by Diane Gaston
Mairi lifted her sewing basket. ‘I’ve brought pins.’
‘Let us take off the coat and turn it inside out.’ Wilfred assisted in the coat’s removal and putting it back on. ‘Bring the pins,’ he told Mairi.
She stepped forward with her pincushion, a silver dish with a green-velvet cushion stuffed with sawdust to hold the pins.
At the shoulders Wilfred pinched the fabric of the coat between his fingers. ‘Pin here.’
Mairi faced Mr Lucas with only inches between them. She rose on tiptoe to put the pins where Wilfred directed. She was close enough to feel his heat and to catch his scent in her nostrils. Her heartbeat accelerated.
Since her assault, anxiety flooded her any time she thought she might be closer than arm’s length to a man, but it was not anxiety she felt now. Though she did not know this Englishman, not really, she was not afraid of him. Not after enduring his fevered delirium. Something haunted him, like her assault haunted her. Was that why she felt connected to him?
He smelled of bergamot and lime, like the soap in his room. Her fingers tingled wherever she touched him to place the pins.
His gaze lowered to her face with a soft expression in his eyes that made her feel as if she would melt. She stuck the pins through the cloth, making herself focus on the task, not the man.
Wilfred moved over to the other shoulder and she put the pins where he indicated. Next, he asked Mr Lucas to raise his arms and showed Mairi what modifications were needed there. He adjusted the back seams so the coat fit more closely to Mr Lucas’s body. Mairi was acutely aware she was touching Lucas all over.
Finally, Wilfred pronounced, ‘There. That should do.’ He helped Mr Lucas off with the coat. ‘Let us try the breeches next.’
They disappeared into the dressing room and came out a few minutes later with the Englishman in the breeches. Mairi tried her best to attend only to pinning the cloth and not to the turbulence of emotions inside her. Apparently oblivious to her disordered emotions, the old valet seemed energised by this project, keeping a running account of his thoughts on how the final costume would appear and of how he would pull out some white stockings and gloves for Mr Lucas after they were done.
When he walked back into the dressing room for the additional items, Mairi and Mr Lucas remained where they were, still standing close, still gazing at each other.
* * *
Lucas gazed into Miss Wallace’s captivating eyes. The drink was putting all sorts of notions in his mind. Like wanting to wrap his arms around her. Wanting to kiss her.
Cursed whisky. It was supposed to numb his feelings, not crack them open, not make him care about this brave young woman. Not make him desire her.
He forced himself to speak. Better to talk than act on his emotions. ‘You think this plan foolhardy, do you not, Miss Wallace?’
She stepped back and glanced away. ‘Not foolhardy. But my parents ought to be seeking a solution, not engaging in contortions to pretend our problems do not exist.’
‘Is it as bad as that?’
‘I do not know precisely,’ she said, but the elderly valet re-entered the room.
‘I have found you stockings and gloves, and an extra shirt and neckcloth.’ Wilfred lifted them so they could see. ‘When the sewing is complete you should be all set.’
Except for shoes, he thought.
‘Thank you, Wilfred,’ she said. ‘You have been an enormous help.’
Lucas was impressed by the elderly man. He’d not expected to find such a skilled tailor in the wilds of Scotland.
Of course, he’d not expected to find anything in Scotland. He’d run away from his troubles, not towards any particular place.
Wilfred folded the clothes and handed them to Lucas. He and Miss Wallace stepped out into the hallway.
‘Where would you like these?’ Lucas asked.
She turned to him. ‘Oh, give them to me.’
Their arms brushed as he placed the clothes in her hands. He gazed into her face just as she looked up into his.
His voice turned low. ‘You are good to take on all this sewing, Miss Wallace.’
Hers was slightly facetious. ‘I should say you are good to volunteer to be our butler.’
‘But,’ he concluded for her, ‘you believe it is foolhardy.’
A smile flitted across her face, making her look even lovelier, but it was gone too quickly.
