by Heather Boyd
Dawson slowly lifted the cup to his nose and sniffed, and then, as if he intended to take a sip, he brought the cup to his mouth.
She stopped him before he was able to taste the evil brew. “You don’t want to drink that.”
Regardless of her warning, he took a sip and promptly spat it out into the basin. After he rinsed his mouth with fresh water, he asked, “Who did this?”
Matilda shrugged.
“I’ll speak to the housekeeper and make it stop.”
That was amusing. Was Dawson really so naïve? “Who says she doesn’t already know?”
His mouth gaped.
“Mrs. Young has been indifferent to my happiness for a long time,” she remarked in a soft voice. Matilda suspected it was not just because of the time she’d spent alone with the captain. They did not rub together well—never had from the very beginning of her employment. Since those early days of gratitude, Matilda had come to see the housekeeper as a lazy old woman who lived well off the captain’s largesse. The woman did as little as possible and never noticed Matilda did the work of two maids. Now the captain was recovered, it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Young found a way to be rid of her for good. Or was the woman hoping to overwork Matilda to the point she would leave without a reference or die of exhaustion? More than likely.
Dawson glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll speak to the captain.”
“And make things worse.” Matilda shook her head firmly. “You’d better not.”
“What will you do then?” He stared at the contents of the cup before upending it in the sink. “This must stop. You cannot wait until someone makes you ill.”
She shuddered, knowing he was right. “It won’t come to that. I have a plan.”
Dawson paled. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”
She didn’t answer him at first. Who knew who could be listening around the corner? A servant had no privacy and certainly wasn’t allowed too many secrets. As it was, she always ran the risk of being caught scanning the newssheets for an alternative position. The only reason she stayed was because Harry Lloyd knew he’d find her here.
However, her lingering over the papers might be grounds for instant dismissal if she was found in one part of the house when she was meant to be elsewhere. If she allied herself with another servant, she might do a better job of finding other employment. And she would know, one way or the other, if Dawson could be considered a friend or foe. “I would never leave until Harry returns.”
“Harry? Harry Lloyd?” Dawson said slowly. “What is he to you?”
“He’s a very good friend.”
“Surely not?”
“I’d best get on with my work.” Matilda tossed her head defiantly, fetched her bucket of rags, and then inched past him. “Excuse me.”
Too bad if Mr. Dawson did not care for the connection. Matilda did. She would be a bride and have a home of her own.
Since she had no appetite left for the fare of the dining room, she left the servants’ hall and climbed the stairs to the first floor. With only Captain Ford in residence, the upper floor was as still as the grave. A peaceful place where time dragged, sometimes pleasantly.
She liked these rooms best of all, having spent so much time here while the captain recovered. The drawing room boasted a set of four tall windows that drowned the room in lovely soft light, and she took a moment to enjoy the view.
She barely went outside anymore. She missed long walks in the park, the comfort of greater society, and the occasional butterfly to follow through a field of wildflowers. Their delicate beauty fascinated her, but they were never seen in the great city.
She absently brushed dust from the back of a deep, upholstered armchair and looked about her.
Matilda was almost certain the captain’s younger sisters would arrive any day. She imagined the house filled with feminine laughter. A rare commodity here. She could not afford to dawdle when there was so much to prepare for. It was a surprise they’d stayed away so long, though they had mentioned in their early letters that the duke had forbidden them to pester the captain until he sent for them.
Since the captain was on the ground floor in the library, Matilda chose to attend to his bedchamber first. Just in case he had returned unexpectedly, she tapped lightly on his door and then slowly eased it open. The large room was empty. The fire had burned down to embers, so she attended to that quickly, resetting it in readiness for the captain’s return later that day. She had spent a great deal of her days in this room until recently and was very familiar with the way the captain preferred it kept—neat to the point of severity.
Absolutely no flowers or feminine touches allowed.
She shook his heavy linen sheets, smoothed them back into place, and plumped his single pillow. He always slept in the exact center of the bed, so she returned the pillow to its expected place. As she turned to gather an empty glass from a side table, her gaze landed on the headboard and then dropped to the locked boxed beneath.
She had nothing to fear from this room, but she still thought of that afternoon last year with mixed feelings. Anger certainly. Embarrassment often. Why did he keep those things and hidden away? Why had touching them made him so angry that he’d spanked her like a misbehaving child?
There was no way to find out without humiliation. The captain was no longer kind to her.
She glanced around the room, checking that everything was in order, and then backed out to the dressing room. She dusted the mantel and side tables, flicked dust off the windowsills, then lifted the window sash high.
She breathed in the thick scents of London, then quickly slammed the windows shut. Today wasn’t the day to air the captain’s rooms. Perhaps tomorrow the smoke of thousands of fires would have blown away.
The work of a servant never ended, and it had been a savage week spent on catching up on forgotten chores, so she moved to the drawing room.
Dawson was waiting, holding a tray. “Fresh tea.”
Matilda stared at him in shock. “Please tell me you didn’t speak to the captain.”
