The Valet Who Loved Me

by Valerie Bowman

  She was clearly interested in protecting the Copperpots’ welfare. Good for her. He had been peering about the room. She had every reason not to trust him. Obviously, no one had seen fit to inform the female servants that Mr. Broughton had taken ill.

  “Wot is yer name, please?” she finally asked, still tapping her slipper in a distrustful rhythm.

  “What is yours?” he countered, still taking pleasure in the exchange.

  She did not look amused. “Ye didn’t answer me question.”

  Very well. There was no sense antagonizing her further. He might not be able to charm his way back into her good graces. “My name is Nicholas, Nicholas Baxter.”

  She lifted her chin slightly, but her eyes remained filled with suspicion. “Baxter, eh?”

  “Yes, and I’d be ever so grateful if you would tell me your name, please.” He smoothed one hand down his shirtfront and blinked at her expectantly.

  “Why?” she asked, taking a step back, and continuing to eye him warily.

  He watched her carefully. He was expert at sizing up people quickly. Everything about her told him she didn’t trust anything about him. He’d never met a more distrusting soul, and he’d been around spies for the better part of the last few years, for Christ’s sake.

  He smiled and took a step back himself, wanting her to feel as comfortable as possible. “I told you my name, Miss. I think it’s only fair you return the favor.”

  She kept eyeing him as if she expected to find his pockets sagging with the family silver, but she finally dropped her hands to her sides and said, “Me name is Marianne. Marianne Notley.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He gave her a bright smile.

  “That remains ta be seen,” she countered, eyes still narrowed.

  Beau sighed. “I was attempting to be pleasant. Apparently, that’s a foreign concept to you.” He couldn’t help making the jab. Her blatant mistrust was beginning to bother him. He was used to charming and being charmed. Even by people who knew he was lying. It was how the game was played. This young lady obviously knew nothing about such intrigues.

  Her arms remained tightly crossed over her chest. “His lordship doesn’t take kindly ta folks peeping about his bedchamber when he’s not here.”

  “I wasn’t peeping,” Beau replied evenly. Yes. He was. But he wasn’t about to admit it to Miss Disapproval here.

  “Ye looked ta be peeping ta me,” she shot back.

  Her accent deepened when she was riled. Interesting. But it was time to turn the tables on her inquiry. “If Lord Copperpot dislikes servants in his bedchamber when he’s not about, what were you doing coming in?” Beau countered, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her another false smile.

  She pulled up her shoulders and lifted her chin, clearly affronted. “I am Lady Wilhelmina’s maid. I was sent here by Lady Copperpot, who asked me ta put away her shawl.” Miss Notley lifted the shawl as evidence before brushing past him to put it in the wardrobe.

  Beau turned toward her and inclined his head. “Well, if you must know, I wanted to take a look at his lordship’s clothing to see if I could be of service to any of it.” He did his best to sound affronted as well. It often helped in such situations.

  Her mistrustful stance softened a bit at this logic. When she turned back to look at him, some of the skepticism had left her eyes. Beau seized the opportunity to straighten his shoulders and take a deep breath. He was going to have to completely start over with this one. She’d clearly set her cap against him.

  Perhaps he should attempt to charm her again. Obviously arguing with her wasn’t getting him anywhere. He usually preferred to leave the charming bit to Worth, but Beau certainly could display charm upon occasion when he was inspired to.

  He cocked his head to the side, bit his lip, and smiled at her. “I may be temporary, but I do try to do my very best work no matter when and where the occasion takes me.”

  That stopped her short and she looked him up and down. It was really too bad she was such a mistrustful sort because she was quite pretty. The freckles along the bridge of her nose were downright intriguing… Where the hell had that thought come from? What was he, lusting over angry lady’s maids now?

  She arched a pale brow again. “There’s no harm in wantin’ ta do a proper job, Mr. Baxter, but somethin’ tells me ye weren’t looking at the clothing before I came in.”

  “Why, pray tell, would you think that?” he countered, the fake smile still plastered to his face, while simultaneously thinking that Miss Notley was astute, quite astute indeed. Blast it.

