Maid to Match

by Deeanne Gist

  Leaning against the edge of the sofa, Tillie picked off a speck of lint. “I saw their bruises.” She looked up. “When I was helping them to bed.”

  “They’re bad?”

  “They’re fading.” She pressed her lips together. “Still, I was very angry, but I didn’t show it, of course. Just chattered away as if it were perfectly normal to be yellow and green like that.”

  Her pupils were large and troubled, the irises a deep violet. “Of course, those were only the bruises I could see. The other ones, the ones in here . . .” She tapped her chest. “Those will take a bit more time to heal.”

  He wanted to touch her. Pull her close. Comfort her. Kiss the sorrow from her eyes.

  He kept his hands firmly at his sides.

  Hooking a loose tendril behind her ear, she looked down at her shoes. “I was thinking.”

  He waited.

  “If I only read two chapters of The Prince and the Pauper every other Sunday on my days off, it’ll take me eight months to finish the book.”

  His breathing hitched. She wasn’t coming back. He’d expected that. Tried to prepare himself for it. But when she’d shown up this morning, hope had sprung anew.

  He should have known better. “I could read it to them.”

  Nodding, she bumped her hip against the sofa. Thump, thump, thump.

  “I suppose you could,” she said. “But it’s such a treat to look up and see their rapt, wide-eyed expressions. I’d hate to miss out on that.”

  He frowned, unsure of what she wanted him to do. “Then we’ll just wait until you can come. They’ll enjoy it no matter how long it takes.”

  Pushing herself off the couch, she swished her hands together, as if brushing away dirt. “No, that just won’t do. Eight months is entirely too long. What if the new directors won’t allow me to finish? That would be awful.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. Had purposely tried not to dwell on being asked to give up his position to someone else.

  She shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to come more often.”

  “But you can’t. You wouldn’t have enough time on your weekly evening off. And you’d miss the barn gatherings.”

  “True. But I wouldn’t be going to the barn gatherings anymore anyway.”

  “Because of the parlor games?”

  “Because members of the swell set don’t usually participate. It tends to make everyone else uncomfortable.”

  He sucked in his breath. The butler, chef, valet, and lady’s maid were the elite who made up the swell set. “You got the lady’s maid position.”

  It was more of a statement than a question.

  She nodded. “I was offered it.”

  Holding himself perfectly still, he pushed his anguish aside. But it was there. Just beneath the very surface of his skin.

  She searched his eyes. “Nothing to say?”

  He wasn’t about to congratulate her. “It won’t take eight months to finish the book, it’ll take two years.”

  The barest of smiles flickered across her lips. “I thought the same thing.”

  How long before Earl came for her? he wondered. How long would he have to stand here and pretend she hadn’t completely shorn his heart in two?

  She ran a thumbnail along the edge of her waistband. “That’s why I told them no.”

  It took a moment for him to absorb the words. He furrowed his brows. “What do you mean you told them no?”

  “I told them no. No, thank you. I don’t want the position of lady’s maid.”

  He furrowed his brows. “But . . . I don’t . . .”

  “Will you marry me, Mack?”

  He stared at her. Certain he’d heard her incorrectly. The silence stretched between them. The fire popped.

  A shy smile began at one corner of her mouth. “Would it help if I got down on one knee?”

  Giving himself a shake, he let out a quick huff of air. “No.”

  Her face collapsed. “No?”

  “I mean, yes! No.” He grabbed her against him. “No, you don’t have to get on one knee, and yes, I would very much like to marry you.”

  Throwing her arms around his neck, she stretched onto tiptoes.

  He crushed his mouth to hers.

  The front door opened. “Knock, knock? Anybody home?”

  Inwardly groaning, Mack pulled back and rested his forehead on Tillie’s. “It’s Earl. Maybe if we hide behind the couch he won’t find us.”

  She giggled.

  Earl strode into the parlor and quirked a brow. “Release that woman, big brother. I have to get her home before we both miss curfew.”

