When I'm with You

by Kimberly Nee

  “Fair enough. I’ll agree, in that he strikes me as odd as well.” Martha, whose hair was an unruly mass of dark curls, chuckled. “I’m always amazed at how you keep all that hair tucked up so well. How do you manage?”

  “A lot of pins.” She made quick work of braiding her hair into a single plait.

  Martha waited until Katie climbed into her bed before blowing out the candle to plunge them into friendly darkness. Katie stared up into it as the weariness from a long day sank into her.

  The silence was peaceful, even if her thoughts weren’t. They were scattered and wild, like a nest of birds disturbed by an intruder. Without warning, they took off screaming in half a dozen different directions, and she lost her hold on all of them.

  To make matters worse, a deep, even breathing came across the room. Martha was already asleep, no doubt dreaming of her upcoming wedding and new life with Robert.

  She had one more thing to envy about Martha now—her ability to sleep so easily. Sleep refused to come to Katie.

  “What made it so wonderful?”

  “Captain Sebastiano. We’re going to be married, you know.”

  She scowled at the ceiling. It wasn’t too difficult to see herself uttering those same words. Apparently she’d once been foolish enough to believe people might see her for more than just what she had done in order to survive.

  It wasn’t meant to be.

  They had whispered about her. Pointed at her. One fine lady had actually dragged her daughter away from Katie, as if the girl might catch something simply by sharing a walkway with her. She had tried not to let them get to her, but all that pretending was tiring. It was partly why she had chosen to leave St. Phillippe. In Bermuda, no one knew and so no one judged. They saw her for what she was now, not what she had been a year ago. The woman she had been a year ago was dead. Katie had every intention of making certain that remained the truth.

  Hopefully, she’d be able to survive Rafe marrying another just as well. Compared to that, living with her secret would be the easiest thing she’d ever had to do.

  Chapter Six

  One of the blessings about working in a house the size of Marchand Hall was that the work was never finished, as Katie wouldn’t know what to do with herself without work to keep her busy. There was always something that needed cleaning, mending, replacing or polishing, and there was always a crisis of some sort. Thankfully, those usually happened in the kitchens, outside Katie’s domain. She could hear Mrs. North’s shrill voice from halfway across the great hall, and it had a way at plucking along her spine until her eyes almost watered. That was not a blessing.

  But for the most part the house ran smoothly, and as Katie glanced over at Martha, she smiled. A smoothly-run house was a wonderful place to be in service. Right now, they were in the library, which was one of her favorite rooms. They sat on the floor, polishing the vases and urns on display. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the ocean and were currently open to let in the warm breeze.

  Lucy came in to stack the fresh firewood on the grate. She was small and pale, and, as the most recent addition to the staff, she was also on the timid side. Remembering what it was like to be the newcomer, Katie came over to the hearth, dust rag in hand, and took down the small walnut clock from the mantle.

  “Good morning, Lucy.” She ran her cloth over the gleaming wood. “How’re you settling in?”

  Lucy’s thin shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “Thi’ house is so big. I got lost twice yesterday an’ Mrs. North nearly screamed herself hoarse when I finally got back to the kitchen. How d’you keep from losing your direction?”

  Martha looked up from a particularly ugly green-and-yellow floral vase. “I counted doors. The bachelors’ quarters were by far the worst. Too many rooms by half. And I never wanted to get lost down there. Too many bachelors.”

  “Oh, but how much time did you spend there?” Katie grinned.

  Lucy’s cheeks flushed dull red, but Martha laughed. “Enough. Especially when Mr. Andrews was here. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”

  Lucy looked over at Katie. “Who is Mr. Andrews?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest. He was before my time.” The clock thunked against the mantle as she set it down. “But it sounds as if he was quite easy to look at. One you wouldn’t mind becoming lost for. Even in the bachelors’ quarters.”

  They all burst into giggles, even Lucy.