  “Fer one thing, ye weren’t anywhere near the wardrobe.” She crossed her arms over her chest again, blinked at him, and gave him a tight, fake smile too.

  Damn it. The usual falsehoods weren’t working on her. They both eyed each other carefully. She was going to be trouble. Geniality hadn’t worked. Charm hadn’t worked. And effrontery only seemed to beget more effrontery. Very well. Perhaps they were to be enemies. Either way, he wasn’t about to allow a mistrustful lady’s maid to ruin his carefully laid plans.

  “I had just come in and was on my way toward the wardrobe,” he replied.

  How the hell had he got into this tit-for-tat with a female servant? It was entirely ridiculous, and a waste of valuable time. Even if he was still enjoying it…a bit.

  Marianne shut the wardrobe door with a loud thump and turned from him. “Fine. Whatever ye say, Mr. Baxter.” But her tone clearly implied she didn’t believe a word of it. “I’m willin’ ta give ye the benefit o’ the doubt, but I’m warnin’ ye, if I see ye so much as pokin' yer nose in the water closet if it don’t belong, I’ll bring it directly to milady’s attention, and don’t think I won’t.”

  Blast. She’d clearly set her cap against him. More charm was in order. “I wouldn’t dream of, as you say, poking my nose ‘where it don’t belong.’” He certainly wasn’t about to poke it in the water closet, of all places.

  He’d anticipated a variety of issues during this particular mission: being recognized, or failing to be a convincing valet when it came to his duties, but he hadn’t counted on—hadn’t even considered, really—being taken to task by another servant.

  He narrowed his eyes on her this time. He didn’t like it when he encountered anyone who was as certain of themselves as he was.

  She brushed past him again and made her way toward the door. “See that ye don’t.”

  Beau’s nostrils flared. The woman’s egregious self-assurance made him want to grind his teeth. And he never wanted to grind his teeth. In fact, he prided himself on keeping his cool at all times.

  Regardless, he refused to allow her the last word. He would leave first. Besides, he had an appointment to meet his friends in the library to see how their first day as servants had gone.

  He took large steps to catch up with her. “I’ve found in life that those who are the most distrustful of others are the ones with the most to hide themselves, Miss Notley,” he said in an even, calm voice.

  And with that he strode past the redhead and left the room with a wide smile on his face that she couldn’t see.

  Chapter Four

  Marianne watched Nicholas Baxter go. She hadn’t believed a word he’d said. The man had been standing near Lord Copperpot’s bedside table when she entered the room. Milord usually kept his pocket watches and jewelry there. Had Mr. Baxter been looking over the goods?

  Mr. Broughton, the regular valet, drank too much and was lazy, but at least he wasn’t a thief. She’d never known of anything going missing on his watch.

  She’d been rude to Mr. Baxter, especially if he had been innocently browsing around as he said—but she didn’t trust new people quickly, and there was something about the man that made her suspicious.

  He didn’t have the look of a valet about him. He was tall and straight-backed with broad shoulders. He was blond and almost ridiculously good-looking, with crystal blue eyes and a perfectly straight nose. But there was something about him. Something she
couldn’t quite identify, that… his teeth. It was his teeth. They were white and straight and flawless. She’d never seen a valet with teeth like that before.

  Over the years, she’d learned to size up people quickly. She’d learned to look for details and question them. She spent a good deal of time listening to what her gut told her. Her gut was never wrong.

  In addition to his highly suspicious teeth, the man looked too fit to be a valet. Most valets she’d known were in constant service to their masters. They didn’t have noticeable muscles hugged by their shirtfronts. Mr. Baxter’s shirtfront had been entirely too snug for her liking. The man looked more like an Adonis carved from stone than a flesh and blood man who spent his days tending to clothing.

  She had good reason not to trust— both good-looking men and people who looked out of place. And Mr. Baxter fit both of those conditions.

