Maid to Match (12 page)

Color draining from her face, Tillie bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.”

“See that you do.” She pointed to the door. “Out. Both of you.”

Rage made his entire body tremble, but he managed to follow Tillie from the office. The moment he closed the door behind them, he turned to her. “I – ”

“Shhhtik.”
She chopped the air with her hand, silencing him as effectively as the housekeeper. “Just follow me and keep your mouth shut.”

She stormed down the hall, around the corner, and down the stairs, black skirts rustling, the apron bow at the small of her back bouncing. Never once did she look up or speak to anyone they passed or check to see if he was following.

He wanted nothing so much as to tell that housekeeper exactly what he thought of her. Allan had said the items they were using were mismatches from sets which were old or out of style or incomplete. So why were they having to replace them?

Whatever the reason, they were. Or she was. He wondered how much the crystal would cost.

His shoulders slumped. A fortune. It had to cost a fortune. But no matter what the matron said, he’d broken it. So he’d pay for it. If he had to give the money to Allan, then have him give it to his sister, so be it. But he would pay.

Still, his frustration grew. That would mean even further delays in rescuing Ora Lou from the orphanage.

They reached the basement, and instead of slowing her pace, Tillie increased it. She made a beeline for his workroom, then pointed a finger and said, “Wait for me in there.”

He stopped at his doorway, taking his time with the lock while he watched her sail into the laundry room, then come back out with a measuring tape fluttering from her hand like a writhing snake.

Opening his door, he stepped inside and slipped his key into his pocket. The sound of her clickety-click heels grew louder and his stomach jumped. He hadn’t been this nervous since the last time he’d been sent to the shed for switches.

He reminded himself she was only a woman. But the fact was, she was more than that. Much more.

She zoomed around the corner, punched on the lights, slammed the door with a loud crack, and braced her feet wide like a ship captain’s.

Take the deuce, but she was glorious when she was mad. Her eyes flashed, her hair loosened, the pulse at her throat pounded. He supposed kissing her was out of the question, but it didn’t keep him from wanting to.

“Don’t even think about it,” she bit out.

He lifted his brows. He hadn’t realized he was that transparent. “I’m sorry about the crystal. I’ll pay for it.”

She clenched her fists, crumpling the measuring tape. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want your attentions. I don’t want anything to do with you. But it looks like I’m stuck with you for the time being, so here are the rules.”

He gave a slight nod to indicate he was listening.

“No more tête-à-têtes in the mornings on the terrace. No more dancing in the entry hall. No more looking at me like I’m your next meal. And no, I mean
no
, trying to kiss me. Is that understood?”

He gave another nod.

“Answer me, Mack Danver. Answer me out loud.”

“I understand the rules.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And will you follow them?”

“To the best of my ability.”

“Not good enough.”

“It’s the most I’m willing to offer. I already told you I don’t lie. So if I gave you any other response, it would be dishonest.”

Her eyes teared up. “You must respect my boundaries, Mack. My job, my future, everything I’ve ever dreamed of is at stake. Please.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry
.

He crammed his hands into his pockets to keep from hauling her into his arms. “I understand what’s at stake. I’ll do the best I can to honor every one of your wishes.”

She studied him for a moment; then her shoulders relaxed. “All right. The first thing we need is to find you some shirts that reach your wrists so you aren’t going around the house with your sleeves rolled up.”

“Allan and I have been through every shirt in the livery room,” he said.

“So I’m told. That means I’ll have to make you some.” She curled her lips in disgust. “I’m going to kill Allan for getting me in the middle of this.”

She was going to make him a shirt? No one but his mother had ever made him a shirt before.

Shaking out the measuring tape, she looked around his room. “Do you have anything to write with?”

He opened a drawer and placed pad and pencil on the table.

“All right, then.” She took a deep breath, then strode toward him. “Bend your arm, please.”

He hung his arms to the sides, slightly bending his right one. She pressed the tape against his shoulder, hooked it beneath his elbow, ran it to his wrist, then make a note on the pad.

“Turn around.” She measured from neck to waist, then shoulder to shoulder. “Turn back around.”

He faced her.

“Lift your arms up.”

He extended his arms to the sides, and before he had time to prepare, she stepped into him, slipping her arms around him in order to feed the tape about his chest.

He sucked in his breath. And with it came the scent uniquely hers.

She stepped back, her cheeks burning, and matched the tape against his chest. He didn’t so much as move.

Instead of letting go, she stayed put. Finally, she peeked up at him. “Quit holding your breath, Mack. It makes your chest expand.”

Their eyes locked and he slowly released his breath. She adjusted the tape, made a note, then turned back. Again she stepped into him, but this time she wrapped her arms around his waist. Again, he sucked in his breath.

She waited, moistening her lips, before he realized what he was doing and blew out his breath.

“Just one more,” she said.

But when she reached up on tiptoe and put her hands behind his neck, he could no more keep from bracketing her waist than he could keep the sun from shining.

She was so small. His hands spanned almost her entire circumference. He’d danced with her, but only one hand had rested on her back. Never two hands. And never on her waist.

The only reaction she gave was an involuntary tremor. She wrapped the tape around his neck.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping down, up, and then down again. She lifted her gaze to his.

“You’d best get out of here,” he whispered, kneading her waist, scratching her apron sash with his thumbs.

She checked the measurement again, then took a step back.

He didn’t let go. “Tillie?”