  “Good morning, Martha, Katie.” Lord Marchand’s voice boomed out like a cannon ball across the library to make them all jump in unison. “And you too, although I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  Lucy’s cheeks burned even brighter as she dipped into a curtsey. “Lucy, m’lord.”

  “Lucy…ah…” Marchand’s eyes narrowed. From a distance, they looked as dark as black pearls. He nodded in recognition. “You work with Mrs. North. What the deuce are you doing up here?”

  “Stacking firewood, m’lord.” Lucy’s hands trembled as she tried to set another log on the stack. Katie flinched and Martha sucked in a sharp breath as the topmost log teetered and then toppled over. Lucy looked as if she was about to burst into tears as her carefully-created pyramid lost its balance and every last stick of wood crashed down from the grate to roll across the hearthrug.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord!” Lucy’s voice cracked to a shrill squeak as she dove in a fruitless attempt at stopping the cascade. The harder she tried, the worse the mess became. It wasn’t pretty, with wood spilling across the hearthrug and the grate upended. In her haste to mitigate the damage, she got caught up in her trailing hem and fell face-first into the fray. Katie flinched, embarrassed for the girl as the Earl stared down at her with a mixture of amusement and pity.

  She and Martha dropped their dust rags and hurried to help as Lord Marchand said, “There now, girl. Easy now. No harm done. It’s nothing but a bit of wood on the hearthrug. Nothing that cannot be fixed or swept up.”

  “I’m s-sorry, m’lord!” A thick sob wrapped about Lucy’s words as she glanced up and then back down almost as quickly. Katie knelt beside her, seeing the girl’s now fiery-red cheeks were wet and her hands shook so badly that the logs kept rolling off. She took the pieces from Lucy to stack herself, so they wouldn’t be there until the next century.

  “No need for tears, Lucy,” she whispered, giving Lucy’s shoulder a squeeze as Martha rounded up a few more logs. “His Lordship isn’t such a tyrant that he’ll fire you for this.”

  “I dinna mean to make such a mess.” Lucy swiped at her cheeks with the backs of both hands. Leather creaked behind them—Lord Marchand making himself comfortable on his favorite sofa near the windows, no doubt—and Martha joined them at the hearth, her arms laden with stray firewood.

  “It’s hardly a disaster,” Martha said, stacking her wood back on the grate. “By this afternoon, his Lordship will have forgotten all about it. Now, dry your eyes and get back to the kitchen before Mrs. North has kittens.”

  Lucy swiped at her face again, stacked the rest of the wood without incident and practically ran from the room. As soon as she was gone, Lord Marchand clicked his tongue against his teeth and muttered, “Foolish chit. Where’d North find that one?”

  Katie exchanged glances with Martha, who cleared her throat. “Was that directed at us, m’lord?”

  “What?” Marchand’s brow creased as he looked at them with bemusement. Then he shook his head. “No. Just thinking aloud.”

  Leather creaked again, and as she went back to her dusting, Katie watched him move from the sofa to the shelves. He plucked down a thin volume and tucked it beneath his arm. “I’ll be in the breakfast room.”

  Martha had moved on to clean the windows now. Sunlight gleamed through the sparkling panes, bounced across the beautiful Oriental carpets of purple, green and gold. Everything in the room gave the impression of being larger than life, from the floor-to
-ceiling shelves lining two of the walls, to the wide polished columns that appeared to hold up the ceiling and the massive palmetto plants dotting the perimeter. It was huge and airy, and sometimes Katie wished she could curl up on one of the exquisite, gilt-edged sofas and while away several hours reading from one of the thick volumes.

  A sigh touched her lips as she crouched and flicked her cloth over the legs of one table. Unless she greatly improved, the chances of her reading much more than a grocery list were nil. She still stumbled over the simplest of words, which frustrated her to no end. Two nights earlier, Martha had actually scolded her because, in a temper, Katie had flung the book across the room, scratching its leather cover, and the volume was one of his Lordship’s tomes. “Martha?”

  “Yes?”

  She straightened up, and her knees and spine cracked in unison. “Do you think we might have a chance to work on my reading tonight?”

