,” she repeated. “Can you finish cleaning the lobby in five minutes?”
“Yes?” he answered, sending a terrified look Mr. Throckmorton’s way.
“Good,” Flossie said. “Work hard and fast, Frank, and don’t let anyone else come in the front door for the moment.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Frank answered.
She ignored his incorrect deference. There were too many other things to think about. She twisted, checking the area around her as ideas formed.
“You. I’m sorry, what’s your name?” she asked one of the male employees loitering near the bottom of the stairs, too afraid of Mr. Throckmorton to move a muscle.
“Donald,” he said.
“Donald. Are there any runners in the halls upstairs?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Run up and get two. Bring them downstairs, and when Frank here is finished mopping the floor, make a path from the front door to the dining room so that when Lady Elizabeth gets here, she won’t have to set foot on the wet marble.
“Yes, ma’am,” Donald said, then scurried upstairs.
Flossie realized a heartbeat too late that Mr. Throckmorton was standing right next to her still and might take offense to her ordering his employees around.
“I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t presume,” she said.
“No, no, go right ahead,” he said, his voice strange and quiet.
That was it, she had offended him. By the end of the day he would probably send her packing. That would be the true, unmitigated disaster. She needed this job more than she’d needed anything in her life.
She didn’t have long to think about that. A heartbeat later and one of the scrawny scullery maids came running into the lobby from the dining room. She already looked as though she was being chased by a pack of hounds, but when she slipped on the wet marble and skidded several feet, she screamed.
“What now?” Mr. Throckmorton snapped at her, quieter still than he had been the last time.
“S-sir.” The poor girl quivered in front of him.
“What?” he answered moving to take a ginger step toward her, deciding against it, and staying right where he was.
“T-the c-cook, sir,” the scullery maid said.
“What about her?”
“S-she’s gone off.”
“What?” Mr. Throckmorton’s color began to rise again.
“She’s gone, sir,” the poor girl continued, wringing her hands in her grubby apron and appealing to Flossie for help. “T-the boy she’s been walking out with. H-he came b-by with a ring. She’s gone off to m-marry him.”
“What, now?” Mr. Throckmorton gaped at her, mouth staying open. He shoved a hand into his hair.
Flossie could practically hear him thinking “But Lady Elizabeth will be here any moment.”
As if he could hear her putting words into his head, he turned to her, eyes wide, face and neck splotched with red all over again. “And do you have a solution to this too?” he bellowed. “Are you going to march down to the kitchen and prepare high tea yourself?”
“I will if I have to, sir,” she replied before she could think better of it.
Mr. Throckmorton blinked. His shoulders dropped as well as his jaw. He stared at her.
Flossie’s mind was too busy working to be intimidated by the intensity of his gaze. “Did she have a chance to prepare anything for this afternoon’s tea?” she asked the scullery maid.
The poor, terrified girl shook her head. “No, ma’am. She was halfway through fixing sandwiches for the staff lunch. We didn’t notice she’d left until just now, when Samuel came down looking for a bite.”
“I’m ruined,” Mr. Throckmorton muttered, voice strained. “She’ll think I’m a fool. A bloody, damned fool.”
Flossie ignored him. “Is there a tea shop in town?” she asked whoever would answer.
“Patty’s Pastries sells high tea, ma’am,” Frank told her as he worked.
It was exactly what they needed. Flossie turned to Mr. Throckmorton. He looked as though he would either weep or fall into a rage or have an aneurism on the spot.
“Sir,” she said. “Might we give the scullery maid a note to run down to Patty’s Pastries, entreating them to make a high tea for you and for Lady Elizabeth with all haste? They may already have most of the essentials ready-made. I’m sure Patty would be grateful for this and future business and would extend you credit.”
“Her name ain’t really Patty,” Frank said. “It’s Gertrude, but that don’t rhyme with pastries.”
Flossie ignored him, taking a step closer to Mr. Throckmorton to push him to action.
A new but just as intense emotion crossed through his expression. It was something midway between gratitude and embarrassment at flying off the handle.
“Yes, of course,” he said.
Without another word, he turned and marched back into his office. Flossie was satisfied that he would know what to do and headed to the stairs to help Donald bring down the runners from the upstairs hallway.
“We can clean them after today,” she told Donald and Frank as the three of them worked to get them in place once the floor was washed.
She only caught a glimpse of Mr. Throckmorton as he came out of his office with the note for the scullery maid. There wasn’t time to stand and watch to make sure he gave it to her and that the frightened girl headed off as she was supposed to. Flossie was needed in the dining room to make sure the tablecloth curtains were coming along. Without the threat of Mr. Throckmorton, the dragon, coming in and disrupting the work, the crew in the dining room had made quick progress. Four of the six windows in the room already had tablecloth-draped rods hanging from the windows, and a team of maids was going around fastening the braided cords to draw them back, letting in the sunlight.
“Perfect,” Flossie breathed to herself. There was other work that needed to be done, though. “Dora, when you can, would you and Richard take the rest of these curtain parcels to the pantry? They need to be returned.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Richard answered.
“And once that’s done, we need to arrange the tables in here as artistically as possible, with one decorated specially for Lady Elizabeth.”