“No, Mack.” She lowered her eyes. “I knew I should have let someone else take your measurements. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

She broke free of his grip, picked up her notes, and placed her hand on the doorknob.

“Tillie?”

She paused, but didn’t look at him.

“Why didn’t you have someone else take my measurements?” She opened the door, and he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then just before she slipped out, she looked at him, her eyes stricken. “Because I didn’t want anyone else touching you.”

Then she was gone.

CHAPTER
Eleven

“I’m not going to be able to take you out of here as quickly as I’d hoped,” Mack said.

Ora Lou’s shoulders slumped. They sat in the parlor of the orphanage, Irene at her side. The girl was still quiet and timid, but at least managed to look him in the eye occasionally. He wished some of that meekness would rub off on Ora Lou.

“What happened?” his sister asked.

“I broke some crystal and a tureen and I have to pay for it.”

“I thought you were a useful man.”

“I am.”

“Then what were you doing with crystal and a tureen?”

He shrugged. “I polish and help store all that stuff occasionally, but this time I was training to serve at the table.”

“Serve?” With a small bark of laughter, she turned to Irene. “Boy, would I love to see that.”

Irene answered her smile, her face almost pretty when she let her guard down.

“How much longer, then?” his sister asked.

“Two months at the earliest,” he said. “Probably more like three.”

She sucked in her breath. “That long? But I told you I’d find work and pay for my own board.”

“It’s not just that.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a letter the hotel had forwarded to him. “I got this from Ikey.”

Opening it, she skimmed the note from their little brother.

“He’s just homesick and missing Ma. That will pass.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You know your situation is temporary. His is permanent.”

She handed him back the letter. “So what are you saying?”

“I want to reunite us. All of us.”

She slumped back on the couch, her expression falling.

“Oh, Mack. How? That will take forever. I don’t think I can stand it here that long. We eat this mealy kind of potage every single day for every meal. We have no bedding other than a moth-eaten blanket and no fireplace in our rooms. I’ll freeze if I have to stay through winter.” Brightening, she sat up straight.

“What if I go to live with Ikey? Me and Irene both? That would make him feel better and then you wouldn’t have to worry about finding me a place to live.”

Mack shook his head. “From what this letter says, you wouldn’t be much better off. Besides, none of the families I left the boys with can take on another mouth, much less two. You’ll just have to wait.”

She pushed a tangle of hair from her face, her brown eyes tearing.

“Sloop’s not mistreating you again, is he?”

“Not really.” She bit her lip. “But he hurts Irene.”

“What do you mean ‘not really’?” he barked.

Irene ducked her chin and grabbed the end of a thin braid.

His sister gave him a warning look. “It’s all right, Irene. He’s not mad at us. He’s worried. You can tell him.”

Panic flooded the girl’s face. Before he could press them, the door opened.

“Visitation is over, girls.” Sloop didn’t give him so much as a glance. “Get to your rooms for prayer time.”

The girls jumped to their feet and hurried past the director without even saying good-bye.

Frowning, Mack stood. He should have started the visit with questions about Sloop instead of about his delay.

Sloop widened the door, the cut of his coat every bit as fine as the well-to-do men of Asheville. “Get out.”

Mack weighed the wisdom of confronting the director and decided he’d best gather all the particulars first. The cozy comfort of the parlor had led him to believe the children enjoyed the same. He wondered how much funding the orphanage received. Surely enough to provide for decent bedding and meals.

Perhaps it was time to have another visit with Leonard Vaughan. But first, when he had an opportunity, he’d have a look at what lay beyond the receiving rooms.

Placing a cap on his head, he gave Sloop a curt nod and let himself out.

A brown package tied with string lay in front of Mack’s workroom door. As useful man, he was responsible for opening and assembling all post deliveries. But this wasn’t a delivery.

There was no address. The paper wasn’t crumpled. And the contents were flimsy. Turning on the light, he sliced the string with his knife, then peeled back paper and tissue. A shirt. A brand-new blue shirt.

His throat swelled. Ever since their meeting with Mrs. Winter, Tillie had refused to be alone with him. She’d made another parlormaid, Alice, rise at four under the guise of training her. Because when the grand party arrived next week, Tillie would not be doing parlormaid duties, but lady’s maid duties for one of the guests.

In the afternoons, when she gave him lessons in table waiting, she again enlisted the help of Alice. According to Tillie, Alice needed to learn the rules as well and could act as a mock guest, allowing Tillie to stand well out of reach while she instructed. But in the evenings, when all her chores were done, she’d sewn him a shirt with her own hands. He lifted it, bringing it close, trying to catch a whiff of her scent, but smelled starch instead.

He fingered the placket. Tiny perfect stitches ran down the seams like rows of white corn. He wondered where she’d sat when she sewed. In her room? The servants’ hall for female staff? In a rocker? A hard chair? Or alone in her bed?

Stripping off his shirt, he slipped the new one on, then held his arms in front of him. Perfect. He buttoned it up, tucked it into his trousers, and popped his suspenders in place, wondering where she was now.

He stuck his head out the door and checked the clock in the hall. Every clock in the house was keyed to the master one over the stable in the courtyard, so what he saw, she saw.

A quarter past nine. She’d be in Vanderbilt’s library. Spinning around, he looked for the pair of lanterns he’d assembled a while back. Allan told him they were to go in the library.

He wrapped his boot-leg bag around his hips, stuck a jar of kerosene into it, then grabbed the lamps.