by Kit Morgan
Aldrich shrugged. “It’s his job.”
Tory stared at the beautiful china and glassware – no wonder he’d set the basket down so carefully. There were sandwiches, a roast chicken, an assortment of cheeses, apple slices, grapes, even a bottle of wine. “Wow,” she whispered.
“Barnes, you’ve outdone yourself,” Aldrich said, motioning for Tory to sit.
She did and looked once more at the basket. “I can’t believe you managed to fit all this in there.”
“As I said before, the man is a marvel when it comes to packing a lunch.” Aldrich took the plate Barnes handed to him and passed it to Tory.
“Thank you.” She took it. “This looks wonderful.”
“It is,” Aldrich agreed. “The duke employs one of the finest cooks in the county, if not the Empire.” Barnes gave him a glass of wine, and once again he handed it to Tory. But of course he would – he was sitting between her and Barnes.
Tory took the glass and carefully set it beside her, hoping she didn’t knock it over. She began to eat, then noticed Barnes wasn’t. “Aren’t you hungry?”
The butler looked taken aback for a moment. “My job is to see to your and Sir Aldrich’s comfort, Miss Phelps.”
Aldrich laughed. “She’s an American, Barnes – she’s not used to our ways. Come, sit and eat. We’ll never tell.”
Barnes’s face lit up for a second, then quickly sobered. “But, Sir Aldrich …”
“Sit down, for crying out loud,” Tory said. “Have some lunch.”
Barnes audibly gulped.
“That’s an order, Barnes,” Aldrich added.
“Well, if you insist, Sir Aldrich.”
“He insists.” Tory smiled at her handsome lunch companion. “Don’t you?”
“Of course.”
Barnes looked at them warily. “Thank you, sir, Miss Phelps.” He sat, pulled a plate out of the basket, set it on his lap and began to pile food on it.
“Have some wine,” Tory offered.
Now Barnes seemed panicked. “Oh, but I couldn’t, Miss Phelps.”
“But …” She looked helplessly at Aldrich.
He shook his head. “Even I won’t cross that line.”
“Well, all right,” Tory said. “But I don’t see anything wrong with it. I mean, it’s not like he’s driving us home.”
“No, but it’s a long walk back,” Aldrich said. “We wouldn’t want the man to come staggering into the kitchen. If Cook got a gander at him in such a state, she’d give him a good tongue-lashing.”
Tory giggled as Barnes’s ears turned pink. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”
“No, Miss Phelps,” Barnes agreed heartily. “We most certainly wouldn’t.”
Tory and Aldrich spent the rest of the meal chatting about this and that, with an occasional comment coaxed from Barnes. She found it odd the man would be so hesitant to eat with them, but maybe he was a true butler through and through, not just playing a part. His uniform was definitely period clothing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the real deal. But couldn’t a modern-day butler bend the rules occasionally?
When they finished, Barnes packed everything up and they headed back to the house. Sir Aldrich educated her on things like the area weather, the different seasons, what fish could be found in the streams and the other local wildlife. “We should go for a ride tomorrow after you give the duchess her lesson,” he suggested as they crossed the field.
“Lessons! Oh no – I wonder if she expected one today.”
“Obviously not, or she never would have agreed to let me steal you away.”
Tory sighed in relief. “Good, I was worried. I don’t want to blow my teaching gig.”
“Gig?”
“I mean, job.”
“Another American term?”
“Yes. I have a lot of them.”
“I can imagine – you are an American.” They both laughed. Barnes even cracked a smile.
“Last time I checked,” she joked.
When they reached the house Barnes sported a heartfelt smile. Maybe his feet hurt as much as hers did. “Will you be needing anything else, Sir Aldrich?” he asked as they entered.
“No, Barnes. I’m sure Miss Phelps will want to rest until tea.”
“Very good, sir.” And Barnes was off like a shot. Well, as quickly as a butler could go without abandoning propriety.
Tory sighed. “He couldn’t leave fast enough.”