  A memory of William flashed through her mind. Tall, handsome, charming. He’d been the love of her life, the man of her dreams, or so she’d thought. She’d quickly turned into a lovesick fool within days of meeting him. There was no possible way she would make that same mistake again.

  But she’d been barely eighteen years old when she’d met William. She’d been naïve and trusting and all the things she no longer was. William was the type of man who thought a handsome face and a charming smile would disarm anyone of the opposite sex. Mr. Baxter was of the same ilk, she could tell. Little did he know, she’d learned years ago how dangerous such men could be.

  Yes, Mr. Baxter was a bit too handsome for his own good. Suspiciously good-looking. She would have to keep an eye on him and keep him at arm’s distance.

  But she’d got off on the wrong foot with Mr. Baxter. She’d been far too obviously suspicious of him. Her immediate mistrust of him had made her careless. If she truly wanted to know what he was up to, she needed to beat him at his own game. In order to deal with a man like Nicholas Baxter and find out if he was really up to no good, she would need to charm the charmer.

  A smile slowly spread across her face. She could do that. Oh, yes, she could.

  Chapter Five

  Beau didn’t see Miss Notley again until after dinner that evening. He’d been in the antechamber with Lord Copperpot while she’d helped Lady Copperpot in the main bedchamber. In their own home, lord and lady each had their own bedchambers and antechambers where they dressed and slept. But because they were guests and the other bedchamber assigned to them was being used by their daughter, Lord and Lady Copperpot were sharing a room at Clayton’s estate, which made for tight quarters between the lady’s maid and the valet.

  Given that, Beau again regretted getting off to such a bad start with the young woman. He’d lost his even-keeled temper temporarily and that was unlike him. And they were certain to have to deal with each other quite a bit during the next fortnight.

  He’d resolved to be kinder the next time he saw her. To try to be friendly. His work here would involve him attempting to overhear a great many conversations, and Miss Notley could make that more difficult for him if she set herself against him.

  Beau was just coming out of the antechamber when she was leaving the main bedchamber. He hurried down the corridor after her, intent on making amends with the woman.

  “Miss Notley,” he called in his most agreeable voice.

  She quickly pivoted with a bright smile on her face. “Mr. Baxter.” Her demeanor was completely unlike how it had been earlier. Instead of being cold and standoffish, it was almost cheery—and it made him wonder. But he might as well say what he’d intended to say.

  He cleared his throat and wiped his countenance of all humor in an effort to appear humble. “I wanted to apologize for my rudeness earlier. You were just trying to protect your mistress and her husband, and I should have respected that.”

  He followed this little speech by giving her his most disarming smile. The same smile that had once charmed a princess, a duchess, and one of the most highly paid actresses in Covent Garden. Surely a lady’s maid couldn’t be entirely immune to his allure, when he chose to be alluring.

  “On the contrary, Mr. Baxter,” Miss Notley replied, still smiling at him in a way that brought out the brightness of her eyes. “I shouldn’ta been so quick ta judge.”

  What was this? The lady was admitting to being too disapproving. It was so different from her earlier stance that he briefly narrowed his eyes at her. But he certainly wasn’t about to look the gift horse in the mouth. This was what he’d wanted, after all. Friendship. Or at least cordiality. He returned her smile.

  “I’d like it very much if we could be friends,” he continued.

  She clasped her hands in front of her and nodded. “Friends. Yes, I’d like that, too.”

  “You would?” The words flew from his lips before he’d had a chance to examine them. Frankly, he hadn’t expected to be so successful so soon. He’d been convinced it would take much more than a few more assurances to convince Miss Notley to drop her suspicions about him.

  “Why not?” Miss Notley replied, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “We both be here wit a job ta do and I, fer one, intend ta do it correctly. As long as ye do, too, there’s no reason we shouldn’t be friends.” She turned and continued to walk down the corridor toward the servants’ staircase at the back of the house.

  Beau jogged to keep up with her, still wanting to ensure he hadn’t misheard her. “I absolutely intend to do my job to the best of my abilities,” he heard himself say inanely. “And I’m glad we can do so and still be friendly with each other.” Well, that was perhaps one of the dullest lines he’d ever delivered. Where had his impeccable charm gone? Where was his polished, debonair manner?