“I didn’t, but you should. I had no idea things had become so bad for you. He will not like it.” He gestured to a nearby table and carried the tea tray there. “Drink and eat what you like.”
Matilda swallowed, just a little nervous of his sudden kindness, but eyed the tray. She was thirsty. “I don’t need it.”
The valet moved closer, eyes fixed on hers but reflecting only concern and kindness. “Drink the tea, Miss Winslow, or it goes to waste out the window. I know what you give up each day to the younger pair. My eyes are opening to what is happening belowstairs, and I believe you and I are of the same mind about the subject of how the servants’ hall is run. Shoddily, indeed. You have barely eaten this past week, and I cannot stand to do nothing about it.”
She had not thought anyone had noticed, but perhaps she wasn’t as circumspect as she hoped. “Very well,” she whispered, hoping the captain would not return and catch her making use of his drawing room like a proper lady. He would truly have a reason to punish her then.
She poured tea into one of the finest cups kept in the house with a tiny worry for the impropriety, added just a single spoon of sugar, and sipped the hot liquid slowly. The tea was a stronger-flavored cup than she was used to receiving in the servants’ hall, and it was wonderful. She was reminded of the comforts of her old home and how much she missed her old life.
“Cake too,” Dawson murmured as he picked up her dusting cloths and attended to the room in her place.
She gobbled the cake quickly, blushing at the hunger that had awakened in her. She set the cup aside carefully when she was done and hurried to him. “Thank you, but that is my duty.”
Dawson smiled broadly. “I’m starting to think it shouldn’t be for much longer.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
His smile was enigmatic as he turned away. “Just wait. I have a feeling things are going to change for the better for everyone ver
y soon.”
With that, he collected the tray and sauntered away, headed for the servants’ staircase.
Four
William approached Matilda quietly, ready to admit defeat and give up trying to avoid her. Everywhere he turned, he always seemed to find her watching him with those soft, unguarded eyes.
She was currently dusting the furniture and had paused to look down the staircase at a commotion in the hall. He peered over her shoulder too, eyes widening in surprise. His half sisters—Victoria, Audrey, and Evelyn—had returned to London and brought their grandfather with them. That his own father had tagged along boded ill for his day being a quiet one.
William had been dreading seeing the old man. “Do you think if I run they can be avoided?”
Matilda started as she’d done every time he’d spoken to her since he’d left his bed a week ago. Even the presence of other servants hadn’t eased her anxiety around him, and he was sorry for that. Did she think that every time he spoke he was about to seduce her or worse? He might yet if she kept up her ridiculous behavior.
She bit her lip and looked away. “Your chances of a clean escape are slim, Captain.”
“I fear you may be right.” William grimaced and then let his eyes linger on Matilda Winslow’s face. There was an air of dejection about her William had never noticed before. Not even when he’d been at death’s door had she appeared so bleak and cast down.
He’d been avoiding her on purpose and wanted the distance to increase this past week. However, the bold woman who’d climbed atop his sickbed and made certain his life was saved had withdrawn too far from him, and he didn’t particularly care for her current demeanor. “Why can’t they be more like you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know what I mean.” He pointed down the stairs. “You are calming. They are not. They fuss about house, moving things.”
His sisters were exhausting, and they chatted incessantly. There was probably no rest for anyone when they were in the house, especially not for the servants.
“They are your sisters, and you should love them no matter what they do.” For a moment he thought she was about to say more on the subject, but then she dipped a wobbly curtsy. “I must get back to my work.”
She moved in the opposite direction, toward another room and escape from him.
Downstairs, other voices drowned out his family, and William peered back over the railing quickly as the butler greeted other callers. When he spotted the balding pate of Mr. Chudleigh’s head and the golden ringlets of his daughter, Miss Maria Chudleigh, his mouth grew dry. Chudleigh was a crony of his father’s and had the most ridiculous plan to see him wed to his only daughter. The pair hadn’t wasted any time in hounding him. Just a week out of his sickbed and they were at his door.
He jerked around as they were led into his ground floor parlor to wait. “Damn this nonsense,” he muttered, wondering how fast he could make an escape from the house.
Maria had come for him, aided by his father’s misguided notion that they would suit, determined to make a scene before his family, profess her love yet again, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to prevent the embarrassment. He’d tried to outrun her once before, but she was particularly devious and swift of foot.
“Is there something you need, Captain?” Mr. Dawson asked as he appeared from the direction of the servants’ stairs, brushing specks of lint from his naval uniform.
William lifted his gaze. Matilda Winslow was poised just inside the drawing room, watching them both with wary eyes.
He wanted Matilda, and he shouldn’t. Not this much.
Dawson glanced at Matilda too, and a slow smile spread over his face. William’s temper rose. Dawson was an excellent valet in every respect save one. He was entirely too interested in Matilda Winslow, and of late he’d had a lot to say on the subject of her continued employment as a maid.
“Put that coat away. The admiralty has no use for me yet.”
