by Esther Hatch
The numbers had taken twice as long as they typically did. Focusing had never been a problem for Anthony, but he found that wasn’t the case now. He kept thinking of women he could ask to dance a few extra times, who wouldn’t read into his interactions with them. The truth was, he didn’t know any of them well enough to be certain they wouldn’t take his actions seriously. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped into a marriage that wouldn’t further his father’s position in society. The Duke of Wellington was a good friend of Father’s. And although he would never admit it, Father had always blamed his low birth for the fact that Wellington had received a title while he had remained General Woodsworth.
Father hadn’t climbed the ranks from grenadier to general by being satisfied with what life had given him. He always wanted more, not just for himself but for his children too. Howard, Anthony’s brother, had been rising in the ranks as quickly as was humanly possible. It was no secret that their father had expected Howard to be titled one day.
But Howard was no longer here. And at her death Mother had made Anthony promise he would never join the army. That left him to find some other way to make his father proud.
He’d made a list of women whom he could possibly show interest toward to satisfy Miss Morgan’s plan. It had six names on it, but all had been scribbled out one by one. One name he had written and blotted out three times: Mrs. Barton, formerly Miss Grace Sinclair. His childhood friend. She was the only woman on the list he knew well enough to feel that he would be able to explain his predicament and she wouldn’t judge or laugh. She would simply help. But she was married, and he was quite certain her husband wouldn’t agree to such a plan. Rumor had it Mr. Barton had once come to blows with a lord for speaking too long with his wife.
That left no one. Perhaps just ignoring Miss Morgan would be enough. He rubbed his forehead. It was going to have to be. The last thing he wanted was to hurt a young, unsuspecting lady or end up committing to marry someone who would bring no honor to the Woodsworth name.
He folded the last of his papers and reached into the desk for his sealing wax so he could mail them to his father. Instead of the smooth rectangle of wax he was expecting, he found the broken pieces and lumps that had been pushed together until they held the rough shape of a small pinecone. Had that maid kept using his wax even after he told her to put it away?
He rang the bell that sat on his desk. And then he waited. He rang the bell again. Would he have to go seek out Mrs. Bates? He rose just as the door opened.
It was the new maid.
He held the wax out in his hand but then quickly covered it up with his fingers.
“You called, sir?”
Anthony sat back down. “Yes, I did. Several times.”
Her chin was still held high, and she didn’t apologize. Anthony had the sudden urge to apologize for interrupting whatever she had been doing. It was ridiculous.
“I’m afraid I have yet to hear your name.”
“It is Patience.”
“Patience?”
“Yes, as in ‘you may need a lot of Patience if you call for me while we are in the middle of cleaning out the grates.’”
“That is what took you so long?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t call him “sir,” and there was no contrition in her voice. She acted as if she were the lady and he the servant. If it weren’t for the smudge of soot on her cheek and her ill-fitting dress, she could look like a lady. Her dark, fiery hair was tucked into a red stained cap, but the cap hadn’t managed to contain it. Tight, unruly curls framed her face and stuck to her neck. Cleaning the grates must require some effort. He hadn’t thought of it before. Her hair looked very different from the first time he had met her. It had been pulled up in a rather elegant style like he had seen on ladies about town. He hadn’t seen a color like it before. It was dark and almost brown, but when it caught any light at all, it would light up like a flame. He cocked his head to the left. With the right clothing and a maid to tame that unruly hair . . .
“May I ask you a question, Patience?”
The corner of her mouth quirked as he used her name.
“Please.” Again she smiled. Her mouth was so broad, as if it was made for laughing.
“Have you ever wished to be a lady?”
Her smile faltered for a moment, and her eyes went wide. “Honestly?” she asked.
“Yes, honestly.”
“Well.” Her eyes lit up, and one corner of her mouth rose. “I can honestly say that no, I have never wished to be a lady.”
“You wouldn’t want someone to clean your grates for you, so you wouldn’t have to do it?”
“First of all, I am not cleaning my grates. I am cleaning your grates, and yes, I would rather a servant did that for me, but it doesn’t mean I’m not capable.”
Anthony slid open his desk drawer and replaced the broken wax. “Did I say you weren’t capable?”
“No, but it seems like the way you look at me, you think I’m not capable.”
“I look at you that way?”
“Yes, like I shouldn’t be a maid, and then you say something like that. Would I rather someone else cleaned the grates? Of course I would.” Her sweeping eyebrows furrowed together. “But that doesn’t mean I want to go around acting like some sort of lady. I am working diligently and doing everything Mrs. Bates asks me to do.”
He forced down a smile. One of her red-stained hands was at her hip as she spoke to him. She was acting exactly like a lady would. If anything, she was even more insolent than a lady would be. No servant had ever talked back to him like this in his life. If she were any other servant, he would put her in her place. Or at least tell Mrs. Bates to train her better. But he found that his goal was to convince her to be on his side, and he had a feeling reprimanding her wouldn’t help things go in his favor.