  “She is home,” Mack growled softly. Tillie stepped from his embrace. “Not just yet.”

  “When?” Mack asked.

  “A week from Saturday?”

  “I’ll make arrangements for the children.”

  Earl grasped Tillie’s hand. “Come on. We’re going to be late. See you later, Mack.”

  Throwing Mack a kiss, she snatched her coat off the hall tree and ran to keep up with Earl as he dragged her out the door.

  With it being a workday at Biltmore, no one could attend the wedding. Mack and Tillie exchanged vows privately in the preacher’s back office of All Saints church. Mr. Vanderbilt had loaned them his Portland cutter sleigh, and Mack drove it right down the Approach Road instead of the back road the staff usually used.

  Snow sheltered the landscape with its thick, icy down, sparkling so bright it hurt his eyes. A red squirrel hopped from one barren branch to another, shaking loose a flurry of powdery flakes. He recalled the dread he’d felt when he’d first traversed this road at the end of the summer, never dreaming it was leading him to the woman he’d want to spend the rest of his days with.

  Holding the reins in one hand, he placed his arm on the seatback and pulled Tillie close. She’d been quiet and stiff during the ride. But if she was having second thoughts, it was too late. They’d said their vows and as soon as he returned this sleigh, he was putting her on a horse and taking her to honeymoon in his home on the mountain.

  Rubbing her arm, he glanced down at her, then frowned. Her face was pale and drawn against the dark green of her new jacket and gown.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  She gave a quick shake of her head. “Fine.”

  He leaned away from her. “Look at me.”

  Slicing him a glance, her smile was stiff.

  He slowed the horse to stop. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

  “It’s not.” He wrapped the reins around the rail, then swiveled her toward him. “What is it?”

  Her expression was pained. “I’m just feeling a little queasy, is all.”

  Relief swept through him. It wasn’t second thoughts; it was carriage sickness.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “I just forgot to have the kitchen make up a batch of ginger cookies. We’re almost there.”

  Scooting from beneath the blanket which lay across their laps, he hopped down and scooped up a hunk of snow.

  “What are you doing?” She eyed him with suspicion.

  “Next best thing to gingerbread.” He climbed into the sleigh and clapped the snow against the back of her neck.

  She screeched and tried to pull away.

  Fortunately, the horse didn’t spook but stood patient and calm.

  Tillie continued to struggle. “That’s freezing. And you’re getting my collar wet. What in the world?”

  “Hold still, it’ll help your stomach.”

  “That is the most ridiculous thing.” Straightening her spine, she frantically pushed against his arm. “It’s going down my back!”

  Finally, he released her, tossed the snow over the side of the sleigh, and handed her his handkerchief.

  “I can’t believe you did that.” She scrubbed her neck and inside her collar. “What were you thinking?”

  “Is your stomach better?”

  “I’m too mad to tell
.”

  He smiled. “Well, your face certainly has more color.” Smoothing the blanket across them once more, he pulled her close.

  She pushed against his chest. “Oh no. Don’t think for a minute you’re going to distract me. If I wasn’t so worried about wetting the hem of my new dress, we’d be having the biggest snow fight of your life right now.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “Wouldn’t do any good. I’d still win.”

  Her brows shot up. “Want to bet?”

  “I do. But to prove your point, you’d have to get your hem wet.” Leaning down, he nuzzled her neck and dropped the tenor of his voice. “Of course, if you removed your skirts and petticoats, that wouldn’t be a problem.”

  She gasped.

  He nibbled his way along her jaw. “That would give you an unfair advantage, though. I’d be way too distracted to dodge.”

  He trailed kisses along her cheeks and nose, then found his way to her lips.

  Her enthusiastic response nearly undid him. He dragged her onto his lap and made free with his hands, claiming what was finally his.

  A sigh emerged from the back of her throat.

  The horse blew out a breath and shifted his weight, jostling the two of them apart.

