James (Hot Footman Secrets Book 1)

by Cheryl Dragon

  Mrs. O’Malley had whipped the kitchen into shape while her eldest daughter, a widow of the war named Mrs. Flynn, took to being housekeeper like Fred had taken to the army.

  He strolled down to the kitchen with his cane clicking along for support and found the women working together like the family they were.

  “Ladies. How are things?” he asked.

  “Very well, sir. Bridget is happy to be the kitchen maid. The others will deal with the house.”

  A trio of flamed-haired, freckled girls bobbed a curtsy.

  “No need for that. I’m just a retired army colonel. May I speak with you two alone, Mrs. O’Malley and Mrs. Flynn?”

  The three went to the housekeeper’s sitting room. He took a seat, as did the ladies.

  “Is something wrong with Patrick? He’s very young,” Mrs. O’Malley began nervously.

  “No, not at all. He’s eager to learn and our butler arrives today with the rest of the footmen. James told you about the plan?” Fred asked.

  “James? Mr. Riggs, of course. Yes. I’m glad to have my son in a safe place. Much safer than where he was…working. Before. And you got us out of that terrible place. We can never repay you.” Mrs. O’Malley sniffed into her handkerchief.

  Mrs. Flynn comforted her mother. “We’re safe now. We can work hard and help these men find good employment.”

  “Exactly. Now I will have some parties here that aren’t for hiring. There will be all sorts of gentlemen here, understand? They’ll be to keep up appearances. I’ll warn you about those and I want your daughters to keep together. I don’t want anyone taken advantage of.” Fred couldn’t live with himself if he was worrying about the men but yet one of the young women were brutalized.

  “Oh, we’ll keep an eye on them. They’re young but hard workers,” Mrs. Flynn said.

  “Good.” Fred nodded.

  A knock at the door made them all turn.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Flynn replied.

  Patrick opened the door. “The cars are arriving, Colonel. Mrs. Flynn. Mrs. O’Malley.”

  Mrs. O’Malley grinned with a mother’s pride. Fred nodded. Patrick wasn’t polished enough yet but he was getting the right idea.

  “Thank you. I’ll come up. Have the other men assemble to greet them. James and I need to speak.” Fred headed up.

  “You mean Mr. Riggs, sir?” Patrick asked.

  “Patrick, hush,” Mrs. Flynn scolded.

  “Old habits, Patrick. James was a footman when I met him. Then we knew each other in the war. He moved up to valet while I was healing from my wounds. Work hard and you’ll be Mr. O’Malley one day in a bigger house than this.” Fred took the stairs slowly so he didn’t irritate his scar.

  “Yes, sir.” Patrick beamed with hope.

  Fred made his way to the front door and Patrick opened it, smoothly and well timed. Service was an art. Fred was only grateful there were no more stairs until he went to bed.

  The cars stopped at first near the servants’ entrance but Fred waved and they rolled up to where he stood. Patrick and Charles opened the doors.

  James laughed. “We’re supposed to use the back, sir.”

  “It’s good practice for them. Glad I have three cars.” Fred smiled. “Welcome, everyone. Get settled while Riggs and I make some plans.”

  “We’ll have dinner ready in the servants’ hall in an hour. Sir?” Mrs. O’Malley asked.

  “I’ll dine in my room. We’ll start a schedule tomorrow.” Fred nodded.

  “Very good. Patrick and Paul, show the new men to their rooms. New men, find yourself livery that fits,” Mrs. Flynn said.

  “I thought we take our orders from Mr. Riggs,” Charles questioned, the eyebrow over his remaining eye raised.

  James turned on the men. “Mrs. Flynn is the housekeeper. Mrs. O’Malley the cook. If they tell you to do something, you do it. Timing of meal courses aren’t at your direction. A butler can’t be everywhere and you’re here to serve, carry, and make sure things are perfect. The training begins tomorrow. About half of you have experience so you’ll show the others how to do things. Get your things upstairs to the attics, then come down to eat. Tomorrow the work begins. Six a.m., sharp.”

