Maid to Match

by Deeanne Gist

  A spark of amusement flashed in his eyes, before he quickly suppressed it. “Oh, those stars.”

  “Yes, those stars. You ought to be ashamed. What were you thinking?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Well, you know the Vanderbilts. They always aim to please. I was only doing my job.”

  “Your job?” She jabbed his chest with a finger, punctuating her words. “Your job? Well, let me tell you, your job does not entail being lady’s maid to my mistress or anyone else’s for that matter.”

  The arrogant lout had the audacity to grin full out. “You’re jealous.”

  “Jealous?” She looked him up and down. “Of what?”

  He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her flush against him. “Of the ladies I’ve been attending and whatever it is you think I did with them at the pond.”

  She struggled. “Let me go. You know perfectly well what you did and so do I.”

  “Oh, I know what I did. And clearly you think you know what I did. But you’re mistaken if you think I was anything less than honorable. I haven’t so much as touched Miss DePriest or any other woman in this house other than you.”

  She stilled.

  “I never lie.”

  The words came back to her, repeating themselves in her mind like the chorus of a song. She studied his eyes, trying to peer into their depths. Trying to break through any barriers and confirm the truth.

  “Then why didn’t Miss DePriest call for me last night or this morning?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  All she saw was sincerity. And genuineness. And huge, beautiful brown eyes which she liked far too much.

  “Let me go.” Her words were soft. “Someone will see.”

  He gentled his hold, rubbing the spots he’d squeezed. “Why do you fight it, Tillie?”

  She stepped from his embrace. “You know why.”

  “You can’t tell me after these three weeks that you still want to be a lady’s maid?”

  “Mrs. Vanderbilt is nothing like Miss DePriest.”

  “Maybe not, but the job still requires you to be at the beck and call of someone else at all hours of the day and night. How can you want that?”

  Sighing, she returned to the trunk she’d been packing and lifted its lid. “It doesn’t matter what I want. Miss DePriest has done nothing but complain about me. And she’s voiced her complaints to Mrs. Vanderbilt. So it’s a moot point.”

  The disappointment and fatigue and emotional upheaval all converged at once. Her chin quivered.

  Mack took a step toward her, but the sound of hurried footfalls in the corridor forestalled him.

  A tweenie stuck his head around the door. “South Tower Room rang the call button.”

  Glancing up, she nodded. “Thanks, Harvey. I’m on my way.”

  She straightened her cap, then headed to the door.

  Mack grabbed her hand. “Tillie?”

  She pulled away. “I have to go, Mack. Thanks for bringing up the trunks.” Stopping at the doorway, she placed her hand on the frame, but didn’t turn around. “And thanks for acting honorably.”

  CHAPTER

  Seventeen

  With the guests finally gone, the Vanderbilts rewarded the entire staff with an evening off. Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Winter, and a handful of others went straight to bed, but most headed to the barn.

  Three members of the orchestra, being friends with the staff, had stayed behind to provide the music. While they tuned up in the corner, Mack helped the men set up tables. Tillie and Dixie lit the lanterns. The kitchen staff set out oranges and apples. A housemaid poured cider into a large bowl.

  Since the gathering was impromptu, none of the estate families were present. Only house staff. All of them young. All of them single. All of them euphoric that the visitors had left.

  Mack filled a mug with cider, took a sip, then raised it to his nose. He scanned the room and found two of the younger footmen watching him with amusement. He lifted a brow, took another sip, and made a note to drink sparingly.

  The music started and the dance floor filled. There was nothing wrong with the mandolin, fiddle, and piano the old-timers usually played, but the quality of tonight’s music was unheard of for a barn gathering. The bass player spun his instrument and picked out notes with his finger. The violinist lunged and rocked as he sawed with his bow. And the cornet player blasted out notes from the top of the scale to the very bottom.

  The dance floor stayed full, and the more the revelers danced, the thirstier they became. The thirstier they became, the more cider they drank. The more cider they drank, the more raucous they grew.

  Mack stayed on the sidelines, but not so Tillie. She danced and laughed and drank, then danced and drank some more. He thought to warn her about the cider, but she had a brother who should have done that already. So Mack kept track of where she was, who she partnered with, and how many times.

  Conrad, a skinny, lanky footman, had just begun to make a nuisance of himself when the musicians called for a break.

  Allan whisked a chair from one of the tables and plunked it in the middle of the room. “That will allow just enough time for a game of Frincy-Francy.”

  Mack had never played parlor games until he’d come to Biltmore House, but the rest of the company seemed to recognize the title, and from the titters of the women and the grins of the men, it promised to be interesting.

  He remained along the back wall, keeping to the shadows. Earl joined him with two cups of cider and handed him one.

  Allan escorted a lovely kitchen maid to the chair. After she’d settled comfortably, Allan swept his hand in a gesture that encompassed the entire room. “Which of these fine gentlemen, Tolene, would you like to award with a kiss? For if you don’t choose one, you will pay a most embarrassing forfeit.”

  She turned a becoming shade of red. “Mason.”