  Her eyes slowly opened, dazed and disoriented.

  He gave her a wicked grin. “Bet you won’t cast up your accounts after that kiss.”

  Jerking upright, she leapt from his lap, returned to her place on the cushion, and yanked the coverlet back into place.

  Laughing, he released the reins and gave the horse a hi-yup. When they reached Biltmore, he pulled the sleigh into the courtyard by the servants’ entrance. Stableboys rushed out to take the reins.

  Allan met them at the door and helped Tillie alight. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Danver.”

  Blushing, she gave her brother a peck on the cheek. “Good morning.”

  He swatted her back end. “Go on, brat. Everyone’s anxious to see if you look any different now that you’re a married woman.”

  She disappeared inside and Mack accepted the hand Allan offered.

  “Took you longer than we were expecting,” Allan said, lifting a brow.

  “Tillie had carriage sickness.” He hurried inside, cutting off any further questions.

  Belowstairs the servants’ dining hall had a wedding cake and a table of food. Tillie’s parents and siblings were in attendance, and the rest of the staff popped in and out as duties permitted.

  Tillie’s father gave her a hug. “You look mighty pretty, Tillie-girl.”

  “Thanks, Pa.” She pecked him on the cheek, then turned to her mother. “Hello, Mama.”

  The carefully hidden strain behind Mrs. Reese’s composed face was only evident to Mack because Tillie had warned him to expect it.

  “It’s done, then?” Mrs. Reese asked.

  A twinge of hurt touched Tillie’s eyes, before being quickly submerged. “It is.”

  He tried not to feel angry with the woman’s attitude, but it was difficult.

  “Well.” Mrs. Reese heaved a sigh. “Your father’s right. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  His new mother-in-law looked him up and down. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but tears welled up and she quickly turned and walked away.

  After an awkward moment, Mr. Reese held out his hand. “Welcome to the family, son.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Mack shook hands with him.

  The man turned to his daughter and squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry about your mama. She’ll come around. Just give her a little time to let old dreams die.”

  Swallowing, Tillie nodded.

  “Mack!”

  He turned at the youthful voice and barely had time to see who was rushing toward him before the boy squeezed Mack’s legs.

  “John-John? What . . . ?” Holding the boy close, Mack looked up. Ikey and Otis raced around the corner, Earl a step behind them.

  Kneeling down, Mack captured all three boys into his embrace, his heart expanding.

  “Earl fetched us,” John-John said, his brown eyes filled with excitement. “He says you’ve found a woman to do for ya.”

  “I did at that.” Standing, Mack winked at Tillie, then clasped her hand. “These are my brothers. Ikey, Otis, and John-John.”

  Earl had somehow managed to make them bathe and sit still for haircuts, and had even wrestled them into proper clothing. They stood before Tillie with cheeks scrubbed and hair slicked down.

  “How do you do,” she said. “I’m Tillie.”

  “Earl made us wear shoes.” Ikey stuck out a newly shod foot.

  “You don’t like shoes?” she asked.

  “I don’t see any use for ’em a’tall.”

  Mack started to respond, but she squeezed his hand.

  “Well, do you like cake?”

  His eyes lit. “Yes, ma’am. All of us like cake. Mack too.”

  Releasing Mack, she held out her hand to Ikey. “Well, come along, then. I’ll cut you each a large slice of our wedding cake and introduce you to my brothers and sisters.”

  Ikey placed his hand in Tillie’s, and the boys trailed after her. Mack admired the way her dark green jacket nipped her waist and her skirt swelled over her backside.

  “Put your tongue back in, big brother.”

  Mack smiled at Earl. “When did you get the boys?”

  “I left the day before yesterday.” Earl watched Otis stuff a whole piece of cake into his mouth at once. “It was good to see them. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them.”

  “Me too. Thanks for fetching them.”