  “Yes, air,” Paul replied.

  The others grabbed their bags.

  James followed Fred into his library.

  “It’s not much of a sanctuary but I never liked huge libraries. I wasn’t the scholar in the family.” Fred sat the desk and sighed.

  “Your leg, Colonel?” James asked.

  “Stairs are a still a challenge. I’m not going anywhere without the cane. Paul and Patrick are doing well. The women are fine. The others are mostly from a Molly house?”

  Riggs nodded. “About half of the sixteen total are from those places. I wanted to help them. I invited all of the servants I knew. Even Harry. But there weren’t enough.”

  “Harry?” That was the man James was caught with not two months before.

  James nodded. “Yes, he lost his place too. Isn’t that the idea?”

  “It is. I understand. You’ll have your hands full establishing discipline.” Fred paused for a moment, pushing away the feelings of jealousy. James brought his lover. Of course, he would. “There is something I don’t understand about the O’Malleys.”

  “What about the O’Malleys?” James asked.

  “They are good, skilled, and organized. How did they end up in the workhouse?” he inquired.

  James cleared his throat. “Their husbands died in the war. They came to London to find domestic work and Patrick came along. He’s barely eighteen. Mrs. O’Malley had a good job as a cook and the daughters as maids but her son hung around her kitchen a lot. He had an affair with one of the sons in the house. Someone reported it and the son blamed Patrick. The mother begged the owner of the house not to call the police. The tradeoff was they were all fired. No references. The money ran out and they were evicted. With no current references, they landed in the workhouse.”

  “Patrick was in a Molly house?” Fred sat back.

  “He was. He was trying to make enough to pay the rent so he missed the eviction and being sent to the workhouse. He’s a good young man who needs an example and a chance.” James fidgeted with the buttons on his suit.

  “You have a suit for work? Butler appropriate?” Fred smiled.

  James nodded. “I do. You said this place was small. Seems big enough to me.”

  “Compared to my father’s massive country estate, Sherrington Park is a dower house. You worked for an earl for years, Riggs. Father’s butler is a stickler. You were trained as a valet by the best. You had an excellent example as a butler. We don’t have to be that polished and fancy all the time. It’ll be more cigar smoking and war stories. We don’t have to keep things fit for ladies.”

  “Yes, Colonel. I’ll do my best.” James set a small stack of bills on the table.

  “What’s that?” Fred asked.

  “The remains of the money. Everyone has clothes, shoes, and necessities. They were well fed on the journey.” James tapped the money.

  “Good.” Fred counted it and added fifty pounds. “This is that bonus you wanted. Enough for a ticket to America—if this all goes bad. Stash it somewhere safe.”

  James took the money. “Thank you, sir. I hope I never need it.”

  “Me too. Now I should get started on those stairs. See me after dinner. I’ll need help bathing. We can talk over the plan then.” Fred propped himself on the cane and stood.

  “Not Paul?” James asked.

  Fred smiled. “Paul is a good lad. He’s not a trained valet. Once you educate your staff well enough, we can let them take turns helping me dress and undress. Practice and all. But for and once the others have guests to work for, I’d prefer you. All these scars…you understand.”

  “As you wish,” James said.

  “I want to take off this leg and get some air on the skin for a bit,” Fred said.

  “Is the leg not fitting right, sir?” Jam
es asked.

  “It fits. The last incisions are still healing. So much infection. They finally burned the last bit. It itches. A little time and it’ll be a rough old scar and I’ll be up and down the stairs. I just don’t want it to get infected or open up.”

  “We could get a push chair. Carry you up the stairs until it’s healed,” James suggested.

  “No, I can do it. I prefer to do it. While it’s healing I might be in my room more. Take a few more baths than normal. Keep everything clean. The maids know to have fresh sheets daily and scrub things every day as well. This is nothing when I look at poor Charles.” Fred headed for the door.

  “He’s likely best for a groom position.” James opened the door.

  “Train him for everything, like the rest of them. Not everyone has to be as handsome as you.” Fred exited the study and limped toward the stairs as James’ eyes burned into his broad shoulders.

