The Secret Admirer Romance Collection

by Barratt, Amanda; Beatty, Lorraine; Bull, Molly Noble

  He swallowed, his tongue suddenly wooden. “Have a nice evening, Mrs. Montgomery.”

  She nodded, still smiling. He watched her go, her skirt brushing the gravel, head held high. Truly beautiful. The kind of woman who could make a man wonder why the single life held any pleasure whatsoever.

  Make a man? Men who were Vanderbilts, Rockefellers, or Wellingtons. They could dream all they wanted, no risk attached.

  Unlike men who were chauffeurs, footmen.

  Such a world as his didn’t permit such luxuries.

  Chapter 2

  Even the air seemed to glitter tonight. Or perhaps it was the mingling scents of hothouse roses and French perfume that made it appear so.

  The notes of a Strauss waltz spun through the air, flitting and dancing, as couples swirled through the ballroom to the melody. Lily inhaled deeply, Evans’s words filling her mind.

  “You’ll still outshine them all.”

  During the last ball she attended, Jackson had been at her side. As usual, he’d behaved as if unaware of her existence the entire evening, recovering from his amnesia only once to partner her in a single waltz. She’d always dreaded such occasions, breathed a weighty sigh of relief when they returned home.

  But Jackson wasn’t with her. And so help her, she would not end tonight in humiliation.

  The Wellingtons—rotund mister reaching sixty and petite missus only a few years older than Lily—stood beneath their favorite showpiece, a van Dyck, receiving guests.

  She glided across the parquet floor.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Montgomery. Lovely to see you after so long, my dear.” Bram Wellington bowed.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me.” She smiled. “Your gown is exquisite, Alesia.”

  “As is yours, Lily. You look wonderful.” Alesia Wellington returned the smile. “Why, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were still a seventeen-year-old girl, learning the steps of the quadrille under the stern eye of our horrid dancing master.”

  “You flatter me. As we both well know, I’m no longer seventeen. And I haven’t danced a quadrille in ages, so after tonight, society might decree I need another round at Mr. Beverly’s School of Dance and Deportment.” More guests crowded in and Lily moved on, so as not to hold up the line.

  “Enjoy the evening. And be sure to save a spot on your card for me,” Mr. Wellington called after her.

  A wave of awkwardness assailed her as she stood near an enormous potted palm. How did one reintegrate into a world one had been absent from for two long years? She recognized a few familiar faces—Oliver Belmont dancing with Mr. Wellington’s debutante daughter…Willie Vanderbilt in conversation with J. J. Astor.

  But like an injured limb newly freed from a restrictive sling, the feeling of rightness was no longer there. And for a moment, she fought the urge to turn on her heel and run out the door, toward Evans and the car and the familiarity of home.

  “Mrs. Montgomery?”

  The voice made her lift her head, and she found herself looking into the eyes of Roland Kingsley.

  “Why, Mr. Kingsley. What a surprise to see you here.”

  “A welcome one, I hope.” Mr. Kingsley smiled. He’d aged some, since last she’d seen him. Probably his forty-fifth birthday had come and gone. A touch of silver around the temples that had not been there before, a few lines around the eyes. He was still tall though. And his smile still emanated genuine warmth.

  “Very much so. It’s been so long since we last had the pleasure of meeting.”

  “At…your husband’s funeral, I believe it was.” His brown eyes took on a pained expression.

  She nodded. “You were so kind to come. And the gifts you sent…the basket of fruit was so thoughtful. I never had a chance to thank you afterward.”

  “No need for thanks. It was a kindness easily done. But if you wish to do me a favor, you could honor me with this dance.”

  Warmth spread through her at the thoughtful gesture. “I would be delighted. But I must warn you, I haven’t danced in so long and am liable to tread on your feet.” She gave a rueful grin.

  “I consider myself duly warned.” He took her hand and escorted her onto the dance floor.

  “How are you enjoying Newport?” He led her through the steps with ease, turning her gently and expertly maneuvering among the other dancers.