  Earl shook his head. “From what I can gather, they haven’t done much schooling since you dropped them with the new families. Not when there was harvesting to do. Pa’s probably spinning in his grave. You’re going to have your work cut out for you if you plan to get them caught up to where we were at that age.”

  Mack wondered at what point Earl had begun to care more about Pa’s opinion than that of their grandfather’s. Before he could ask, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt entered the dining hall. Their presence brought an immediate buzz of excitement.

  For them to have approved the celebration during working hours and to personally appear belowstairs spoke of their high regard for Tillie. They spotted her immediately. Mr. Vanderbilt squeezed her hand and said something to make her laugh. Mrs. Vanderbilt cooed over her gown.

  Tillie’s mother lit up when they greeted her and she offered her first smile of the day. After a few moments, Vanderbilt’s gaze swept the room, then stalled on Mack and Earl. Skirting the table, he headed toward them, a long scroll of some kind in his hand.

  He shook Mack’s hand. “Well, I half expected you to have your collar off and your sleeves rolled up.”

  Smiling, Mack looked down at his Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. “The preacher wouldn’t marry us if I wasn’t properly suited up.”

  “I imagine not.” Tapping the scroll against his trouser leg, Vanderbilt gave Mack a long look. “I’m not sure whether to congratulate you or not. You’re taking away a girl we think the world of around here.”

  “It wasn’t easy, I assure you.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He handed Mack the scroll. “Your wedding present.”

  Mack’s brows rose. Taking the scroll, he untied the strip of leather and unrolled it. An elevation plan of a large three-story building was on the first page. He looked at Vanderbilt questioningly.

  “It’s the new orphanage I’m building.”

  “New orphanage?”

  Vanderbilt turned the page, revealing a first-floor plan. “Tillie told us about the other one. I talked to our state representative, Leonard Vaughan?”

  Mack nodded.

  “He said the whole thing needed to be leveled. So I had my architect draw up a more modern one. But rather than build it in town, I thought the children might enjoy having a bit more room.”

  Mrs. Vanderbilt and Tillie joined them.

  Ma
ck rested his hand on the small of Tillie’s back. “More room, sir?”

  “Yes. Out on my estate. In the mountains somewhere. Not Hazel Creek, but far enough away from the city to have plenty of elbow room. I thought when you returned from your honeymoon, you might like to ride out with me to a couple of sites I had in mind. See what you thought of them.”

  Mack’s heart started to hammer. “Why me, sir?”

  Vanderbilt looked at him, surprised. “You and Tillie are going to be the new orphanage directors, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then it seems to me you ought to be involved in the project.”

  Mack glanced at Tillie, then back at Vanderbilt. “Well . . . I don’t know what to say.” He clasped Vanderbilt’s hand. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome, Danver. Just make sure you take good care of our girl here.”

  “I can promise you, sir, it’ll be my pleasure.”

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-two

  Tillie had always heard mountain men were extraordinary walkers and carriers of heavy burdens. She hadn’t assigned that image to Mack, though. Yet he’d refused to ride up the mountain to his home, where they were to overnight.

  Instead, he’d put Tillie on a horse, commandeered the reins, then slung her sack of items onto his shoulder without benefit of a pack strap. Every so often, he’d shift it to his other shoulder. He gave no more notice to the snow beneath his feet than he would have a solid wood floor.

  The higher they went, the more monotonous the view became. With the forest pressing in on every side, she couldn’t imagine why he considered this land open and airy. It was much more confining than the cavernous rooms of Biltmore and its sweeping panoramas.

  At times the climb was so steep it seemed as if Mack could stand up straight and bite the ground. At others, they’d plunge down at such an angle she’d have felt better if he’d had hobnails in the seat of his pants. Yet nothing winded him. And the farther from civilization they went, the more energy he seemed to have.

  She wasn’t able to say the same for her horse. Not only was the trek challenging for the animal, it also shied several times, making her wonder what wild beasts might be lurking in the thicket.