by Helen Conrad
And now Terry had been given the chance to feel some of that pride her father had known. She had something to prove here. She might be a flop at her chosen career—trying to be an actress in Hollywood had not been a stellar choice, it seemed-- but she was darn well determined she was going to make a good butler—and she wasn't going to let Rick Carrington stand in her way.
“My father was hired by your grandfather,” she began staunchly. “I'm taking my father's place, but I know I can do the job. Your grandfather seemed to feel I could do it as well.”
“My grandfather never saw you face-to-face, did he?” Rick drawled. “I'm sure he made a mistake. He's got standards that date back to the Stone Age. He'd never have hired a girl like you deliberately.”
She could cheerfully have beaned him with a handy lamp for calling her a “girl” as much as anything, but the sad fact was, he was right. Mr. Calvin Carrington thought she was her father’s son. She’d heard her own father on the phone with him, and though neither of them had mentioned it, she knew her father had avoided the issue.
But too bad. Calvin Carrington had agreed to this. And here she was.
“I've got a contract,” she reminded him sweetly.
“I can break it,” he replied with easy tranquility.
A rush of panic flooded her. He just might. She was treading on thin ice, confronting him this way. Why couldn't she lower her tone and try a little sweet talk instead? She swallowed hard, trying to muster a seductive smile, but the effort died somewhere inside. She knew she could never make it that way. There seemed to be a reason she’d failed as an actress, wasn’t there?
“You're not being fair,” she said instead, her chin set stubbornly. “Give me a chance to prove myself.”
Rick's eyes were glimmering with amusement. “Just like that? You think you can come in here and begin 'butling' on the spur of the moment? You think you can jump right into a profession that has been developing into a fine art over the centuries?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I have to admire your courage. Just wait until the Butlers United gets wind of this. They'll come around here with a lynch mob.”
“I know what I'm doing. I've been trained by the best.” Her father was the best she knew of. “I'm a good worker. You won't be disappointed.”
“Won't I?” he asked softly, and she sensed a break in the ice.
She knew she was looking so very eager, so very willing to work her little fingers to the bone. He gazed at her for a long moment. There was hesitation flashing in the misty golden-brown of his eyes, but she could see that he was a bit captivated by her.
“Why don’t we wait for your grandfather to arrive and see what he thinks,” she said. She had a feeling, no matter how hide-bound Calvin was, she was going to be able to charm him. Just give her a chance!
But Rick was shaking his head. “He won’t be coming. Not right away. He came down with the flu a few days ago. They don’t want to let him travel until they’re sure he’s all over that.”
“Oh.” So much for that idea. “But he is coming?”
“Oh yes. At least, we all hope so.”
She smiled. “I can hardly wait to see him again. He and my father were quite close in the old days.”
Rick grinned. “Meeting you, I can understand why.”
She was winning. She could feel it. She began to smile, awaiting confirmation.
“I think I like you, Terry Yardley,” Rick said at last, leaning back again. “There's something very appealing about those huge blue eyes of yours, and that mop of shiny dark hair.”
She smiled, waiting for him to tell her he approved.
He glanced over the slim brown line her legs made against the yellow bedspread, and she unconsciously drew her knees together. He chuckled. “As a butler, you'd make a terrific date. How about dinner tomorrow night?”
Terry's mouth was dry and she wasn't laughing. “You don't understand. I’ve got to have this job. I'll do it well. You have no reasonable grounds to deny me on.”
He watched her narrowly, sorry for a moment that she hadn't been one of Johnny's bright ideas. He liked the way her blue eyes sparkled. He also liked the way she filled out her skimpy outfit. He knew he would have enjoyed sharing some time with her under other circumstances.
But that only made it that much more reasonable that he send her away. If he let her work here, things could get complicated. He'd learned long ago not to mess with the help. It only led to misunderstandings all around. And his kids were coming…
“I don't have to hire you just because you want the job,” he told her bluntly.
“No, but ...” She searched his face for a hint of weakness. “Please do anyway,” she said softly, her eyes wide and pleading.
He groaned and threw his head back, staring at the ceiling to avoid her blue eyes. If she'd slipped down off the bed and gone on her knees before him, she couldn't have been more persuasive. There was something so vulnerable, yet so determinedly courageous about her.
He wanted to help her, but how could he? Women weren't butlers. Women were maids and housekeepers. That was the way it was—feminism be damned. The Carringtons weren't a family that challenged tradition.
He wanted everything perfect for his grandfather's arrival. It now looked as though that would take a month or two. The old man had to recover as much as possible and be basically mobile before they would let him move into his home again. And now that his own parents had bailed on the job, it was his responsibility to see to it that the house was ready for him.
His grandfather meant a lot to him. Rick knew he'd been something of a disappointment to Calvin in the past and he wanted to make amends. Female butlers didn't set the proper tone for the homecoming he had in mind.
But there was another element to consider. At this point, the one thing he needed more badly than a butler was a nanny. He looked at Terry skeptically, wondering if he could offer to hire her on to take care of his children for the weekend. But no, he could see from the determined line around her mouth, that wouldn't quite fill her purpose.