Dawson spun around to face him. “Very good, Captain.”
He nodded. He should be furious that he was languishing onshore, but truth be told, he wanted nothing more than to live out the rest of his life in relative peace. As he’d lain in recovery of his wounds, he had pondered if he had possibly given enough blood in the service of his country. If the admiralty never wanted him again, he would lose no sleep at being overlooked for a command.
Dawson cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could have a few moments of your time later, Captain.”
The butler arrived, ready to announce William’s waiting visitors. “Captain, you have guests.”
“I saw them, Carter.” William waved him off with an impatient jerk of his hand. He dismissed Dawson too. “After dinner tonight.”
Whatever problem Dawson had could wait. William had to decide, and quickly, how best to extract himself from the impending family ambush waiting downstairs.
“Thank you.” Dawson hurried away with a decided spring in his step. He frowned after Dawson but was unsurprised by his transparent delight. The man had been hinting all week the servants’ hall was badly managed. He’d suggested changes needed to be made to the household staff sooner rather than later. It was probably time to do something about it. The housekeeper and butler were too set in their ways, and according to Dawson the matter couldn’t wait until William married someone to take care of the trouble for him. The house was inefficiently run, with the bulk of the work falling to only a few. The place needed a woman’s touch.
However, marrying Maria Chudleigh was not part of his plan to fix what ailed his home. He did not find her the least bit appealing. She was too headstrong for what he needed in his life. When the time came, he’d marry someone he liked, a woman willing to be disciplined and capable of running his home with or without his involvement.
He was willing to wait his whole life for her.
A crash farther along the hall caught his attention. Matilda had toppled a vase of flowers. The vase was saved, but water splashed over the mahogany hall table and made quite a mess. He took a pace forward as Matilda simply stared at the slow-dripping water as if she was dazed.
“Miss Winslow,” he murmured in concern. “Are you well?”
“Yes, Captain. Forgive me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and then threw her cloth over the puddle. “I’ll clean this up immediately.”
She was never usually so clumsy, but she had seemed out of sorts today. Tired too. Was it true that most of the work of the house fell to those most dedicated in his service?
He moved toward her as she knelt and dabbed ineffectually at the puddle, exhaling heavily as she worked.
After all she’d done for him, didn’t she deserve something more from life than menial work? He smiled. Perhaps there was a way to solve both his problem and help her escape a life of servitude.
His solution was unorthodox, and if she’d been born a lady he would never suggest it, but if he convinced Maria that he’d taken his maid as a lover and could never be persuaded to give Matilda up, the plague of womanhood might be shocked enough at him—disgusted too, he hoped—to give up her quest to become his wife.
It would be easily confirmed that Matilda had spent a great deal of time with him should enquiries be made. All he needed was Matilda Winslow’s agreement and participation to pull it off.
He strode toward Matilda purposely. “You will do something for me,” he demanded. Matilda stumbled to her feet, but he caught her before she tripped. “Not so fast. I need your help.”
Matilda struggled. “Let me go.”
“No.” He tugged her into his empty dressing room for a private word and shut the door. “You’re going to be my lover from today.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind?”
William cursed under his breath. He had wondered that very thing many times—mostly when Matilda was near. She had the most distracting affect on his speech, causing him to blurt out orders rather than gild them with necessary politeness. He
had to do better than this if he wanted her help. He took a calming breath. “Quite possibly, but it is either convince others that I am hopelessly infatuated with a servant in my employ, or I will be blackmailed into marriage with that woman downstairs.”
Her brow creased and her fear disappeared entirely. “What woman?”
It went against the grain to confide in anyone, but she had to help him. “Miss Maria Chudleigh claims to have acquired a declaration of love from me in writing of all things. She is here now, most likely to advance her claim that we are to marry during the season.”
Her expression soured. “Congratulations.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t recall even meeting Miss Maria on my last visit home, and I sure as hell don’t profess my love for women willy-nilly. No man with any self-respect wears his heart on his sleeve and should not expect to suffer such foolish declarations in return. Miss Chudleigh wrote to discuss our marriage as if it were a fact, but I won’t be blackmailed into a parson’s trap. I would not have chosen her for a bride under any circumstances.”
Matilda’s jaw firmed. “I see.”
“Good. Now, we are not speaking of a lasting union or anything based in fact.” He set his hands on his hips. “I want you to pretend to be in love with me long enough to drive her away, preferably into the arms of another man.”
“Wait just a moment. I did not agree to help you.” Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t possibly lie about being involved with you. What will everyone say?”
“Did you not hint last week that the staff are whispering that I like you too much?”
She blushed. “They will learn the error of their ways soon enough, as I did.”
“If I sent you away to another house, that would suggest I had already tired of you and confirm their suspicions.” He saw her shock at his blunt appraisal. “I’ll pay you very handsomely if you can act the part of lover.”
Her expression shifted to surprise.
“If I have my way, you’ll never need to work as a servant again. Someone else can clean up after you from now on.”