  She didn’t slow down, but she did look at him out of the corners of her eyes and he could have sworn the hint of a smile touched her lips.

  She didn’t say anything for several seconds, prompting him to add, “That is, there’s no need to be unfriendly, is there?” Christ. That was neither charming, nor debonair. Awkward and ill-advised, more like. Not to mention repetitive. And the entire time he’d been blathering this nonsense, she remained steadfast in her march toward the door, which meant he was chasing after her like a friendless puppy.

  Miss Notley made it all the way to the door to the staircase before opening it and turning to face him. She gave him another bright smile. “I couldn’t agree wit ye more, Mr. Baxter. There’s no need ta be unpleasant, is there?”

  “Excellent.” He inclined his head toward her. There. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Make friends with Miss Notley. So why did it feel so…unsatisfying?

  “Truce?” He held out his hand.

  “Truce,” she allowed, shaking his hand with a surprisingly firm grip that sent an unexpected tingle up his arm, before slipping through the door to the staircase and disappearing from sight.

  Beau let her go, shaking his head. He listened as she made her way up the staircase to the high servants’ quarters on the fourth floor. He didn’t want her to think he was following her up, so he waited until he heard two doors shut upstairs before he slowly climbed the stairs up to his room. He rubbed his chin, considering the situation.

  Ostensibly, he’d accomplished his goal of making friends with her. But something about the entire exchange had bothered him. There was more to Miss Marianne Notley than met the eye. He knew it, and he was rarely wrong about people. He needed to find out more about her, and quickly.

  Chapter Six

  Marianne had just served her charge breakfast in her chamber the next morning and was laying out Lady Wilhelmina’s clothing for the day when Lady Copperpot came sailing into the room.

  “Willie, there you are,” Lady Copperpot said. “You won’t believe what I just heard down at breakfast.”

  Lady Wilhelmina pushed herself up in her chair and sipped her tea while blinking at her mother with great interest. “What, Mama?”

  Lady Copperpot came over and sat on the edge of Wilhelmina’s bed. She had a bright, happ
y smile on her face. The woman looked like a cat who’d just found the cream bowl. “According to Lady Clayton, Lord Kendall is looking for a wife!”

  Wilhelmina’s eyes went wide. “Lord Kendall? Is he here?”

  Lady Copperpot’s face fell and she pursed her lips. “Well, no, not yet, but Lady Clayton says he may arrive soon, and that he intends to find a bride before spring if he can.”

  “Oh, Mama that is good news…but there are so many lovely young women here.” Wilhelmina stared into her teacup and blinked, dejected.

  “Willie, you must have more confidence,” Lady Copperpot declared, patting her daughter’s leg through the blankets. “How do you intend to win Lord Kendall’s hand if you assume he’ll want another young woman?”

  “I don’t know, Mama, I—”

  “Well, stop it this moment. When Lord Kendall arrives, you’ll have to ensure that you talk to him, laugh at his jokes, ask him about his pursuits, and what he enjoys. According to your father, Kendall is dead set on ensuring the Employment Bill passes. Ask him about that, for heaven’s sake.”

  A cloud of worry passed over Wilhelmina’s face. “Mama, I don’t know anything about the bills in Parliament.”

  Lady Copperpot rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t, you silly girl. You don’t need to. He’ll be the one talking; you just smile and nod and agree with everything he says.”

  Staring into the wardrobe, Marianne rolled her eyes. What sort of nonsense was Lady Copperpot spouting? As if a woman should just nod and smile at a man and take everything he said for granted. That was ridiculous. Dangerous, even. Trusting a man could lead to regret.

  Marianne almost felt sorry for Wilhelmina. The poor girl didn’t know what awaited her. Of course, she would marry well and live a life of privilege, so Marianne couldn’t feel too sorry for her—but Wilhelmina was still young and naïve and didn’t realize that a man would say anything a young woman wanted to hear, for his own advantage.