  Paul cleared the dinner tray as James held the door. In his smart new suit James looked like a dream. Even better than his army uniform.

  “Do you have a schedule for tomorrow, Riggs?” Fred asked.

  He nodded. “Just like the army. Walk them through it. Drill them until it’s perfect. Start with those that know the routine and the others shadow those with experience. We have one experienced groom so Charles and a couple others will shadow him and learn all the ins and outs before we train them on household duties.”

  “Good. The agent hired enough farmhands locally to handle the livestock but the horses are for the hunting parties. Do all of the men drive?” Fred rubbed his stump.

  “All but three so we can do that training last. Not a rush. Did you want me to run your bath?” James asked.

  “Yes.” Fred removed his shirt and tossed it aside.

  “Is something the matter, Colonel?”

  Fred shook his head. He could ask why James brought his lover but that would be foolish. Far too private a matter to pry into as well. Then again, Fred could ask James if he planned to try to be hired on with his lover at another estate so they could be together. Also a private matter, but a practical question from an employer. Fred would need someone else to be butler, valet, and co-conspirator to oversee the scheme with him.

  He didn’t ask either question. The odds were this might fall apart. The young men might prefer the Molly house to servant work and leave. The privileged men might demand or expect sex on top of typical services performed. It could all blow up in his face.

  James prepared the bath. Fred slid off the last scrap of clothing, then reached for his crutches.

  “Don’t worry about that,” James said.

  “I can get there on my own,” Fred replied.

  James stalked over and picked Fred up like it was nothing. Both men had carried fallen men to help during the war. Since his injury, Fred had learned to bite his tongue rather than feel sorry for himself.

  “I hope you follow orders better in front of your staff,” Fred quipped.

  Fred caught James’ almost smile that he quickly corrected.

  “Sorry, sir. You can’t rush the healing process. No reason to put your joints out here in private. I could never think less of you for needing a hand or two.”

  Fred inhaled deeply. He knew James’ scent. Before Fred could enjoy the moment, James slowly lowered the colonel into the bath.

  “Temperature good?” James asked.

  “Yes, the heat is supposed to help.” Fred leaned back. “I wondered why my father had the plumbing and electricity overhauled here last year. At least we have the conveniences.” Fred focused on anything but the hot as sin man watching him.

  James handed Fred soap and a cloth. “Do you need help?”

  “No, I want to keep active and self-reliant. As much as I can.” Fred rubbed the soap in the cloth, his hands positioned to cover his privates.

  “Of course, with practice and strengthening your arms and remaining leg you’ll be able to manage this easily. But with soap, there is no reason to risk it.” James stared at the wall.

  “Perhaps we should address what happened during the war,” Fred said.

  “Sir?” James glanced down at Fred but didn’t make eye contact.

  James seemed to be studying Fred’s arms. For one heart-stopping moment he was afraid his butler wouldn’t even remember what was burned in his mind forever.

  “I don’t expect anything from you. This is a working relationship and I hope we can be friends. We’re partners in this scheme,” Fred said.

  “Oh, the kiss.” James looked away, his cheeks reddening. “I didn’t think you had any expectations, sir. During war things happen.”

  “Shame it didn’t happen before the war,” Fred teased, the other man’s bashfulness buoying his confidence.

  James frowned. “It was a lapse in control. I wasn’t built for killing. Adjusting to war. I apologize. In the end, I didn’t think someone from your world could be serious about a servant.”

  Fred chuckled. “That’s madness. We’re all at the level we’re born to by the luck of the draw. Didn’t the war teach you no man is better than another? Rich men died as easily as poor ones. God didn’t spare them.”

  “That’s true, but we are back in an ordered society and no matter what the Americans think, those lines aren’t so easily crossed here.” James reached for a cloth. “I’ll wash your back.”

  “If you like.” Fred sat forward. “I made some American friends during the war. Maybe I’ll invite them to stay for a bit?”