She turned to walk away, but turned back. ‘The whole scheme will fall apart unless we can find you some shoes.’
He raised his brows. ‘Is there a cobbler in the village?’
‘Yes, but there isn’t time to have shoes made and I do not want my father to owe money to the cobbler as well. Who knows how many other merchants he owes?’
He could pay for shoes. He had not drunk away his funds yet. Perhaps the cobbler had shoes already made that would fit him. It was worth a try.
‘Try not to worry, Miss Wallace,’ he told her. ‘Something will turn up.’
‘Well, I hope it is made of black leather and has soles.’ She spun away and walked down the hallway.
Lucas watched her until she reached the stairs they’d walked up. He started to follow her, but caught himself. If he wished to forget he was the son and now heir to an earl, he shouldn’t act like one. He turned in the opposite direction and found the servants’ staircase.
* * *
Early the next morning, Mairi brought down the altered garments and laid them outside the door to the butler’s room. As she did so, the door opened.
She jumped.
Lucas, dressed only in shirt and trousers, looked surprised as well.
‘Miss Wallace!’ He paused a moment before bowing.
‘The clothes are finished.’ She stepped back. ‘I do hope they fit.’
He looked down at her with a concerned expression. ‘You did not sleep, did you? You look pale.’
Her hand went reflexively to her face. She must look a fright. ‘I am quite well.’
He picked up the clothes. ‘But without rest.’
It had taken most of the night to finish the alterations. Davina had fallen asleep in Mairi’s bed after an hour or two and Mairi had finished her sewing for her. Mairi’s eyes still hurt from the strain of stitching by lamplight and from only three hours’ sleep.
‘I slept enough,’ she said.
‘You do too much.’ He lifted the clothes. ‘Even though you do not approve this scheme.’
His voice and words were kind and, in her weariness, she felt tears stinging her eyes. She blinked. ‘Well, do try the clothes on and send word to me if they need work.’
He nodded. ‘I will do so.’
She peered at him. ‘You look different, Mr Lucas.’ She could not place her finger on it, but, she had to admit, he looked even more dashing than before, even in his state of undress.
Or because of it?
He smiled. ‘You have not seen me cleaned up properly. I took a bath last night.’
A bath? A vision of him naked flashed through her mind. She pushed it away. A bath usually caused the servants a great deal of work. Heating the water. Filling the tub. Draining it again.
His expression sobered. ‘Do not fear. I prepared the bath for myself. The others have enough to do.’
How kind of him. Perhaps that was why she did not fear him like other men. His kindness.
But she did not want to think of this Englishman as handsome and kind. She did not want him to sense what she was thinking. He seemed to do that much too often.
‘Well, that is all right, then.’ She turned to go.
‘A butler must not look like he’s been planting vegetables,’ he said.
She did not know what to say, so she simply walked away. Before she entered the kitchen, she glanced back and glimpsed him turning to re-enter his room.
Cook took one look
at her and told her to sit at the table. ‘You look dead on your feet, miss.’
‘I am well enough,’ protested Mairi. ‘I only came to ask Mrs Cross what needs to be done to make the guest rooms ready.’
‘You need to eat,’ Cook insisted.
Mrs Cross walked into the room at that moment. ‘Goodness, yes, child. Eat something!’ She brought Mairi a napkin and a spoon.
From a big pot on the fire, Cook filled a bowl with porridge and set it in front of her. She poured some cream in the bowl and a dollop of jam. ‘There. You eat all of it, mind.’
Mairi had been fussed over by these two dear women her whole life and, before that, they’d done the same for her father. They deserved a pension and a little cottage on the estate and some rest. ‘You both are too good to me.’ Tears stung her eyes again, but she blinked them away and dipped her spoon into the porridge.
‘I cannot find Robert anywhere,’ Mrs Cross said.
Cook brought Mairi a pot of tea, some milk and sugar. ‘He’s gone to the village to find some shoes for Mr Lucas.’
