When I'm with You (7 page)

She paused, her gaze falling on a lone man on the beach. She didn't realize it was Rafe until she saw the woman in emerald-green join him and slide her arm through his. Lady Sally. She'd know the green gown anywhere and had to turn away before tears stung her eyes again. It was difficult to decide which she hated more: crying or the fact that she was crying over Rafe. It changed nothing. The only thing that ever happened was that she suffered a blinding headache for hours after she stopped.

“Katie, have you seen Mr. Jamison?”

Katie twisted away from the window as Mrs. Bates strode into the room. “No, I haven't. Is something the matter, Mrs. Bates?”

“Robert just came up from the harbor. Apparently Captain Sebastiano's wife and several others have arrived. I wanted to be sure Mr. Jamison knew.”

Katie swallowed the bitter oath. More Sebastianos. Why couldn't theirs be a small family, or one that despised each other and stayed home all the time? Even traveling on separate ships was unusual for them. No doubt they had come for the imminent wedding. Not one of them would want to miss seeing Rafe married.
Don't think about that.
“Should I go look for him for you?”

“That won't be necessary, but if you see him, please tell him I need to speak with him.”

“Of course, Mrs. Bates.” Katie turned back to the harpsichord. Her luck couldn't hold out much longer. The more Sebastianos, the greater the chance one of them would recognize her. If Aidrian or Vanessa were among them, she was doomed. As nice as it would be to see Vanessa, there was no way her secret would remain such. Either Vanessa would slip or she would. It was inevitable.

Dizziness washed over her, and she sank onto the harpsichord bench. How was she to avoid seeing any of them? Mrs. Sebastiano was there. While she had barely troubled to even look at Katie on that day, there was still the chance she
might
recognize her, and Katie didn't think the lady would be kind about it if she did. She was the one who had ordered Rafe to shoo Katie out of her house in front of half the household servants. Subtlety was not in Mrs. Sebastiano's nature.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Bates,” Katie muttered. She rose from the bench, but kept her head down. Playing at remorse was far preferable to watching Rafe and Lady Sally on the beach. Seeing them only made her stomach hurt.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a quick moment, then opened them again as the pain faded. “I apologize.”

“Never mind. It's of no consequence. Go into the dining room and go over it. I need to find Mr. Jamison.” Mrs. Bates disappeared back through the servants' doorway, mumbling, “I do wish this family traveled together. Arriving separately wreaks havoc on everything and throws the entire household into an uproar.”

The housekeeper's voice faded as she marched away. Katie rubbed her eyes. It wasn't possible for one person to have such miserable fortune. For six months, she'd been happy at Marchand Hall, and now? She might have to leave, quite possibly that very night. And she had no idea where she would go. She had some savings, thanks to the fair wages she was paid, but she hated to part with any of it for passage, even if that passage meant going home.

Her shoulders sank as she gathered up her cleaning supplies and lugged everything down the corridor to the great hall. There, the house opened up, with the second-floor walkways being open, as well as having a vaulted ceiling. The hall held almost as much sculpture and as many fine paintings as a museum, and the potted palms and ferns swished softly in the breeze.

She paused to let the cool air wash over her. How wonderful it would be to rip her little lace cap from her head and just let the air run through her hair. That was one thing she missed about her old life, the freedom that came with it. The ability to thumb her nose at certain silly customs, such as keeping her hair up and out of sight, and making sure her ankles remained covered. But she could just imagine the scolding she'd get from Mrs. Bates if she were caught without the cap. It wasn't worth it.

Her heels clicked softly as she crossed the narrow corridor leading to the dining room. Martha was already there, with a woman Katie didn't recognize. Both were busily dusting the formal dining table.

“Mrs. Bates sent me,” she said by way of greeting, dropping her bucket and mop with a heavy exhale. They clunked against the floor. “I didn't realize you were already here.”

Martha smiled as she looked up from the tabletop. “Have you met Abigail?”

“No.” Katie took a rag from the bucket and joined them. “I haven't. How do you do? I'm Katie.”