Anthony rose, walked around his desk, and leaned the back of his legs against it, then folded his arms. It was a much more casual stance than he was used to, but he felt it might put the young maid at ease. Plus, he was tired of looking up at her. “You haven’t dreamed of being a lady, but have you perhaps pictured yourself at a ball, dancing with striking young gentlemen?”
For the first time since she had entered the room so belatedly, she cast her hazel eyes downward but only for a moment before they flashed back up. “What woman hasn’t dreamed of that? Yes, I have thought dancing with gentlemen would be enjoyable, but that doesn’t mean I am too naive or careless to take care of myself.”
All he had done was ask if she had wanted to dance with gentlemen. He hadn’t expected such a reaction. Perhaps he was being foolish, and picking one of the half-dozen ladies of his acquaintance would be a better choice. But those ladies came with expectations he wasn’t in a position to fill. He had no idea how such a bizarre maid had passed Mrs. Bates’s approval, but she was perfect. Cleaned up, she would be as beautiful as any young lady at any upcoming ball. And she already held herself as if she was better than anyone else around her.
“I want you to come with me to the Simpsons’ ball next week. I should like you to pretend to be a lady.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes teared up. Anthony stood tall. He was making the funny maid’s dream come true. She would have an evening to dance with him and perhaps a few other gentlemen. But mostly with him. It would be something she could tell her children about one day. And there would be no part of her that would think he could be interested in courting her. It was the perfect plan. And her touching reaction solidified his certainty that he had chosen wisely.
Until she dropped her hand and burst out laughing.
***
Patience wiped a tear from her eye and tried to stand up straight. “You would like me to pretend to do what?” she asked. Perhaps she had heard wrong.
Mr. Woodsworth’s frown lines were back. He narrowed his eyes
as he watched for her reaction. “I want you to pretend to be a lady.”
“I cannot do that,” she said, biting her cheeks to keep herself from laughing again. She had only been pretending to be a maid for three days, and now she was being asked to pretend to be a lady? If only Nicholas could see her now.
“You do yourself a disservice by saying so. I actually don’t think it will take much work to get you up to snuff.”
“You don’t? Well that is a relief.” She exaggerated a large sigh before continuing. She couldn’t help it. She needed to know exactly where this stiff young man felt she was lacking. “What things, exactly, need improvement?”
He eyed her up and down. “Your clothing, for certain. And that may be a problem. It will be quite awkward for me to find clothing for you. But I will find a way. And your accent, we will have to fix that. Where exactly are you from?”
Where was Rebecca from? Somewhere in London. Patience had done her best to roll her words like Rebecca did, but she knew she wasn’t doing it perfectly. “You think all it takes to be a lady is a nice set of clothing and a proper accent?”
“No, it takes more than that, obviously. Deportment, carriage, a suitable family. You will have to pretend.”
“Pretend? You want me to pretend to have deportment?” Deportment had been hammered into her since she was six years old.
“You’ve worked for ladies and seen how they act. Do you think it possible?”
“I think I could manage,” she said with a hand half-covering her smile.
“You would have to speak more clearly as a lady.”
She removed her hand from her mouth and dropped Rebecca’s accent. “Whether or not I can act like a lady is beside the point. I’m afraid you have asked the wrong maid for help. I am still working on the tasks I need to do here. I don’t have time to also be a lady.”
Mr. Woodworth unfolded his arms and practically sat down on the desk behind him. After blinking a few times he returned to his more typical, soldier-like stance.
“That accent is perfect.” He marched closer to her. “I will allow you extra time for this work. After all, you are in my father’s employ. I will make sure Mrs. Bates makes you available when needed.”
“Would I be married or unmarried?”
“Most definitely unmarried.”
“If you would like me to be unmarried and yet still a lady, there aren’t many positions in society that title a single woman. What would you have me be? The daughter of a duke?”
His stiff demeanor faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly, his spine once again straight and on his face an impassive, proper frown. “Of course not. I don’t mean a lady by title. I mean a lady in deportment. Besides,” he scoffed, “no one would believe that. The key to deception is to make it believable.”
Well, it was a relief to know her maid’s disguise was working, even if it stung the slightest bit to think Mr. Woodsworth didn’t think she qualified as a lady. “Well, thank goodness for that. There aren’t many dukes floating around.”
“His Grace, Duke of Harrington, has a sister that will be coming out this Season. What was her name? The family name is Kendrick, but I can’t recall her Christian name.”
“I won’t pretend to be her.”
“I just said you shouldn’t pretend to be a lady in her own right. Of course you wouldn’t pretend to be her. That would be a very bad plan indeed. Although, I would love to see the looks on Mr. and Mrs. Morgan’s faces if I did gain her interest.” The corners of his lips turned up, but he quickly schooled his features. He walked back to his desk and straightened a few papers even though they didn’t need it. “The prospect is ridiculous. It bears no more thinking on.”
“Ridiculous that a lady would be interested in you or ridiculous for me to pretend to be her?”
He turned and caught her eyes. “Both.”
“You aren’t bad looking, you know. And your father is very impressive. I wouldn’t say it was that ridiculous”
He waved his hand. “I don’t actually walk in the same circles as dukes. It truthfully isn’t even in the realm of possibility.”