“Indeed,” Aldrich said with a laugh. “He’s not one for the outdoors – he much prefers the house and gardens.” He offered her his arm, and she took it and let him escort her to the staircase.
Becky appeared at the entrance to the drawing room. “Sir Aldrich, Miss Phelps,” she said, drawing their attention.
“Ah, Becky, you’re just in time to help Miss Phelps,” he announced. “She’ll be resting until tea.”
Tory felt a prickle of defiance but quickly suppressed it. After all, he was only play- acting, not ordering her around. Or maybe he was just looking out for her. Tory smiled at the thought. “Yes, I could use some help getting these boots off.”
“Certainly, Miss Phe … I mean, Miss Tory.”
“Thanks for remembering,” Tory said.
“Remembering?” Aldrich said, eyebrows raised in question.
“I asked her to call me Tory when we first met this morning. Didn’t I, Becky?”
“Indeed you did, Miss Tory.”
Aldrich released her arm and put his hands on his hips. “You’re determined to upset the servants here, aren’t you?” He winked conspiratorially.
She smiled. “It’s a gift we Americans have. Revolutions, you know.”
“I believe it’s working. But please, do leave your namesake the Queen alone – no sense overthrowing the whole Empire.” He smiled and turned to the maid. “I leave Miss Phelps in your capable hands.”
“Where are you going?” Tory asked.
“To my room to change. I’ll not discuss business with His Grace dressed like this.”
Tory looked him over. He looked fine to her – better than fine, with his hair all windblown. He hadn’t worn a hat, which made her think he was done role-playing, until he’d kept it up the entire outing. But no matter – maybe he’d drop his act the rest of the day. She yawned. “Oh my goodness. I don’t know where that came from.”
He smiled tenderly. “You must be tired from your journey. I should have taken that into consideration before stealing you away for hours. I apologize if I’ve caused you any undo labor.”
“No, no, I’m fine. But I guess I could use a nap.”
He gazed into her eyes a moment before replying, “Then off with you. I’ll look forward to tea.”
She gazed back and, unable to speak, nodded instead. Great, Aldrich was having an effect on her. And not just a “wow, he’s a great-looking guy” effect – more like an “omigosh, I could so fall for this guy!” effect. And that was dangerous. She didn’t have time to get wrapped up in a whirlwind romance, especially with someone like him who probably had dozens of girlfriends. For all she knew he came to visit the duke and duchess to get away from them.
“Is something wrong, Miss Tory?” Becky asked when they reached her room.
Tory glanced at her as she sat in the nearest chair. Her jet lag must be catching up again. “How well do you know Sir Aldrich?”
Becky swallowed hard, her eyes darting around. “Well, he comes to visit Stantham Hall several times a year. He and the duke met at a ball some six years ago.”
“But what does he do?”
Becky stared at her like a doe about to be hit by a truck.
“For a living?” Tory prompted.
“He’s a gentleman, Miss Tory. He has a small estate in Kent that he inherited from his father and his father before him and … well, the Wolfes are a very old family.”
An image of Mr. Mosgofian suddenly popped into her head. “Wait a minute, Wolfe … Wolfe … as in the battle of Towton?” Places and names began to
fill her brain. Atticus de Wolfe, Rule Water Castle, Titus, Isobeau, Warren de Winter …
“I believe that is from his family’s history, yes. They’re a very old family of knights and warriors. Noble, some call them – for their deeds, not only because of blood.”
Tory’s mind was full of questions. “What the … why on earth would I have had a class on Sir Aldrich’s lineage?” she mumbled to herself. “That doesn’t make sense – unless it’s to help in the duchess’s lessons …”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Tory?”
Tory met the maid’s inquisitive gaze. “Nothing, Becky. I have this bad habit of thinking out loud.”
Becky nodded, then got on her knees before her. “I’ll remove your boots now, Miss Tory.”
“Thank you,” she said absently, her mind reeling. She braced herself as the maid pulled the cursed boots from her feet. “Oh gosh, that feels so good.” She bent forward and massaged one foot. “Those things were killing me. Now help me out of the rest of this getup – I want to lie down.”