‘Oh, yes. I forgot.’ Mrs Cross rubbed her forehead. ‘But who is going to clean the family’s shoes before they rise?’
Mr Lucas entered the kitchen, this time wearing his coat. ‘I could do that, Mrs Cross.’
The older woman looked relieved. ‘Thank you, Mr Lucas. That would be very good of you.’
‘I do not know which rooms to deliver them to, though.’ He glanced at Mairi and nodded.
Mrs Cross pressed her cheeks. ‘Goodness! You do not know the house, do you? We cannot have you play a butler without knowing the house. I shall have to give you a tour as soon as the family are up.’ She smiled at Mairi. ‘All those except Miss Mairi. She is our early riser.’
How dearly Mairi would have liked to sleep until ten today like her parents, but there was too much to do. She should eat her porridge as quickly as possible, but it was hot and warmed her so soothingly when she ate it slowly. And when had she last relaxed over a cup of tea?
‘I’ll be off to polish shoes,’ Mr Lucas said.
Another kindness, Mairi thought.
* * *
Polishing the shoes turned out to be an easy job. Dunburn’s were not particularly soiled and the ladies’ shoes were nearly spotless. All but Miss Wallace’s. Lucas could tell instantly which pair of walking boots were hers. They were the only shoes that looked as if any work had been done in them.
Glimpsing her seated at the kitchen worktable eating a bowl of porridge took him back to his own childhood, doing much the same thing.
Seated next to his brother.
He whisked the brush over Dunburn’s boot, removing every speck of dust, then chose a brown bottle from the shelf and pulled out its cork. Its scent was sharp and strong. He dampened a cloth with the liquid, wiped the leather with the cloth and followed with a polishing brush. At the end, Dunburn’s gleamed and Miss Wallace’s, too.
That was some achievement, he supposed. It actually felt good to accomplish even this menial task.
There was a rap on the door and the door opened.
Miss Wallace stepped in. ‘I can take the shoes upstairs.’
He wiped the brush over the leather again, although it was not at all necessary. Why did it sting that she did not even greet him?
‘I will come with you,’ he responded, although he knew she would not like it. ‘You can point out which room is which in case Mrs Cross does not have a chance to give me a tour.’
‘As you wish.’
When he finished he put the shoes in a basket and waited for her to leave before him. Lucas followed a little behind her, even though it felt odd. It was how a servant would behave, however. Shedding his aristocratic sensibilities was more difficult than he’d thought, but he wanted to shed everything about his aristocratic self. It suited him very well to play the role of butler. He’d model himself after Burton, his father’s butler, a man who’d extricated Lucas from many a scrape. Happy memories for a change.
Miss Wallace led him up the servants’ staircase to the bedchambers.
She stopped by the first door. ‘My father’s, as you know,’ she said quietly.
Lucas placed his boots outside the door.
She showed him the other rooms, all in the same wing, and Lucas delivered the shoes. She stopped in front of one. ‘This room is mine.’
She next led him to another wing to show him the guest rooms. She opened the door to the first one and frowned. ‘I suppose this should be readied for Lord Crawfurd.’
Miss Wallace entered the room and sighed.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asked from the doorway.
She blinked. ‘Oh, no. It is simply that the maids and I just closed off this room so we would not have to clean it as often. We closed off all the guest rooms. Now we will have to start over again. We’ll have to undo two more.’
He followed her inside. ‘Shall I remove the dust covers?’ The furniture was covered in white linen sheets, looking like misshapen ghosts in the dim light.
‘I suppose.’ She strode over to one of the windows and opened the sash.
The breeze from the window was cool, but welcome. Lucas carefully folded over the linen cloth, revealing a comfortable red chair beneath. He continued through the room.
‘At least it has not been closed up so long that we will have to beat the carpets.’ Miss Wallace seemed to be speaking more to herself than to him.
‘I am at liberty, Miss Wallace,’ he told her. ‘Put me to work.’
‘Mr Lucas, I cannot ask you—’
‘You did not ask me,’ he interrupted. ‘I offered. Take me to the other rooms and we may get started.’