He frowned, remembering the chaos of the last time the children had come for a visit—a direct result of which had been the resignation of three members of the staff.
“I'm ready to do anything,” Terry prompted irrepressibly. “I'm a hard worker. No job too big or too small.”
Okay, why not? He mused silently as he stared at her. Why couldn't a butler take over child control? After all, the job included providing a comfortable atmosphere in the house. If he told her that was what he wanted, she would go off like a firecracker. Obviously, she hadn’t come here to babysit. But if he put it in other terms…
“Okay, I get the picture,” he said. “You really want this job and you want to prove to me that you can handle it. Right?”
She looked suspicious, not sure where he was going with this. But she said, “Right,” and waited to see.
“You’re ready to take on just about anything?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
She flushed, mistaking his intent. “Well, almost anything. ‘Playmate’ has never been a part of a butler's job description.”
He couldn't resist teasing her. “Are you sure about that?” he asked as though thoroughly disappointed. “Not even in the fine print?”
“Not even.” She was desperate for this job, but not quite that desperate. “Not ever,” she said emphatically.
He was careful not to grin. He didn’t want her to think he was making fun of her. “I see.” He pondered that for a moment. “Okay, tell you what. I’m considering giving it a try for twenty-four hours.”
“Oh.” She looked suddenly radiant. “Oh, thank you Mr. Carrington. You won’t be sorry. I promise.”
“I didn’t commit to that yet,” he warned her. “I’m considering it.”
“Twenty-four hours would be perfect. I know I can convince you.”
His mouth opened, but he closed it again. What could he say? Now he felt guilty. Twenty-four hours would get them through the aw
kward period of his children being here without a full staff. Once maids began to show up, he’d have plenty of babysitters to use. He could let her go easily. In the meantime…
He was about to start talking about plans, but a shout from the backyard interrupted him. With a quick look at Rick, Terry bounced off the bed and went through the French doors onto the balcony to see who was hailing them.
“Hey, lady, you want your chimneys swept or not? I been banging on this door for half an hour here and no one's answering.”
Standing on the lawn below was a small man all dressed in black, brushes and shovels over his shoulder, black smudges on his cheeks, and a tall, shiny top hat on his head. Terry was enchanted by him at first sight.
“Just a minute,” she called down. “I'll let you in.”
Here was her chance to show the boss how well she could manage. “I'll take care of this,” she told Rick, “and then we can come to terms over what exactly you’ll expect from me.”
He didn't say a word but rose to follow her down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back door, which she unlocked quickly.
“Come on in,” she told the dusty chimney sweep, standing back and holding the door. The man was a real work of art—a walking, talking period piece right out of Dickens. She turned to where Rick stood, halfway across the kitchen, to see how he liked the costumed worker.
Their gazes met, a silent laugh, and she almost felt as though he'd spoken. A silent sense of connection rippled through the air between them. The smile froze on her lips as she looked at him, then abruptly looked away. She felt as though she'd seen too much of him or he'd seen too much of her, that she'd made herself somehow naked and vulnerable. Crazy feeling. She'd best lose it.
It was the chimney sweep's voice that finally brought her back down to earth.
“Well, I'm here, I am. Dusty Dan's the name.”
She nodded at him absently, still feeling the searing heat of Rick's gaze—still not sure if it was his intensity or her own memories of her teenaged crush that had lit that fire. “I'm sure you are,” she murmured, then shook herself alert. “Oh, yes. I'm so glad you're here. Some of the fireplaces are in pretty sad shape.”
Her fingers were trembling. What was wrong with her? How could she work for a man who could do this to her with merely a glance?
The sweep walked farther into the kitchen and coal dust seemed to rise from his every movement. “I'm here to fix that for you,” he said cheerfully. “I do my best work up the chimney, making things clean for Santy Claus.” He chuckled at his own little joke, and though it was the middle of the summer and hardly time to be thinking of reindeer on the roof, the two of them smiled with him.
“I've drawn up a list of the fireplaces and their conditions,” she said, forcing herself to be calm and searching through the stack of papers she'd piled on the table in the kitchen.
“How many fireplaces have you got here?” the sweep asked, adjusting his burden from one shoulder to the other.
“Five,” she told him with efficient certainty.
“Six,” Rick corrected softly from behind.
She swung around, chagrined. “Six? I counted five. I went through every room and I counted five.”
“Six,” he insisted quietly. “Trust me. I've lived here more than you have.”
So much for total control. Terry flushed, but kept her cool. “All right. Six.” She found her paper. “Here's a partial list, then. I'll have to find the other one for you a little later.”
The chimney sweep went on his way and she looked at Rick. “A wonderful character, isn't he?” she asked, but her heart wasn't in it. She knew the time of reckoning was at hand. Was he going to agree to let her stay? This meant so much to her—and to her father.
“Most of the servants are still on leave,” Rick said. “The cook won't be back until tomorrow.”