Not just lie down, though - Tory wanted some time alone to think. This was starting to get weird – not to the point where she’d try hitching a ride back to London and catching the first plane out, but definitely enough to make her wonder what exactly was going on and come up with a few good questions to ask. Starting with whom to ask.
Nine
Tory woke from her nap just before tea. The notion of such a time-honored tradition made her feel special, even a little giddy. It was one thing to read about it in romance novels. Another to take tea in an old English manor with a real duke and duchess.
But how “real” were the Stanthams? No, wait, that’s not how the name thing worked. Their “real” last name was Sayer. The estate was called Stantham. Or was it just the house? And if she recalled right, that was the name used to refer to the duke. He wouldn’t be called Sayer, he’d be referred to in public as Stantham. After the house? How screwy was that? She shook her head. It was too much to think about right after a nap.
A few minutes later, Becky showed up to help her dress. Ah, to have someone like Becky around all the time. What bliss! But she was playing a part, and Tory should resume her questioning of the maid. She was as good a start as any.
“Becky, how long have you worked for the duke and duchess?”
“Oh, a long time. Since I was a child.”
“What?!”
Becky jumped. “I beg your pardon, Miss Tory?”
“I’m sorry, that was over reacting. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Becky blew out a calming breath. “That’s all right. But it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s not uncommon for a servant to start at a very young age and work their way up.”
Tory gaped at her. She couldn’t imagine being a house cleaner, or whatever Becky was, for most of her life. She could hardly stand her housekeeping job at the motel. Didn’t the girl want to get into something else? “What is it you really want to do?” she couldn’t help ask.
“Do?”
“Yes, you know, go to college, get your bachelors, have a real career?” All the things I never got to do and so wound up doing exactly what you’re doing … Hmmm, maybe this wasn’t such a good thing to talk about. “Never mind, you don’t have to answer that. Do I look all right?”
“Yes, Miss Tory, you look beautiful,” she said with a smile.
Was her smile out of relief? Did she not want to talk about her past?
“Let me fix your hair,” Becky said.
Okay, obviously not, or she wouldn’t have changed the subject. Tory sighed, went to the dressing table and sat. As Becky fiddled with her up-do, Tory thought about her own lack of education, the jobs she’d had over the last eight years, the struggle, scrimping and scraping she’d done after her mother died. Not to mention taking care of Benny.
Benny, oh gosh, should I call him? Has he trashed the house yet?
“How’s that, Miss Tory? Do you like it?” Becky asked.
Tory had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn’t realize Becky had altered the style completely. “Wow, Becky, you should take some cosmetology classes, start your own business …”
“Cosmo what, Miss Tory?”
“Never mind, I’ll explain later.” They must call it something else in England. “I better get downstairs. Am I late?”
“Not yet, but you will be if you don’t hurry.”
“Thanks. Okay, I’m off. Oh, what room is tea?”
“In Her Grace’s private drawing room.”
“The room where I was introduced to her this morning?”
“No, that was the main drawing room.”
Tory gaped at her a moment, then remembered the number of rooms in the house. “Well, with thirty-six rooms, sure, why not? Of course she’d have her own.”
“Quite right, Miss Tory. Don’t worry, I’ll show you.”
Tory followed Becky downstairs. They went to the back of the grand staircase, took a left through a set of double doors into a hall, left down another hall, and into the duchess’s private drawing room.
“Oh wow,” Tory said. If she thought the other drawing room was nice, it was nothing compared to this.
“Good afternoon,” the duchess greeted. “I trust …” she licked her lips and took a deep breath. “… your outing with Sir Aldrich went well?”
Tory studied her a moment. “Yes, it was a lot of fun. Um, are you all right?”