  “I don’t see why not. As long as you promise not to throw anything like you did the night we snuck in here to read one of his Lordship’s books.”

  “I promise. I feel terrible about what happened to that poor crystal duck. It didn’t deserve such an ending.”

  “As do I. I told his Lordship a strong wind must have blown it off its shelf, but I don’t think he believed me.”

  “It’s just so frustrating. When I want to do something, I just want to be able to do it. This struggle drives me mad. It seems I’ll never master reading.”

  Martha swiped at one of the lower panes. “You will. You just need to be patient. When you start to get frustrated, count to ten. Take a deep breath. Get up and go for a walk. The more you fight, the harder it becomes.”

  “The same could be said of a lot of things.”

  With her back to the doorway, Katie couldn’t see who’d come into the library, but it didn’t matter. She would know the low rumble of Rafe’s voice in the darkness. It made her back straighten just a little, and she turned to find him standing in the doorway. Unlike Lord Marchand, who was never without frock coat and cravat, Rafe tended to dress down, more like he had aboard his ship. His buff-colored breeches were obviously sewn from fine fabric, but they looked soft and comfortable, and his shirt of white lawn set off the duskiness of his sun-kissed skin. The neck of his shirt was open, probably more than was considered modest, and he wore neither waistcoat nor frock coat. Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him in a cravat.

  And no woman with a pulse would ever complain about his lack of fashionable attire.

  “Have either of you ladies seen Lord Marchand?” As his gaze alit on her, Katie swore she felt a spark, as if he’d actually touched her. Silly, of course, but it made her breath catch. From the corner of her eye, she caught the odd look Martha shot her way, and it was enough to make her shake off her idiocy. “He’s in the breakfast room, Captain Sebastiano.”

  “Thank you.” Rafe flashed her the same grin that was probably responsible for weak female knees from here to St. Phillippe and all points between, and turned to leave them both staring after him.

  “I could eat him with a spoon,” Martha said in a low voice. “Just eat him right up. He’s so beautiful.”

  That was exactly how Katie felt. A slow spoon, if there even was such a thing. Rafe was striking, and he knew it, and he was the sort to use it to his advantage at every turn. She swallowed hard, still staring at the now-empty doorway. “He’s going to marry Lady Sally.”

  The words sounded hollow and odd. Hopefully, when he and Lady Sally married, they would live far from Marchand Hall. Perhaps Rafe would even insist they live on St. Phillippe. Katie wasn’t sure she was strong enough to look at the happy couple every day if they took up residence in Marchand Hall. She felt ill just thinking about Rafe and Lady Sally together. How on earth would she cope with it when the thought became reality?

  “Isn’t she just the lucky duck?” Martha turned back to her windows, scrubbing at nonexistent grime. “I think she might use a silver spoon to eat him up.”

  Yes. Lady Sally was the lucky duck. Beautiful. Wealthy. Titled. With silver spoons at her beck and call.

  Lady Sally was acceptable. Katie frowned. Acceptable.

  She didn’t want to dwell. It changed nothing and never would.

  “Excuse me?”

  Katie looked up, and this time her heart skipping a beat had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with outright fear.

  Captain Inigo Sebastiano stood in the doorway of the library, a pleasant smile on his face. He was actually rather nice-looking, with silvery hair that was just a little longer than was fashionable and the unusual amber eyes he’d passed on to several of his children, including Rafe.

  Her mouth went painfully dry, and her heart beat so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it. In a panic, she whipped away from him as if he’d thrown something at her and practically dove into the hearth under the pretense of cleaning the marble around it.

  “Is everything all right?” Inigo asked.

  “Fine.” Katie tried to make her voice deeper, which hurt a little and most likely earned her two very puzzled stares. She scrubbed even harder at the marble. Go away, she thought feverishly. Please, please go away.

  “I’m looking for—”

  “His Lordship has already gone into the breakfast room,” Martha supplied in a cheerier-than-usual voice. Katie flinched. Martha was trying to cover for her. How was she going to explain her odd behavior to her? Where did she even begin?