“Fine, thank you.” Abigail ran her cloth over the back of one chair. Her smile was more perfunctory than genuine. “Martha's told me we'll be preparing for two weddings soon for both her Ladyships. I find that so exciting. Everyone in the village has been talking about it.”

“People in the village already know?” Katie shook her head. “Word does travel fast here, doesn't it?”

Martha whistled as she smoothed out the lace runner in the table's center. “Indeed. I hadn't thought Captain Sebastiano had proposed yet, but I overheard Lady Marchand ask Mrs. Bates to send word to Madame Fontaine, and if Mrs. Bates has already asked Madame Fontaine to come up from the village, that can only mean one thing.”

Katie looked from Martha to Abigail. “And that is? I've only been here a few months and there've been no weddings in that time. At least none I've had any part in. I don't even know who Madame Fontaine is. I don't go into the village very often.”

Abigail rolled her big brown eyes as if she couldn't believe anyone might not know Madame Fontaine. “She is only
the
couturier in Bermuda. Ladies save for
years
to have her sew their wedding trousseau for them. She spent many years in Paris. A genius with a needle and thread. Her dresses are works of art.”

Katie sniffed at the maid's high-handed tone. Abigail might be new, but she certainly didn't act like it. She definitely put on airs. “I'll keep her in mind, should I ever need a trousseau.”

Abigail's eyes narrowed. For a moment, Katie thought she was going to offer up a sour retort, but then she smiled again. “I'm sure you will one day. One can always hope.”

Katie gritted her teeth, but kept her own serene smile firmly in place. She didn't have to like Abigail, but she did have to work with her, so remaining civil was always the wisest choice. “One certainly can. Sometimes that's all you have.”

Abigail's smile could now only be described as smug. “Indeed.”

Martha cleared her throat. “We should finish before Mrs. Bates comes back or she'll blister our ears. Especially if she hasn't found Mr. Jamison by then.”

Katie nodded. It wouldn't do to squabble with the new girl. But she didn't like Abigail, and from the looks of things, the feeling was mutual. In Kingston, even the ladies who looked down their noses at her hadn't radiated the same dislike that Abigail did. In some ways, Katie felt those other ladies would have liked her just fine, if society hadn't dictated that she was unacceptable. For whatever reason, Abigail seemed to hate her, and Katie couldn't recall anyone
ever
hating
her.

She tried to put it from her mind as she set to work with the others. The footmen came in to set the table and light the lamps as they finished up and retreated to their quarters to ready themselves.

“I despise the color black,” Martha grumbled, frowning at the somber gown laid out on her bed. “When I have maids of my own, I will never make them wear black. Ever. They'll wear a much more cheerful color. Like yellow. Or red.”

“So you plan to have maids of your own?” Katie asked with a grin. “Does Robert know about this?”

Martha chuckled. “Not yet. I'll wait until after the wedding to drop that on him.” She sighed as she picked up her dress and moved behind the screen. “I've a feeling I already know the answer, but I'll ask just the same. What do you think of Abigail?”

“I think she holds a very high opinion of herself.” Katie tugged the cap from her head and set to work loosening the pins holding her bun in place. She wanted to brush out and smooth her hair as best as she could before returning to work.
And it has nothing to do with seeing Rafe again.

“She does. We'll see how she works out.” Martha emerged from behind the screen, dressed and smoothing the front of her snowy-white apron. “Are you ready to go down?”

Katie wasn't at all ready to go downstairs. The very thought of coming face to face with Rafe's mother was enough to make her knees threaten to buckle. However, she couldn't shirk her duties. On a night such as this one, the only excuse Mrs. Bates would accept would be if Katie suddenly dropped dead.

Which actually didn't seem like too terrible an idea for one maddening moment.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I think so.”

“Don't look so frightened. It's really no different, serving a large number of people. It only takes a little longer.” Martha gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “You'll be fine.”

Katie followed Martha out of their chambers.
I certainly hope so.