“Of course. Please, sit down,” she said indicating the spot next to her. She sat on a beautiful rose-colored antique tufted sofa. It was very feminine. In fact, the whole room was feminine. Done in a variety of pink, rose, and light green shades, it reminded her of pictures she’d seen in house magazines. It also reminded her of what Becky had dressed her in. Tory felt like she matched the wallpaper. It was covered in tiny rose buds and so was the dress she wore.
“Tea?” the duchess offered.
“Oh yes. Thank you,” Tory said cheerfully. She watched as the duchess poured her a cup and handed it to her.
Tory took it with a smile, added some sugar, and gave her cup a stir.
“Not like that, dear,” the duchess said. “Like this.” She moved her spoon back and forth in the cup.
Tory watched and did the same, clinking her spoon against the china.
“Silently, without a sound,” the duchess advised.
Tory laughed. “Me? Not likely. I’m kind of a klutz.”
The duchess, though smiling, made a face. “Do not worry, we will work on that.”
Tory took a sip of her tea. She enjoyed the feel of the warm liquid as it reached her belly, and sighed in contentment. “So what exactly is it you need help with?”
The duchess looked at her and smiled again. “I break my sentences at times. You’ll notice I speak slowly.”
“Yes, I did notice that,” Tory said. “How long have you struggled with this?”
“Since I got my voice back.” She licked her lips and looked as if she was bracing herself. Tory had seen her do it before, when they were in the other drawing room. “It’s much better than …” she closed her eyes and swallowed. “It was.”
Tory nodded. “And you’re not from around here, I take it? You’re also from America?”
“Yes.”
“But you have an accent. It sounds French.”
“It is.”
Tory smiled. “Wow, how did you wind up in America? Were you born there?”
“No, I was born … in Canada.”
That explains the French, Tory thought. She was about to ask another question when Sir Aldrich entered the drawing room. “I apologize for being late, Your Grace.”
The duchess waved it off. “The pleasure of your company … Aldrich, makes up for it.”
“You’re too kind,” he said with a smile then turned to Tory. “Ah, Miss Phelps. So lovely to see you again.”
“Ditto,” she said brightly and took a sip of tea.
He laughed. “I do love the way you conver
se. I take it that means the feeling is mutual? Or am I amiss in my answer?”
“Amiss?” Tory said. “Um, no, if that means if you’re wrong.”
“It does indeed.” He took a seat in a large tufted, pink chair.
Tory bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. He looked so out of place in the room, masculine, big and strong. Like he could break the room open with his bare hands.
She licked her lips and looked away. Her belly and a few other places surged with heat, and it wasn’t from the tea.
“Did you rest?” he asked.
“What, me?” she said as her head swung around. “Yeah, great. You could sleep for a week in that bed.”
He sent the duchess a quizzical look.
“She is in the Blue Room.”
“Ah, yes, with the swan bed. Good choice.”
“What’s your room like?”
“I’m in the Highland Room. It suits my tastes.”
“What’s the Highland Room?” Tory asked. Did they use the estate as some sort of a bed and breakfast? That would explain a few things. Maybe the duchess’s history fantasies were part of what a guest paid for.
“Rugged, masculine, what one might expect from the Scottish Highlands,” he said.
“You should take Miss Phelps … on a tour,” the duchess suggested. “After tea.”
He glanced between the two women as a smile formed on his lips. “Excellent idea.”
Tory felt a thrill of excitement race up her spine at the thought of seeing the rest of the house. She glanced at Aldrich over the rim of her cup as she took a sip of tea.
Oh, who are you kidding? She thought. You want to spend more time with him!
He also took a sip and gazed at her over the rim.
Apparently the feeling was mutual. Oh geez. Now what? Was he really into her or just being friendly? She knew she had looks, but also felt like a country bumpkin compared to these people. He was a real English gentleman type. What was she? A former housekeeper in a seedy motel in the ghetto part of Stockton, that’s what.
Tory tried not to make a face. Her work experience before working for Mr. Smith included waitressing in a string of cheap restaurants, a fast food cashier and babysitter. Hardly the stuff dreams are made of. But this job could be, and she didn’t dare blow it by flirting with the duke’s guest.