“I can do that,” Dora said, then, with a broad grin, added, “My, but you do know how to take charge.”
Flossie blinked. She had taken charge, hadn’t she. It hadn’t been her place to do so. On the other hand, someone had needed to do something. Lucky for them, everything seemed to fall into place now. She thought she even saw Mr. Throckmorton entertain the ghost of a smile as he stood inside of the dining room doorway from the lobby. His eyes met hers across the room and he nodded.
Flossie bobbed a curtsy in return, then busied herself with the rest of the preparations.
By the time Lady Elizabeth’s cheerful voice rang in the lobby with, “My dear Mr. Throckmorton, I am greatly impressed,” Flossie knew that she’d done her job well. The dining room was as spotless as though they hadn’t spent all morning working like dogs to set it to right. The curtains weren’t noticeable as anything but curtains in the windows. Flossie scurried across the room with the other employees who had finished perfecting the scene for tea to line up just inside of the dining room door. They were in place and ready when Mr. Throckmorton escorted Lady Elizabeth through the doorway.
“My staff has worked exceptionally hard to arrange this treat for you today, Lady Elizabeth,” he said, voice perfectly calm and grand.
He wasn’t smiling, though. Flossie wondered if that had something to do with Polly and Lady Charlotte Dyson trailing behind Lady Elizabeth. She thought he had said Lady Elizabeth was coming alone.
“What a delightful dining room,” Lady Elizabeth complimented, lookin
g around the room. “So spacious. And what a lovely shade of blue for those curtains.”
It was all Flossie could do not to burst with laughter. It was hard enough to hold her triumph in, but at that moment, Mr. Throckmorton glanced her way. Their eyes met, and his mouth twitched into something that had to be a grin. Flossie’s sense of triumph grew, especially when Polly caught her eye and gave her a covert thumbs-up and an excited smile. With all the turmoil of the morning, it could have been a disaster, but it hadn’t been. In fact, Flossie was fairly sure that nothing but good things could come from the extravaganza.
Jason
“Well, this has been a simply splendid afternoon,” Lady E. said, laying her napkin across the empty plate in front of her and inching out of her chair to rise. Jason pushed his chair back and stood with her. “The tea was delicious. Please give your cook my compliments.”
“Indeed I will, Lady Elizabeth,” he replied with all the grace and dignity of a lord who had mastered the art of entertaining a woman.
Even though the truth was a thousand miles from that.
His gaze darted to the side of the room where Flossie stood at attention, the maid Dora beside her. Flossie’s hands were behind her back and a pleasant smile on her pretty face. Those blue eyes of hers danced with triumph, and well they should.
God, how he wanted her.
He stopped that thought cold, snapping his back to a rigidly straight posture and training his eyes firmly on Lady E’s beautiful face. Lady E. was everything he wanted in a woman, refined, sophisticated, commanding. Her golden hair and sky-blue eyes would inspire poets for generations to come. He had loved her since the moment he first laid eyes on her.
She was not, however, the one who had set his own body in torment against him. He’d been hard ever since Flossie caught him and prevented him from spilling to the wet lobby floor.
Wet. He couldn’t let himself think that word either. Not if he was going to survive the afternoon. He stole a glance down the front of his coat to be sure it hid all evidence of his affliction. So far, so good.
“And I simply can’t wait until your gardens are finished.” Lady E. had continued speaking while his thoughts had plunged into darkly carnal territory.
He willed himself to pay attention to her, pleaded with his body not to betray him, not now.
“You shall be the first to have a tour of the finished product,” he told her, smiling stiffly.
“Won’t that be enjoyable,” Lady Charlotte said.
Damn her, Jason had not meant for Lady E. to bring her nosy aunt along with her to tea or to the future tour of the garden. He hadn’t expected the damned lady’s maid to tag along either. Why Lady E. insisted on bringing the shrewd-eyed girl with her wherever she went was beyond him.
“And now, my dear,” Lady Charlotte continued as Jason escorted them through the dining room toward the lobby, “I should like to make a stop at the hospital before returning home.”
“Oh, no, Aunt Charlotte,” Lady E. said, pink with sudden alarm.
“Are you unwell, Lady Charlotte?” Jason asked. Hopefully, showing concern for the aunt would entice the niece.
“I am perfectly well, Mr. Throckmorton, thank you for asking,” Lady Charlotte said. “I have another concern I should like to investigate at the hospital.”
“But if you are perfectly well, what possible point could there be in darkening that door?” Lady E. asked, more agitated by the moment. She exchanged a panicked look with her maid.
Even Jason, dolt that he was, could see something was amiss. He owed it to Marshall to put in a good word where he could, though, and said, “Perhaps you wish to make a contribution to the hospital’s operating fund? I hear they are in dire need of patrons, and you, Lady Charlotte, would make the perfect patroness.”
“Well.” Lady Charlotte broke into a smile that was almost genuine. “What a glowing recommendation. Thank you, Mr. Throckmorton.”
“You’re welcome, my lady.”