Chapter Eight

The kitchen staff was in a frenzy, rushing about to fill this tureen or that platter, to retrieve wine decanters or replace chipped crystal. The footmen hurried to take trays above to the dining room, with Mr. Jamison barking orders at them along the way. It was bedlam on a much greater scale than usual, and it did nothing to soothe her already rattled nerves.

Mrs. Bates informed them they would remain below for a while, as it would take Mr. Jamison and the footmen longer than usual to serve everyone.

“How many people are we serving?” Abigail asked, her eyes widening at the massive array.

Mrs. Bates counted on her fingers and frowned. “Let's see… Our four. Captain Sebastiano, his wife and their children… Eleven. Oh, Lord, there are eleven of them. Now, watch yourself. Marcus can't fit between you and the sideboard, Abigail.”

Her cheeks flushed, Abigail moved, bumping into Katie with enough force that Katie stumbled back, although she managed to catch herself before she lost her balance entirely.

“Take care,” she muttered, shooting Abigail a look.

“My apologies, of course.”

Abigail couldn't sound less sincere if she tried, but Katie didn't want to suffer Mrs. Bates's wrath, so she merely offered up a tight smile and said to the housekeeper, “And what're we to do whilst we wait?”

“The same thing you do every night, Katie. I want you and Abigail to make certain the drawing room is up to snuff. I'll wager the ladies will retire there to discuss the wedding plans after supper.”

“So there is to be a wedding?” If it were possible, Abigail's ears would have actually pricked up. “Whose wedding? You mentioned something about Madame Fontaine earlier, but you never said which lady was to be married. Is it Sally or Edna?”

“They are
Lady
Sally and
Lady
Edna to you. Lady Sally will marry the younger Captain Sebastiano, and Lady Edna will marry Mr. Warington when he returns from the Colonies,” Mrs. Bates replied absently, peering at something over Abigail's shoulder. “But neither has been formally announced, so don't go around gossiping about it, is that understood?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bates.” Abigail was all wide eyes and innocent smiles.

“Good. Now, take this up to the drawing room. The ladies will be wanting sweets after their meal.” Mrs. Bates held out a small silver tray holding an array of the delicious-looking biscuits Mrs. North had been baking all afternoon. “And don't let me catch you pinching any.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bates.” Abigail bobbed her head as she accepted the tray, and her skirts swished loudly as she hurried to finish the task.

Martha looked over at Katie and then at the housekeeper. “I'd watch that one if I were you, Mrs. Bates.”

Mrs. Bates's steel-gray eyebrows lowered until they almost met over her hawk-like nose. “Why do you say that?”

“She puts on airs, and I don't trust her.”

Katie stared at Martha, who didn't seem at all troubled by her pronouncement. She was her usual, serene self. Katie wondered how it felt, to be so certain of oneself. It seemed as if she spent most of her time second-guessing every little thing she thought or said. Then again, Martha had been in service at Marchand Hall for years. She was comfortable here, and the staff was her family, and most likely no one would jump on her for saying the wrong thing.

For Katie, a life in service was new—although she did her best to hide
that
from the others—and she was still learning her place in the house. Martha liked her. Mrs. Bates liked her. Most importantly, Lady Sally and the Countess liked her. Marchand Hall had, in a very short time, become her home, and she only hoped that one day they would feel the same toward her as they did toward Martha. Even so, she hadn't reached a point where she felt comfortable not being so vigilant about what she said.

“Why wouldn't you? She came with excellent references.” Mrs. Bates looked from Katie to Martha. “Is there something you know about her? Has she claimed something false?”

Martha shook her head. “I don't know why I don't trust her. It's mostly just a feeling.”

“Well, unless you can come up with a better reason than a ‘feeling', you'd be best served to keep it to yourself.”

“I beg your pardon, ladies, but would one of you be able to go up and pour the wine?” Mr. Jamison came into the kitchen, his usual stern look firmly in place. “I cannot find Robert or Edward, and Marcus is waiting for me to begin serving.” He puffed up his already broad chest, which made him look more imposing than usual. “It's not like them to not show up at supper.”

Martha's brow furrowed. “Did they leave Marchand Hall for something?”