“I know.” Did that mean that, once the sweep left, they were going to be alone in the house until the next day? Her pulse began to quicken at the thought, but he quickly put a damper on that.
“My kids are coming this evening. Charles, the chauffeur, will be picking them up at their school in Santa Barbara.”
The children. She'd forgotten all about them until he’d mentioned them a few minutes ago. She remembered having read of Rick's marriage. It had filled the society pages for weeks. He'd married a Southern heiress and they'd had two children, a girl and a boy. But hadn't she read something about a divorce?
How was she going to deal with children? She'd never had much contact with kids. But then, kids were people, younger and shorter, maybe, but people just like anyone else. She imagined she'd do just fine.
“Are they with their mother during the week?” she asked without thinking, then immediately regretted it. She didn't want to pry into things he'd rather she stayed out of.
“Their mother is dead,” he said shortly, and she was sorry she'd brought it up. He looked at her struggling for words of sympathy and seemed to take pity on her. “She died of leukemia last year . It's been hard on the children.”
“I'm sure it has been,” she said quietly.
He was eyeing her again, looking like a man in the throes of indecision. She smiled brightly, hoping to tilt the scales.
“Can you handle children?” he asked.
She hesitated, but not for long. “Of course.”
“And you're sure you can run a house like this?” he asked. “How much do you know about it?”
“I'm fully qualified,” she said quickly, not really saying what she was fully qualified for. “I've run houses before.”
Sure, her dorm room at college, the apartment she and her girlfriends had shared after school, the apartment in Hollywood where she lived alone. And the house she’d shared with Craig Annison for the last year or so. But thinking of that one made her wince.
Not much experience, really, but Rick didn't need to know that. Let him think she'd been butling for years.
“You really do know what you're doing?”
Now, that she could answer sincerely, because she had the number one butler in the country on twenty-four-hour call. She couldn't fail! “Absolutely,” she promised.
He stared at her for another long moment, then shook his head as though amazed at his own foolishness. “Go ahead. I'll give you one day, then we'll have a conference and see how things are going. Meet me back here tomorrow at 10 am. We’ll see how it looks from there.” The touch of steel was back in his voice. “But I won't hesitate to fire you if you don't measure up. You understand that?”
“Of course!” Flushed with elation, she had an urge to throw her arms around his neck, but she stifled it. “I won't disappoint you.”
She'd never have the chance to disappoint him, he thought grimly. He couldn't let her stay for longer than a day. It would never work out, he knew that. But she would be useful until he found someone else.
All of which wasn't very fair to her. Maybe he would think of something else for her before he had to fire her. But he doubted it.
Terry met his gaze and frowned, slightly puzzled. His eyes were dark and unreadable. Suddenly he seemed remote. Without another word, he turned and walked away, and as she watched him go she felt a quiver of unease dashing a bit of her triumph.
CHAPTER THREE:
A Butler’s Work Is Never Done
Terry's father called her three times in the next two hours. Each time she answered the phone with butler-like aplomb, and each time he launched into some new concern without any preamble.
“Mind you attend to the silverware before the master arrives,” he warned her on the first call. “Every piece should gleam with a new sheen on the day the family returns to Mar Vista.”
Mar Vista was the name of the Carrington mansion. The estate had a beautiful view of the ocean, though it was somewhat obscured these days by the huge black oaks lining the driveway. The grounds swept out away from the house in shades of green, from the emerald-green lawns to the soft, clover green of the fi
elds beyond, to the dark green of the forest. There was a cliff leading down to the rocky shore, where the Pacific came calling on stormy days. Terry was enchanted by the sea and the grounds. She’d always loved the place.
But it looked like a good bet that the phone calls from her father would continue without let-up throughout her stay. She had her phone on vibrate and her pocket was quivering at least once an hour.
“Make sure you put out the egg cups for breakfast,” he told her excitedly on another call. “Mr. Carrington does love his soft-boiled egg in the morning. Exactly three minutes, not a second more.”
She agreed, even though she was sure the Mr. Carrington he was referring to was happily eating his soft-boiled eggs in the comfort of Queen Anne’s Acres in Santa Barbara right now. That was what she’d been told, at any rate.
“Grandfather is preparing to come to live with us here,” Rick reassured her at one point. “That’s the plan. He’s still recuperating from a bad case of the flu. Some things just don’t want to heal right. But he’s bound and determined to get here.”
“And you’re going to live here in the meantime?” she’d asked him.
He’d shrugged. “For the summer, at any rate. Then, who knows?”
That all seemed a little vague to her, but it wasn’t her grandfather, and it wasn’t her mansion. Her own father was the only one she was concerned about. This was all for him and she was glad to do it.
“How many footmen do you have working for you?” her father demanded later, and was horrified to hear there weren't any at all. “How can you possibly run a house that size without footmen? Who will take care of the deliveries? Who will wait at table?”
The calls didn't annoy her. Terry knew he was just trying to keep in touch. She also knew her father had no doubt that she was going to be a great butler. She only hoped she could live up to his expectations—and her own goals.