  “I’ve only been here two days. I took a walk along the shore this morning. Early. It’s so much nicer when other people are not about.” Slowly she found herself relaxing, even enjoying the rhythm and grace of the dance.

  “I agree. Early morning is my favorite time for a walk. There’s something serene about the stillness then. A sweetness to the air that it lacks at other times.”

  “My sentiments exactly. So tell me, Mr. Kingsley, how have you occupied yourself these past two years?”

  “Work, mostly. I traveled to England last year. Stopped over at Blenheim Palace and saw the new duchess of Marlborough.”

  “How is Consuelo?” The dance ended and he offered her his arm. She placed her hand upon it, sensing none of the tension there that had always emanated from Jackson. Mr. Kingsley gave her a companionable smile and directed her out of the ballroom, toward the adjoining area reserved for refreshments.

  “Unhappy. Their marriage was a sham right from the start. To be so miserable when one is so young and lovely. It makes the heart ache just to think of it.” He handed her a flute of champagne, taking one for himself. Though, as they stood against one wall, she noticed he barely sipped from it. Jackson had always downed his drink in a single gulp.

  “But there’s more to life than happiness in marriage.” She took the tiniest of sips from her own glass. The liquid fizzed going down and she resisted the urge to scrunch her nose. “A home. A place in society. Children.” The latter she herself had never enjoyed, though she’d always longed for them. And once, she’d been so sure her hopes had become promise….

  “True. Though marriage is such a large part of one’s life. Surrendering oneself to misery in any area is a bit like declaring that as long as one possesses the ability to see, they could rub along quite happily without the need to taste. And with so many sweet things on offer, life would be rather empty without the ability to experience them.” He looked at her earnestly. As if he found her society enchanting. As if he was actually content ignoring the rest of the party and spending the evening with her and her alone.

  Heat filled her cheeks. “And if one must accept? Wouldn’t it be better to embrace the gifts the Lord chooses to give us, rather than be bitter over those we are denied?”

  A weighty sigh lifted his chest, though he tempered it with another smile. “Very wise words, Mrs. Montgomery. I won’t argue with them.”

  “I do enjoy a good debate. Though not a quarrel.” She placed her almost full champagne flute on a tray offered by a passing waiter, watching as Mr. Kingsley did the same.

  “Then I shall take care never to quarrel with you. The notion of doing so anyway sounds rather impossible. With your winning smile, I don’t know how anyone could stay angry with you for long.”

  Jackson had always found anger at her easy. Even when she pleaded, cried. As if his heart were hewn of the same marble as the columns surrounding her now. Unbreached by any dart she might fling. Her father had been the same. Though not as outwardly violent as Jackson, he’d been unsusceptible to her little-girl coaxing, meriting her a scolding whenever she attempted to try.

  “May I call on you? I would very much like to renew our acquaintance to a greater degree.”

  She started, was on the brink of saying no, but the look in his eyes disarmed her completely. This man sought her friendship. Nothing more. Didn’t he? There was no danger in afternoon tea, a carriage ride to the seaside.

  “As would I.” She infused warmth into her smile.

  “Good.” The grin on his face made him look, all of a sudden, younger. “Now how about another dance?”

  One would think that with only a
single lady in residence, there wouldn’t be much for the servants in Lily Montgomery’s employ to do.

  But there wasn’t a chance of overmuch relaxation while Osbourne, the butler, remained within scolding distance.

  Nathan brushed an invisible speck of lint off his jacket lapel, straightening his casual stance as Osbourne gave him a dour glance from his seat at the head of the servants’ breakfast table.

  Polly, the freckle-faced under housemaid hid a giggle behind her napkin, nudging him beneath the table.

  “What’s eating Oz?” she whispered, while Osbourne’s attention was momentarily diverted by Mrs. Lakely, the housekeeper.

  “He found a smudge of car oil on my nose earlier. Said I didn’t wash well this morning.”

  “Aw, tell him to go jump in the drink. He knows just as well as any of us that your job as chauffeur is ten times more important than any piddling footman duties. He’s just jealous that you get to drive Mrs. Montgomery around, while he’s stuck here barking orders at this sorry lot.” She took a generous bite of porridge. “How’d it go last night, anyway?”