“Of course not. I would know about that, wouldn't I?” Mr. Jamison's dark eyes bored into Martha as if she'd just suggested the men might have gone for a stroll on the moon. “You.” He gestured at Katie with a thick forefinger. “Go and serve the white wine. And take care not to spill any. A maid serving at table… What else might go wrong this evening?”

Katie's heart jumped, and she stammered, “I—I think it'd be best if Martha went up instead. Her hands are far steadier than mine.”

“Be that as it may, I—”

“And Mrs. Bates has already told me to go with Abigail to ready the drawing room for the ladies.”

“Don't trouble yourself with that, Katie.” Mrs. Bates waved off her protest as if it were no more than a pesky fly. “Go on, then. Up you get. Martha, you can help Abigail instead.”

Out of reasons to protest, Katie could do nothing more than try not to outwardly panic. “Yes, Mrs. Bates.”

She chewed absently on her thumbnail as she watched Martha go. How could she disobey both Mr. Jamison and Mrs. Bates? They'd be furious, and she didn't know what would happen then. Didn't know, and had no desire to find out.

If she went above and Mrs. Sebastiano—or anyone else—recognized her and pointed out who she was, she'd be in even hotter water.

The question was, which choice would scald her?

Willing her knees to stop quaking, Katie mounted the servants' staircase to the main floor. It took every bit of will she possessed to not run right back to the kitchen and hide for the rest of her life. Her feet didn't want to take the stairs, but duty demanded that she keep going. Each footfall resonated like thunder. This must be how the condemned felt as they approached the hangman's gallows.

As she approached the landing to the main floor, she held her breath. Like a wave, the voices of all the guests rushed toward her in a rising buzz, washing over her to leave her soaked head to toe in nervous energy.

When she caught sight of Rafe at the far end of the table, seated near his father and Lord Marchand, the buzzing receded. It was the first time she'd ever seen him in such finery. He looked beyond handsome dressed in formal black. His dark hair blended with the fine fabric of his frock coat, while the dazzling white of his lawn shirt and cravat stood out in stark contrast to his olive skin.

Both families had begun eating. The conversations were carried out in low voices, speaking of unimportant things, and no one seemed to take notice of her, which made it easier to stop shaking. She looked up to find Mr. Jamison just coming into the dining room behind her. He caught her eye and gave a subtle bob of his head. Encouragement, judging by the slight smile. It was only a brief display, but enough to make her more confident in her own ability to serve. Everything would be fine.

It had to be.

She reached to pluck the stopper from the decanter. Her fingers slipped on the crystal, but she maintained her grasp and didn't drop it, and pride shot through her. Silly, perhaps, but it did much to aid the calmness settling over her.

“A bit of wine, m'lady?” She held the decanter over Lady Marchand's glass.

“Thank you.”

Wine tinkled into the glass, but no one really looked up as she went from body to body. She recognized all of them—Rafe's younger brothers, Conn and Galen, and his sisters, Serena and Elena. The resemblance was strong.

Thankfully, she was almost back to her senses by the time she reached the far side of the table.

Rafe gave her a smile, one that made his eyes sparkle, and she willed him to remain quiet. He was rather outspoken and had something of a devilish streak. A prank wouldn't be beneath him, although outing her now would be cruel, and he wasn't a cruel man.

That didn't stop her from giving a prayer of thanks when he merely held up his glass. “If you wouldn't mind.”

“Of course not, Captain Sebastiano.”

The sparkle in his eyes sharpened as she finished pouring. He lifted the glass to his mouth and said, “I thank you,” before taking a sip.

She moved the rest of the way around the table. Her mouth went dry as she approached Rafe's mother. “More wine, my lady?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Sebastiano's voice was soft, light and pleasant, and when she looked up at Katie, she smiled. Her eyes were so beautiful that Katie couldn't help but look at them a bit longer. They were swirling gray, so pale they looked almost silver. Only two of her children had inherited their mother's unusual eyes—Aidrian and Serena.

But then those eyes narrowed. For one terrifying moment, Katie thought she was going to say something, and a wave of nausea rose up with enough force to make her wince.