  Footmen hooted as the hallboy, a lad of sixteen, stumbled to the center. When he reached his goal, the entire crowd grew silent. Rubbing his hands against his thighs, the gangly youth took a deep breath, scrunched his eyes closed, then leaned over and gave Tolene a hasty peck . . . right between her eyes.

  Laughter and applause filled the barn. Tolene turned even redder than before as Allan escorted her to the side.

  “Mason?” Allan called. “Which of these fine ladies would you like to award with a kiss? For if you don’t choose one, you will pay a most embarrassing forfeit.”

  He plopped into the vacated chair. “Zenith!”

  His shout was so loud, several of the girls jumped.

  Mack glanced at Tolene’s stricken face, then watched as Allan escorted the head housemaid to Mason’s chair. She was a good five years older and five inches taller than the boy and outranked him several times over.

  He grinned and lifted his chin.

  She stretched out her hand. His face collapsed, but he gamely kissed her fingers – amongst more laughter and applause.

  The chair had held several different occupants when it was Lucy Lewers’s turn to call a name.

  “Mack.” She knew exactly where he was, but he noted she glanced between him and Earl.

  He looked at Earl, a slow smile forming.

  Returning the grin, Earl pushed himself from the wall and approached the head chambermaid. When he reached her, instead of bending over to give her a chaste kiss, he pulled her to her feet and awarded her with a long, lusty kiss.

  The men roared. The women giggled behind their hands.

  Mack looked at Tillie. A line of red crept up her neck and into her face as she watched the couple. She peeled her gaze away and turned it toward him, the impact of her stare as powerful as if she’d reached out and touched him.

  She knew it was Earl out there. Had known all along. How could she tell them apart so easily? Even his siblings would sometimes confuse them.

  In an instant it occurred to him, if he didn’t get into that chair soon, someone else might call her name.

  Earl and Lucy broke apart. A treme
ndous cheer rose. Lucy stared at him wide-eyed. Allan took her hand and tucked it into his elbow, but before he escorted her away, he looked between Earl and Mack with a speculative glare.

  If they were found out, they would have to pay a forfeit for certain. Mack gave him a saucy salute and an exact replica of Earl’s devil-may-care grin.

  “Tillie,” Earl called out.

  Mack whipped his attention to his brother, all amusement fleeing. Earl stared right at him, a brow lifted in challenge.

  Tillie looked to Mack, clearly horrified at the prospect of what Earl might do. But he was powerless. So help him, though, if Earl tried to kiss her the way he’d kissed Lucy . . .

  Allan escorted Tillie to the center. Earl started to stand, but Allan pressed him into the seat. Chuckling, Earl settled back down, widened his knees, and grabbed her waist, pulling her forward.

  She propped her hands against his shoulders in an effort to keep him back. Not to be denied, he swept an arm beneath her knees, swinging her into his lap.

  She squealed and he silenced her with his mouth. Mack shoved his way through the throng, but before he could break into the circle, Tillie jumped to her feet and slapped Earl’s face hard enough to twist his head clean around.

  A collective gasp rose as everyone froze.

  “Earl Danver, who do you think you are, kissing me like that?”

  Allan jumped into the void. “Earl? Earl?”

  Tillie dragged her sleeve across her mouth. Earl rubbed his cheek, his grin wide.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Allan said, crossing his arms. “I believe we’ve been had. I call for a forfeit!”

  The crowd gave an answering cry as Mack was shoved into the center. Tillie tried to scurry away, but Allan grabbed her arm.

  “Not so fast, sister. You’re just as guilty as these two because you knew they’d switched and didn’t speak up.”

  “Bubby,” she pleaded.

  “The three of you, out of the barn while we discuss your forfeits.”

  Mack clasped her hand and pulled her outside. The minute the door closed behind the three of them, Mack threw a punch at Earl. But his brother had been expecting it and dodged.

  “Come on, Mack,” he said. “It’s just a game.”

  Mack advanced, his fists clenched, his chest puffed out.

  Earl backed away, still grinning. “I was only funning.”

  “You ever touch her again and I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

  Holding his hands up, Earl chuckled. “All right. All right. I didn’t know. You never used to get mad about stuff like that. What’s the matter with you?”

  “You know good and well what’s the matter. You knew it before you ever called her name.”

  She hovered near the door, afraid to intervene, afraid not to.

  Earl sighed, putting a bale of hay between himself and Mack. “I admit, I suspected. I just wanted to know for sure.”

  “You could’ve asked.”

  “You wouldn’t have told me.”

  The barn door opened. “Earl, get in here.”

  He edged around the bale of hay, then entered the barn. The door rolled shut.

  Cicadas and crickets chirped in an effort to drown out the noisy humans. Tillie hugged herself, her mouth downturned.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “I hate those stupid games. I don’t know why we have to play them.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Allan says they’re harmless. And usually they are. Only Earl and a couple of the others try to take advantage. But never with me. Never.” She touched two fingers to her temple. “Goodness. My head simply won’t quit buzzing.”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets. “How many mugs of cider have you had?”

  “Cider? I don’t know. A lot, I guess. Why?”

  “Go easy. It’s – ”

  The door opened. “Mack, you’re next.”