  “How it always does. I take her there, she goes to the party. I drink coffee and eat sandwiches with the other drivers until she’s ready to come home.” It took a heap of effort for him to shove aside the image of her—fresh from the party—a smile on her lips, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. She stifled yawns on the drive back, while regaling him with a rundown of the evening’s events.

  “It was awkward at first. But then Mr. Kingsley came to see me. It was nice after that. He took me around to talk to everyone. We danced together a few times.”

  Why did the thought of another man’s hands clasping hers make Nathan want to ram his fist into something? She’d danced at parties before…though rarely with her husband.

  Yet she hadn’t been to a fete in two years.

  Much had happened in the space of twenty-four months. A whole lot of it included Nathan feeling less like Lily Montgomery’s servant and more like her friend.

  Friend. Who was he fooling? She paid his salary, for mercy’s sake. His job was simple: drive her where she needed to go and see she got there safely. He wasn’t being paid to listen to her stories, tease laughter from those rose-hued lips.

  He wasn’t paid to…enjoy her company, long for it even.

  But enjoy and long for it he did, like a mooncalf idiot.

  “Did you hear the music, Nathan?” Polly’s words pulled him to the present. The eighteen-year-old regarded him, blue eyes wide.

  “I certainly did. You would’ve loved it, Polly. They played Strauss waltzes, a few polkas and quadrilles. Even from belowstairs, the music…well, it sort of swept over you. Like looking up at the stars at night and watching one streak across the sky. I wish you could’ve been there.”

  “Me, too. But the next best thing is listening to you tell of it. You have a way about you, when you say things. I wish you could be a teacher, Nathan. I’d like to have learned from you.”

  He swallowed. It had probably been a mistake, telling Polly of his ambition. But the confidence she had in him watered the thirsty roots of his dream, one born when he’d been a youth of fourteen, forced to quit school and go into service, because time spent book-learning didn’t put bread onto his mother’s table.

  “Well, you won’t have a chance to learn another thing from me, if I don’t get a move on before I get tossed out on my ear.” He stood, pushing his chair back from the table. Always, he did his best to be the first footman upstairs every morning, so he had a head start on laying the breakfast table. Gilbert tended to dawdle, but as Osbourne’s nephew, never got much of a tongue lashing for it.

  The hours passed. Laying the table, serving breakfast, polishing silver. Hanging the protective apron used for the latter task on its designated hook, Nathan’s ears pricked as the bell rang. He strode to the call board. Front door. A quick check in the mirror assured his hair was neatly in place and his white bowtie had stayed straight.

  Up the servants’ stairs, through the foyer and to the large front door in less than a minute. Swiping a hand down his shirtfront, Nathan straightened his shoulders and opened the door.

  A man stood outside. Nathan assessed him in a single glance. Medium height, stocky build. Brownish graying hair combed and parted to perfection. Gray suit, blue ascot. In one hand, the gentleman held his hat and walking stick.

  In the other, he carried a bouquet of pink roses and white lilies.

  Nathan’s jaw hardened the moment he clapped eyes on those fancy flowers.

  “Good afternoon, sir.” He did his best to soften his features into a more footman-appropriate expression.

  “And to you as well.” The man gave a genial smile. “I’m here to see Mrs. Montgomery. Is she at home?” Without preamble, he handed his hat and walking stick to Nathan and produced a white vellum calling card. Nathan placed the items on the hall table, before glancing at the card.

  Mr. Roland Kingsley scrolled the elegant black letters.

  So it was him. The man who’d made certain Lily had an enjoyable evening. Nathan was grateful to him for that.

  But something deep in his gut didn’t like the look of those flowers. Not one bit.

  “Give me a moment and I’ll see. If you’ll do me the honor of waiting inside, sir.”

  He left Mr. Kingsley craning his neck to better view a landscape painting.