They had reached the lobby and the open door leading out to the gardens. Jason spared a glance over his shoulder to find Flossie and Dora already at work cleaning up the table from tea. Flossie glanced up and met his eyes. Jason motioned for her to stay right where she was for one moment, then stepped out onto the afternoon sunshine with the ladies.
“Really, Aunt Charlotte, we can’t,” Lady E. petitioned her aunt.
“My dear, while you are technically my social superior, you are still my niece. I have suspicions that must be satisfied.”
“If there is anything else I can do for you ladies,” Jason attempted to interrupt, as gracious as he could be, “please do not hesitate to ask.”
“Aunt Charlotte, there is nothing to be suspicious about,” Lady E. replied, proving Jason’s attempts to be an utter failure. She and Lady Charlotte hurried down the lane to the hotel’s gate, the maid Polly following them. “I’m certain that Alexandra merely took a long detour on the way home from her walk, and that’s why she wasn’t able to come with us.” She gasped and pivoted to face Jason at the end of the path, by the gate. “Thank you once again, Mr. Throckmorton,” she said with a brief wave before charging away, pleading with her aunt.
Jason let out a breath, feeling like a failure in spite of his success. His hard-won success. A success that wasn’t his at all.
He turned back to the hotel, catching sight of Lawrence at work on another grate. A young woman whom he’d never seen before, her hands and feet bandaged, sat on one of the garden’s few patches of newly installed grass. He would investigate that later. At the moment, he had other pipers to pay.
“Flossie!” he called out when he strode back into the lobby.
She was already at the door to the dining room and stepped lightly forward to meet him. “Yes, Mr. Throckmorton?”
That clever lilt in her voice. The brightness in her eyes. The eagerness with which she rushed to please. Heaven help him.
“I think we both know that it is you I must thank for the day’s success,” he said without preamble. The longer he spent talking to this glittering gem of femininity, the worse his temptation would be. After months of strict abstinence, it was bound to happen eventually.
“I only did my job, Mr. Throckmorton,” Flossie answered.
“No, you did a great deal more than that,” he confessed. She’d saved his hide. Now he had to save hers before he ravaged it. “I should like you to find that packing slip for the curtains and send a telegram to the distributor immediately.”
“Me, Mr. Throckmorton?” She blinked up at him, a pleasing flush coming to her smooth cheeks.
“Yes,” he barked, far more harsh than he intended to be, and with too deep a frown. “You will know what to say to them. Compose a strongly-worded complaint and do what must be done to obtain the correct curtains before the hotel opens.”
“Yes, Mr. Throckmorton,” she replied.
“And when you’ve finished with that,” he went on, itching to get as far away from her as fast as he could before the pressure in his groin unmanned him right in front of her, “I should like for you to straighten and organize my office.”
“Sir?” She blinked even harder now, gaping up at him. “Your office?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “It’s a horrible mess. I’m certain that you can devise some means of making sense of it all.”
“Y-yes, Mr. Throckmorton,” she said, though she seemed stunned.
It was probably the scope of what he was asking her to do. He was the owner, after all, her employer, and here he was asking her to sort through his things. The intimacy of the task—
No, no, he would not allow his mind to go there. Rippling with pain and frustration, he turned away from her and marched back out into the garden. He turned down one of the finished paths, shaking out his arms and forcing himself to take deep breaths that filled his lungs with air and expelled all of demons that clawed at him. A normal man would have control over his own faculties. A normal man would not turn into a raving monst
er at the sight of a pretty, competent girl.
He slid the blue bottle out of his pocket, popped the cork from the top, and took a long swig. Marshall was right, it was mostly alcohol with a trace of what tasted like chamomile tea and the faintest hint of opium. Perhaps he should consider taking to the black market to find some pure opium, though he doubted even that would suit his purpose. He was an utterly lost cause.
Slapping the cork back into the now mostly empty bottle, Jason slipped the bottle into his coat pocket and continued around the edge of the hotel to where he had seen Lawrence working. As he approached, the young woman with him glanced up at him and flinched.
“Lawrence,” he made his presence known, smiling as kindly as he could at the woman. “How does the work progress?”
“Jason.” Lawrence stepped back from the window well where he had been working and stood straight. He rested his hands on his hips, glanced down with a hint of a wince, over to the girl, then up to meet his eyes. “I’ve run into a slight delay.”
A wave of panic washed through Jason that was almost enough to douse his errant lust. “A delay?”
Once again, Lawrence glanced to the girl. “Jason, this is Matty.” He reached for the woman’s hand, helping her to her bandaged feet.
Jason turned to study her. She was a wisp of a thing, very young, and dressed in something that looked like it had come out of the rag bag. In short, she reminded him of the girls who he’d grown up with.
“How do you do?” He bowed to her with the utmost, genuine courtesy.
The young woman smiled and murmured, “Well, thank you.”
Jason had the odd feeling she was anything but. It might have been the bruises that littered her face and arms. He glanced to Lawrence for answers.
“Matty showed up out of the rain at the forge last night,” he explained. “She’s lost her memory, and as you can see, showed up in a bad way.”
“I’m so sorry.” His own problems vanished for a moment as pity took over in his gut. “Lost your memory, you say?”