  Before he entered, he looked at her. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Ever. All right?”

  Allan grabbed him by the arm. “Come on.”

  Inside Lucy stood in the center of the ring. Mack scanned the crowd and found Earl back against the wall, a smirk on his face.

  “Since Lucy was the one tricked,” Allan said, pushing Mack into the circle, “she has three questions for you. They are all yes-or-no questions.”

  Mack eyed the two of them, then nodded.

  “Thing is,” Allan continued, “you have to answer them first. So give us your answers, and she’ll give you the questions.”

  Mack thought for a moment. “No. Yes. No.”

  The smug expression on Lucy’s face fell a fraction. “So, Mack, would you like to be kissed by every lady in the room?”

  Allan clapped him on the shoulder. “What was your first answer, my friend?”

  “No.”

  The men chuckled.

  “Would you like me to not to kiss you?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

  “No.”

  The vehemence of his answer tickled the crowd and they laughed at Lucy’s expense.

  Her smile turned brittle. “Too bad for you. You lose.”

  He refrained from commenting.

  Allan escorted her to the sidelines. “Mack, you will ask the same questions of Tillie, in the same order.”

  Tillie was brought in from outside and led to the center of the ring, where she faced Mack. Her face was flushed, her hair mussed, and her step a tad unsteady.

  Allan explained the forfeit.

  She frowned. “I don’t like these games, Allan.”

  “Yes or no, Till.”

  She crossed her arms. “No. No. Yes.”

  The men chuckled. Allan bowed to Mack.

  “Would you like to be kissed by every gentleman in the room?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Would you like me not to kiss you?”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “No.”

  Taking her chin between his fingers, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  The men booed and hissed. She flushed.

  “Would you like me to kiss you, Tillie?”

  The crowd quieted as they waited for her response.

  She looked at him, then his lips. Her chest rose and fell with deep, rapid breaths. “Yes,” she whispered.

  His pulse began to thrum. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

  She raised her gaze back up to his. “Just a little one.” She pinched her fingers together to indicate something tiny.

  Slipping one arm around her, he cradled her cheek, touched his lips to hers and felt the impact clear to his toes. Much as he wanted to lose himself in her, he was well aware of their audience and didn’t prolong their embrace.

  Stepping away, he took in her dazed expression. Her soft, parted lips. Her blue-violet eyes as they stared at his mouth. Swallowing, he handed her over to her brother.

  “Let the dancing resume!” Allan shouted.

  The musicians took up their instruments and the floor flooded with dancers. Mack leaned against the wall and watched Tillie. She laughed too easily. Danced too gaily. Drank too deeply. And pretended she wasn’t aware of him.

  But she was. And every time he caught her looking, she’d turn away, as if she hadn’t been keeping just as close an eye on him as he was on her.

  Earl approached him with a fresh mug of cider.

  Mack shook his head. “No thanks. I’m done for the night.”

  “Suit yourself.” He leaned against the wall.

  “Was your forfeit the same as ours?” Mack asked.

  Earl shook his head. “Mine was Kiss the Lady You Love Without Anyone Knowing It. So I have the rest of the evening to bestow a kiss on the woman of my dreams – but it has to be without anyone knowing it.”

  Mack glanced about the room. “So who’s the lucky lady?”

  “That’s just it.�
� Earl chuckled. “They all are. So long as no one knows, then, I can kiss as many as I can corner.”

  Mack raised a brow. “And how’s that working out for you?”

  “Come on, now. I never kiss and tell.”

  “You stay away from Tillie.”

  “I’ll leave her be.” He took a sip of cider. “So what’s going on with you two?”

  “Nothing.” He sighed. “But I’m working on it.”

  “You work too hard and you’ll lose your job – and so will she.”

  Mack ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe ‘biding my time’ would be a better way to put it.”

  “I thought you had plans to get Ora Lou out of Sloop’s. You change your mind?”

  He shook his head. “No, but she says she’ll find work once I set her up in a place.”

  “And the boys?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. Either way, I’m hoping I won’t be here much longer.”

  “And you really believe Tillie will go with you?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, you better rescue her from Conrad, then. He’s had his eye on her for over a year now.”

  Mack whipped his head around and found the footman panting after her like a puppy. He’d not been at the last barn gathering. If Mack wasn’t mistaken, Conrad’s days off were opposite of Tillie’s.

  The footman’s pale blond hair, blond eyebrows, and blond eyelashes were a stark contrast to her dark ones.

  “Excuse me, brother.” Mack wove through the crowd.

  She laughed at something the footman said, then saw Mack. Her smile faded. When he reached them, she tilted her head, eyes hooded. “Hello, Mack.”

  “How much cider have you had?”

  “Why do you keep asking me that?”

  Conrad puffed up his chest. “Sorry, Danver, but Tillie and I were about to dance.”

  “Not anymore.” He took the mug out of Tillie’s hand and set it on the table behind her. “Come on. Let’s get you some fresh air.”

  Leaving a sputtering Conrad behind, Mack gripped her elbow, then moved her through the throng and out the back door.

  CHAPTER

  Eighteen