  “Thank you.”

  Katie stared down into the grate, which was already clean despite Lucy’s mishap with the wood, and prayed fervently for the elder Captain Sebastiano to take his leave. She didn’t think there was too great a chance he would recognize her, as he and Rafe’s mother had only gotten the briefest glimpses of her. Neither one had really looked at her. Not only had both been nearly apoplectic with fury, but between her painted face and gaudy, low-cut gown, they’d known what she was and had only wanted her out of their house as quickly as possible.

  Still, she feared it happening just the same. She rubbed at nonexistent soot with her dusty rag, the spot just between her shoulder blades burning from what she was sure was Captain Sebastiano’s intense stare. She could almost hear the thoughts whirring inside his head, although that was quickly drowned out by the rush of her own blood. Her heartbeat sped up to send her pulse pounding through her temples, and the earth swam before her. She tried breathing deeply, tried willing her panic to subside, but it grew steadily worse.

  “Katie?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut at Martha’s voice. Now Captain Sebastiano knew her name. Next, he’d squint at her—or so she imagined, since she couldn’t see him—and say, “Katie? Not the same trollop I ordered from my house last winter? Not the whore my son brought under my roof?”

  “Katie? Are you all right?” Skirts rustled and a gentle hand came down onto her shoulder. “Katie? What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “Is he gone?” The words came out as a bitter croak.

  “The Captain? Yes. He’s going to the breakfast room, I’d assume. Why?”

  Why hadn’t she heard him leave? His boots should’ve echoed through the room, yet she hadn’t heard the retreating footfalls. At least she was safe now. The roar in her ears died down. The dots stopped their mad dancing before her eyes. “No reason.”

  Katie looked up to find Martha staring at her with a look of utter disbelief. Her forehead wrinkled, her eyes narrowed and she said, “Really?” in a way that was almost a snort.

  Katie’s knees finally gave and she sank onto her backside, welcoming the coolness of the chilly marble as it seeped into her skirts. Martha leaned forward, brushing a loose lock from Katie’s face. “You look as if you’ve seen your own grave, Katie. What on earth is wrong?”

  Katie often wished she could unburden herself, but had never felt it as much a
s she did right then. Carrying secrets was such a tiring business. Yet she couldn’t. Martha would hate her, would sneer at her, just as so many on St. Phillippe had. She would look down on Katie as being lower than the lowest insect, and Katie would lose one of the only friends she’d ever had.

  She couldn’t bear such a thing.

  She leaned back against the mantel. She hated lying, but there was really nothing else she could do. “I used to know him. He was my last employer.”

  “Really? So why wouldn’t you want him to see you? Did you part on bad terms?”

  “No. Well…yes. Yes, I suppose we did.” Inwardly, she cringed. One lie led to another, and now she’d have to remember this story as long as she was in service at Marchand Hall. “He—”

  She stumbled. What could he have possibly done to make her not want him to recognize her? It would have to be something believable, because the reality of the situation was that Captain Sebastiano was a very personable man, and from the little she’d seen of his servants, they all seemed very happy and content to work for him.

  “Oh, Katie… Did he—” Martha’s voice dropped to a scandalized whisper, “—try something? Like…paw you?”

  The thought alone was enough to make her want to laugh. She didn’t know him well, of course, but she didn’t take him for someone to try and dally with any lady other than his wife. Considering what Rafe had told her of his family, no one else would think it possible either.

  But, of course, she couldn’t tell Martha that. Damn the lies. If the time came she was free of all this, she swore she would never tell another lie. Not ever.

  God forgive me.

  Rubbing her eyes with one hand, Katie nodded. “He tried to steal a kiss, when his wife was ill. Terribly ill.”

  “He did?” Shock electrified Martha’s words. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “What did you do?”

  “I kicked him in the leg. Hard. And I nearly took the skin from his cheek with my hand, I slapped him so hard.” She smiled as if it’d actually happened. “And that was the end of that. I gave my notice that evening and left.”