That was good news, at least. Hopefully she wouldn’t run into anyone who knew Nicholas. No. She wouldn’t run into anyone because she wasn’t going to go along with Mr. Woodsworth’s plan. How could she?
“Why is it so hard for you to believe a lady like that could be interested in you?” Patience asked. Mr. Woodsworth was serious and rather boring, but there was something striking about his intense blue eyes. Indeed, she found him almost pleasant looking despite all the frown lines around his mouth.
He narrowed one eye. “Trust me, I would have no chance. I have looked over all possible matches for someone in my position, and an engagement to Miss Morgan is already more than I should be able to attain with my background.”
Nicholas put General Woodsworth on a pedestal almost as high as the Queen. Patience highly doubted Mr. Woodsworth’s calculations could be correct. “But your father is General Woodsworth. I would think that would count for much.” He could find someone higher ranked than the cousin of a duke. Patience wished she knew this Miss Morgan. Hopefully she would make Mr. Woodsworth happy.
“My father started in the army as a grenadier. He was only given that position because of his size, not because of any connections, and his first few rank advancements were due to survival more than anything. He married my mother, who was a maid. And while my mother may have argued that there was no position in society high enough for the likes of her son, my father has taught me that the best plans are those that have attainable goals.”
Attainable goals? Mr. Woodsworth talked of Miss Morgan as if she were nothing but a step in a well-laid plan. But he had also seemed sincere during his proposal. Was he that great of an actor, or did he truly love this Miss Morgan? “So, you have chosen Miss Morgan as your bride-to-be because you are a social climber and you believe the cousin of a duke is as high of a position you could tempt to marry you?”
“No, of course not. It isn’t just the cousin. Her aunt, the Duchess of Penramble, has a Scottish—” He stopped and ran his fingers through his perfectly contained hair. Some of it fell forward from his motion, and he instantly looked more approachable. “Suffice it to say if I don’t make things work out with Miss Morgan, I’m not certain another opportunity like her would arise.”
“I’m quite certain most women wouldn’t like to be looked at as opportunities.”
“Perhaps in your world and the world my father came from, you may be right, but among the ranked and those who are trying to hold a position in society, I’m afraid it is a reality.”
Patience looked down at her stained hands. That was one benefit of being a maid she hadn’t thought of. When she returned home and was presented at court, is this what men would think of her? Only someone to increase their social standing? She had always supposed she would be able to find a person who felt a true draw to her as a person. Someone she could be happy with when it was time for her to marry. What if all men were like Mr. Woodsworth—only looking to forward their holdings or increase their position in society?
“I’m not sure what you are planning, but I won’t do it. I don’t like the idea of deception. And it sounds like you are trying to deceive this Miss Morgan of yours. Do you want me to spend time with her to try to influence her opinion of you? Or do you think, perhaps, that by paying attention to another woman, she will come visit you alone in your library, like you thought she did the other day?”
He walked around his desk and sat down. Leaning forward, he rubbed his forehead with his hand as a faint redness made its way up his neck. “I don’t know what I was thinking that day. Of course Miss Morgan would never visit me. I’m sorry you had to witness that. And no, I am not deceiving Miss Morgan. She is the one who asked me to find another woman to show interest in.”
This was Miss Morga
n’s idea? Why in the world would she do that? And what possessed Mr. Woodsworth to agree? She must be a very beautiful specimen to have made this otherwise stiff and controlled man desperate in a library and now willing to deceive all of London with a so-called maid.
“The two of you have a very interesting relationship.”
“I know. Will you do it?”
“Why would she want you to show interest in another woman?”
“To make her parents worry she will lose me as a suitor. Will you help me?” He brushed off Miss Morgan’s plan as if it was the most reasonable idea in the world.
“This seems like a terrible idea.”
“I’m not asking you to assess Miss Morgan’s ideas.” Mr. Woodsworth frowned. “I am asking you if you will go to this one ball. We will see after that whether it is even necessary for you to go to any others.”
“I don’t understand why you are asking me. Any other woman would be a much better choice.” The last thing she needed was to be spotted by someone of Nicholas’s acquaintance.
“I have thought it through, and you are, in fact, the best choice.”
“Then you haven’t thought it through well enough.” Patience placed both of her hands on Mr. Woodsworth’s desk and leaned forward. For all of his plans and assessments, he was missing one key piece of information: Patience wasn’t a maid, and the last thing she wanted to do was enter society under false pretenses. “There must be someone better.”
“You shouldn’t be so unsure of yourself. You are perfect for the role. You speak quite well. Your features are quite stunning. No one would blame me for showing an interest in you.”
“You think me stunning? In this dress?” What would he think of her if she was in her regular clothes? She shrugged the thought away. He was trying to flatter a poor maid into doing what he wanted. And as far as seeing her in her regular clothing? He would never get that opportunity.
He cleared his throat. “I can say this because you know how committed I am to Miss Morgan, but yes, if your hair was done properly, and with a little less soot on your face, you could very well be one of the better-looking ladies at any given social function.”