  The feel James’ hands on his bare flesh made all the pain in his stump and aches in his joints vanish. It was nothing a valet wouldn’t do for anyone who needed it but Fred couldn’t help but savor the sensation of those fingers gliding across his heated skin

  “Americans have plenty of things to hunt in their own country, sir,” James said.

  Fred chuckled. “You know you speak properly when you’re uniform and less so when you’re not?”

  “Apologies for my prior lapse,” James said.

  Fred turned. “What? I’ve know you over ten years. We saved each other during the war. I get it -- how it has to be in public. Even at the club, with Paul in and out of the room. But here…you can’t just be a friend?”

  “Those lines are not to be crossed. I was well trained by your father’s butler, as you pointed out,” James said, refusing to meet Fred’s gaze.

  “Am I taking time away from you and your lover? What is with this cold treatment now? We’re in this together. You’ll carry me but because my father is an earl, I’m the enemy? I thought the war had done more for the world than this.” Fred snatched the cloth back.

  “I can’t train these young men about boundaries and duties if I can’t follow those rules myself.” James dried his hands on a towel.

  Fred washed himself. “We also need to foster and display trust between servant and employer. In these instances, we want the servant to be able to rely on their employer and the reverse for their mutual protection.”

  “I understand. I’ll try to find a better boundary, sir.” James lifted a pitcher of warm water.

  After Fred washed his hair, he nodded to James.

  The water rinsed his hair and slid down his body. “Thank you. Now let me see if I can stand.”

  “Sir,” James protested.

  “Get my robe. You want to play by the rules? Do as you’re told.” Fred made sure his hands weren’t soapy before he gripped either side of the tub. Both knees flexed as if ready. Fred had to remind himself that one knee wasn’t there anymore. He had to balance on one. Sooner or later, he had to try it.

  He wasn’t weak, far from it, but months of being off his foot and under medical care had lessened his once reliable strength. His balance would never be the same and he tried to compensate mentally before he even tried to stand.

  James held up the robe but there was no hiding Fred’s erection. His foot planted, he stood up, carefully balancing. He was fine—proud of his body finally obeying his will. Then he shifte
d to put an arm in the robe and his knee locked. There was nowhere to go but down—onto James.

  Grabbing James’ shoulders, Fred instinctively turned his body. James’ hands came and braced Fred’s hips. They were a whisper from the kiss they’d once shared.

  “Sorry,” Fred said.

  “No need.” James swept Fred into his arms and carried him to the bed. He discreetly let the robe fall on Fred’s lap.

  “I have to practice.” Fred sighed as his heart raced in his chest. Was it the near fall or the nearness of James?

  James. Fred had seen plenty of men stuck in push chairs or blinded by gas. He was lucky. He could live a more or less normal life

  “Yes, sir. It’s good that nothing but your leg was damaged.” James fetched a towel and handed it to Fred.

  Fred patted himself dry since the robe meant to help him dry was in his lap now.

  “You mean my knob?” Fred smirked. “I was lucky. No muscle or nerve damage that high up. Were you worried?”

  James’ cheeks burned. “No man wants to lose that.”

  “True, but no man has been near that since before the war. It’s not a pretty scar. At least it was just the one leg. I will not be melancholy over it.” Fred dried his stump and reached for the jar of salve.

  “Let me.” James grabbed it first.

  “No, if I needed a nurse I’d hire one. All I need is a valet with a strong back for now.” Fred moved the towel to expose the scarred flesh anyway, his pride waning at the promise of James’ fingers on his skin again.

  “We’ve both seen worse.” James applied salve gently over the healing areas.

  Why would James touch Fred more than he had to? Fred fought the arousal that felt like torture. “An earl’s money will buy you the best doctors. I was lucky.”

  “Paul must’ve seen your scar.” James apparently ignored the remark about the earl.

  “Dressing me and helping me bathe, yes. He’s nothing more than a servant. Maybe a friend in time but not like you. Or like you and Harry.” Fred tried to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

  James seemed to relax slightly. “It’s not my business if you have a lover.”

  “I don’t. I can’t get involved with any of the staff. I must set a good example,” Fred said.