  Nathan turned the handle of the morning room door, stepping just inside. Lily sat at a rosewood desk, head bent over a sheet of writing paper. She wore her hair coiled high atop her head, a few stray ringlets curling around the creamy expanse at the nape of her neck. Attired in a lacy white blouse and maroon skirt, she looked like an advertisement for high fashion.

  The room’s decor only enhanced the scene. White and gold draperies sewn to match the upholstered furniture. A vase of fresh flowers topping a polished table. Twin gilded mirrors, one hanging above the marble fireplace, the other on the opposite wall.

  He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Montgomery?”

  She turned as if startled, a slight smile curving her lips upward. “Yes, Evans.” She had a way of saying his name. Each syllable low and cultured, as sweetly polite as if he were the heir to the Vanderbilt millions, instead of her paid lackey.

  “You have a visitor.” He held out the silver salver bearing the calling card.

  She took it in her hand, glanced down at it. Her smile deepened, a shade of rose enhancing her fair complexion.

  “Show him in, please.”

  “Right away, ma’am.” The notion he’d had of hoping she’d say no irritated him to no end. Society ladies received gentleman callers. It was a ritual that occurred in each one of the millionaire mansions dotting Bellevue Avenue. Since Mrs. Montgomery hadn’t received more than a few close friends since her husband’s death, it would have been highly unusual if she now turned her visitor away. Especially since they’d enjoyed each other’s company the previous evening.

  He found Mr. Kingsley just the way he’d left him. Getting a crick in his neck enjoying the Montgomery art gallery.

  “She’ll see you now, sir.”

  The man turned, flashing Nathan another amiable smile. “That’s a very nice painting, by the way.” He followed Nathan across the foyer and to the morning room.

  Nathan opened the door and moved aside to let Mr. Kingsley pass. For the briefest of instants, he saw Lily Montgomery standing in the center of the room, smiling. Mr. Kingsley crossed the room and took her hand, bowing over it.

  Nathan closed the door, quietly, as Osbourne and three previous butlers had taught him.

  “The ideal footman is as unobtrusive as a well-oiled hinge. His job is not to be noticed but to make certain that those he serves have as smooth and effortless a passage through the waters of life as possible. That is the job of every servant. That is our honor and privilege.”

  He blew out a sigh.

  Well-oiled hinge? Smooth and effortless passage?

  His job exa
ctly.

  Chapter 3

  Lily hadn’t received flowers since her debut season. Not from Jackson. Not from any man. Single men didn’t send such gifts to married women, and she’d been married so soon after her debutante ball.

  As Mr. Kingsley handed her the bouquet, a smile in his eyes, her pulse did something it hadn’t done in a long while. Sped up. Just a notch.

  “Thank you.” She tried to keep the tremor from her voice. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

  “I hope you don’t think it too forward.” True concern showed in his eyes.

  “Oh my, no, of course not. They’re very pretty.” She moved to the bellpull, wishing she’d taken more time with her appearance that morning. Worn a different dress, perhaps. Laced her corset a bit tighter, a much-needed accompaniment, if she wanted to look even passable. “Please, won’t you sit down?”

  He took the chair across from her. “I trust you are well rested after last night’s exertions?”

  “Of course. I slept better than I have in quite a while.” It had been one of the best evenings she’d had in some time. The enjoyment of dancing, the sight of familiar faces. The sheer fun of putting on a pretty dress. After the initial awkwardness, she’d felt almost seventeen again, especially with Mr. Kingsley as her escort.

  The door opened. Evans stepped inside.

  “You rang, ma’am?” His features were blank, his shoulders straight.

  “Could you see that these get put in water?” She crossed the room and held out the bouquet.

  “Of course.” He accepted the flowers. “Do you require anything else?”

  “Tea, perhaps.”

  “I’ll inform Mr. Osbourne.” Why was he behaving so formally? This wasn’t the Evans she knew. Though he played the part of a proper footman, the remnant of a twinkle always lingered in his eyes, no matter the occasion. A special smile on his lips, reserved just for her. Was he feeling unwell?

  But he left the room before she could make further inquiry.