They took the dust covers off in two other guest rooms and carried them down to the storage closet below stairs.
Robert appeared in the hallway. The shoes, Mairi thought suddenly. She’d forgotten all about the shoes.
‘Mr Lucas!’ Robert cried when spying them.
The Englishman quickened his step. ‘Do tell me, Robert. Do you have shoes?’
Robert grinned and lifted up a pair of leather shoes with side buckles. ‘I took your measure and the cobbler had one pair he’d finished. I paid him double, like ye said.’
Mairi stopped mid-stride. ‘Double! Who paid double?’
‘I did,’ Mr Lucas said.
‘Why would you pay?’ She was dumbfounded. ‘You are doing us a favour. And double. For shoes you cannot want.’
He shrugged. ‘I am certain I will use them some time.’
She still did not understand it. ‘How is it you have so much money you can throw it away?’
‘I do not have a great deal of money,’ he protested.
She looked sceptical. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘My soldier’s pay.’
But why use good money on shoes he did not need?
Mr Lucas leaned against the wall and pulled off one of his boots. He tried on a shoe and stood again. ‘It fits well enough.’ He looked at Robert. ‘I believe you have saved the day for your baron and his family. Well done, Robert.’
Robert beamed. The young man was always so hungry for a kind word from anyone. It had been thoughtful of Mr Lucas to give him credit.
But the Englishman’s generosity in this instance unsettled her. It made no sense.
His expression remained unconcerned, though. ‘Shall we finish getting the guest rooms ready, Miss Wallace?’
She did not have time to puzzle over the Englishman’s vagaries. There was work to be done.
Chapter Eight
Lucas’s tasks were to rehang the curtains in the guest rooms and to move any furniture that needed rearranging while Miss Wallace dusted and made up the beds with fresh linens. He felt content working beside Miss Wallace, although she said little to him beyond basic instructions. In an
y event, he was pleased to ease her burdens a little.
When they were finished he went in search of the housekeeper for his tour of the house. He found her in the dining room, where she and the maids were cleaning. The dining table was large enough to accommodate at least twenty. On the walls hung portraits—Wallace ancestors, Lucas supposed. Perhaps one of the bearded, helmeted ones was William Wallace himself.
After giving the two maids some instructions, Mrs Cross took him on a room-by-room tour of the house.
Foxgrove Hall, where he had grown up, was twice as big as this house and with many more rooms, but it still was a lot to remember. With any luck, he would not direct the guests to the wrong places.
As Lucas and the housekeeper toured the house, he asked her, ‘Is there anything else I should know to be the butler? Anything about the family?’
Mrs Cross halted and turned to him. ‘I will tell you this in great confidence, although I have no doubt you would discern it on your own eventually. The Baron of Dunburn and Lady Dunburn are too frivolous for their own good. The family is in some financial straits—I cannot pretend to know the details—but the Baron is unequal to the task of solving the problems and her ladyship has no notion how to economise. I do not know what will happen to us all. So many of the servants have left. The Baron has not paid us, you see.’ She gave him a pointed stare. ‘So if you think he will pay you, you have another think coming.’
‘I surmised as much,’ he responded.
She started walking again. ‘The only one with any sense is Miss Mairi, you know. Although Davina and Niven are dear ones, they are still very young. I suspect they do not grasp the seriousness of the family’s predicament. Miss Mairi has figured it out.’
‘Is that why she is so serious?’ He meant why she was so unhappy, but felt he was not yet on such terms with the housekeeper that he could indulge in that kind of gossip.
Mrs Cross sighed. ‘I suppose it is. She was once as gay as Miss Davina, but she had a bout of melancholy when she was Davina’s age.’ She paused as if in thought. ‘I do hope Miss Davina never experiences such a thing. All the others are cheerful sorts, I’ll give them that. Anyway, Miss Mairi is the only one who sees things as they are. She has helped us immensely.’