She focused on her hands, willing them to remain steady, and managed to pour without spilling a drop. When she finished, the only thing Mrs. Sebastiano said was, “Thank you,” before she rejoined the conversation, leaving Katie nearly lightheaded with relief. Disaster averted for now.

Katie brought the wine back to the sideboard to set it amongst its fellow decanters, and Mr. Jamison joined her, murmuring, “Very good,” under his breath as he aligned the decanters in perfect symmetry. “Mrs. Bates needs you below. Robert has finally returned.”

“Where was he?”

“Never you mind. Just go.”

With that, Robert came into the room, bearing a silver tray laden with the main meal. He didn't look any worse for the wear, and neither Mr. Jamison nor Mrs. Bates seemed to have taken their pound of flesh from his back. Wherever he'd been, all was forgiven now. She was forgotten as he and Mr. Jamison began the slow task of serving the meal to the family and their guests, and she slipped back out into the servants' corridor, where she sank against the wall and let her eyes close. Everything felt a little brighter now, her shoulders felt lighter and her spirits rose a bit higher than her ankles. It was over and she'd survived unscathed. It was all she could ask for, and with any luck, no more footmen would go missing while the Sebastiano family resided at Marchand Hall.

Downstairs, Martha was sitting at the massive table where the servants shared their meals, her face equal parts anger and relief. Her normally tranquil eyes were now as stormy as the ocean. Katie drew out the chair next to her. “What's the matter?”

“That…that…
bitch
.”

It wasn't often Martha got angry, rarer still that she swore, and the amount of fury within those three words was enough that Katie stared at her in shock. “Who?”

Martha folded her arms. “Who do you think? Abigail, that foolish little chit.”

“Oh, dear.” Katie tapped her fingertips on the table. “What did that foolish little chit do?”

“She tried to get me sacked!”

“What?” Katie couldn't hold back her sharp breath. That wasn't what she'd expected to hear. “What—? How? What did she do?”

Martha rubbed her forehead with one long-fingered hand, slouching in the chair. “It's my own fault, I suppose, but still… Lady Edna came into the parlor before she went into the dining room, and she snatched a biscuit. I was there, and she offered me one. You know how I love them… It's so difficult to ever say no, and we don't get them all that often.”

“I know. So what happened?”

“Mrs. Bates apparently counted out how many went on each plate. She likes to keep things in even numbers and all, and when she realized two plates were short one, she naturally wanted to know what happened.”

“Naturally.” This came as no surprise. Mrs. Bates noticed anything that wasn't in order, and that included mismatched plates of biscuits. She'd be like a hawk about it, swooping down to count them and going after those who purloined them.

Twin spots of color appeared on Martha's cheeks. “Abigail told her I took them both. And since Lady Edna had already left for dinner, I had no way to prove I didn't steal them.” Her eyes grew red and shiny, and she sniffed before dabbing at them with the hem of her apron. “And now Mrs. Bates is furious with me.” Her voice broke and she buried her face entirely in her apron. “She told me to leave the dining area and go directly to our room. That she would speak to me in the morning. That can't possibly be good.”

“Why on earth would she do such a thing?” Katie shifted to wrap her arms about Martha and hug her. “And why wouldn't Mrs. Bates listen to you? She knows you; she must trust you. You've never stolen anything before. Why would you pinch a biscuit, of all things?”

“I don't know. Maybe Abigail overheard me saying I didn't trust her and thought a little revenge would be sweet. Maybe she just doesn't like me either.” Martha leaned into her, her voice hitching with every other word. “What I do know is that I'm in trouble now. I've never been in trouble with Mrs. Bates. I couldn't believe how red-faced she got. I suppose I should be thankful she didn't outright fire me. Any other head housekeeper most likely would.”

“I'll speak to her if you like, tell her Lady Edna offered one to you.”

“I doubt it will do any good. You weren't there.” Martha sniffed and lifted her head to manage a watery smile. “But I appreciate it just the same. I'll just have to hope that her Ladyship speaks up for me.”