She did until Henrietta, buried under several ladies’ cloaks, shot Leah an evil glance as she passed. Startled, Leah dusted furiously. Whoops. She’d almost forgotten her charade. She’d have to be more careful when the dowager appeared. Speaking of which, where was the esteemed old dragon?
As if her thoughts had conjured the lady up from the underworld, the woman herself descended the staircase.
“Wymond, my dear sweet boy,” she crooned in a deep voice that made Leah jump. Holy shit, it was an eighty-year-old Bea Arthur with a British accent. Leah smothered her surprised laugh with a half-choked cough. The dowager was tall, with a long face, pursed lips, and jowls, just like the Golden Girl—down to the mostly-salt-and-barely-pepper hair and everything. But who was Wymond?
“Mother,” a soft male voice responded.
When Leah turned to see who had spoken, she dropped the Dresden shepherdess she’d been pretending to dust. The resulting clatter brought everyone’s eyes to her, but she was still staring at the man who stood at the bottom of the staircase.
Holy shit, it was the duke. The duke’s name was Wymond. How could such a beautiful man have such a dorky name? It was hard to tell which had shocked her more: the fact that his name was so unfortunate, or the fact that she’d called him a boy. He had to be pushing sixty.
She forgot about her supposed love’s unfortunate name when the dowager rounded the bottom stair and glared at her.
“You stupid, thoughtless chit,” the lady snarled, her formerly regal face now something that looked more like Emperor Palpatine about to shoot lightning bolts into Leah’s body. “You shall regret that.”
Oh, holy crap.
Thirteen
The clatter of porcelain on wood slammed a hush over the entry hall, servants and masters alike. Miss Ramsey winced and righted the figurine she’d dropped, but the damage was already done. Avery’s anxious fingers crushed the fabric of the greatcoat in his arms as if he could crush the mounting tension in the room. If only it were that easy.
How could she be so careless? He’d thought she understood the importance of staying unnoticed in front of the dowager.
Stealing a glimpse of Her Grace’s face, Avery stopped breathing. The dowager’s papery cheeks were flushed, her brows lowered, and her knuckles white on the banister. This did not bode well.
She descended the last stairs and rounded the corner toward Miss Ramsey with pure murder in her bearing. Avery didn’t know what she’d do, but he knew it would not be pleasant. He had to act—and swiftly—if Miss Ramsey were to outlast the encounter.
With only a small amount of regret, he extended his leg toward a passing Tunstall footman. With his burden of gentlemen’s coats and hats, the poor soul never had a chance to avoid the obstacle. With a surprised squawk, he went flying and launched his burden directly at the duke and the dowager.
Chaos reigned.
A dark blue greatcoat settled over the dowager’s head like a net, trapping her beneath it. Frantic cries came from beneath the billowing fabric as she fought to free herself.
A cane struck His Grace’s nose before clattering to the floor. The nobleman clapped a hand to his face and screwed his eyes shut in discomfort. Maids and footmen, Avery included, rushed to assist the beleaguered pair. Miss Ramsey, Avery was relieved to note, disappeared into the sitting room during the confusion. At least the chit had the good sense to run.
“Who is responsible for this?” The dowager’s voice echoed in the hallway once her maids had freed her from the predicament. “I demand that you speak up at once!”
“Your Grace, my apologies,” the poor footman stuttered. He was pale as fine bone china. “’Twas an accident. I stumbled…”
The dowager’s rage was thankfully curtailed by the duke’s interruption.
“Mother, your guests are waiting.” He sniffed, pinching the bridge of his injured nose. “Come, let us go in.” He dropped his hand and offered his arm to her.
With a scornful look at the hapless assembly of servants, and an especially dark glare toward the unfortunate footman, the dowager allowed her son to escort her into the sitting room.
Avery sagged with undisguised relief. What a near thing that had been. Despite his careful tutelage, Miss Ramsey seemed determined to worry him senseless.
A quick glimpse at the sitting room reminded him that the evening had only just begun, and that his self-appointed charge would have many more opportunities to offend tonnish society. With a long-suffering sigh, he ducked inside the sitting room door. If he were lucky, perhaps another rescue would be unnecessary.
He tried not to imagine the next scrape she’d find herself in.
Taking up a position opposite another footman, he stood like a soldier at his post, hands clasped behind his back, waiting to be called on. Scanning the room, he exhaled a calming breath when he caught sight of Miss Ramsey, who was, for once, exactly where she should be.
She, along with four other maids, was attending to the spread of scones, biscuits, jams, and assorted other refreshments on a long side table. Appearing to take her cue from the well-trained Tunstall maids, Miss Ramsey’s movements were slow and methodical as she set a new pot of tea on the end of the table. She nodded to Harold, another footman, as he fetched a sherry for a guest.
Avery took heart at the sight, stiffening his spine against the sitting room wall. She’d avoided certain disaster already today. Surely she could manage to stay out of trouble now?
Gales of feminine laughter from her corner of the refreshment table drew his attention. He gripped his hands tighter behind his back. Damn and blast. Whatever was she doing, speaking so animatedly to Lady Chesterfield? He must prevent her from another catastrophe. Making a quick decision, he lifted a discarded teacup as a pretense and crossed the crowded room toward them. The Baroness of Chesterfield was known throughout the ton for her mischievous, capricious nature. Best for him to stand at the ready, in case of unforeseen circumstances.
If he survived this hellish afternoon without the chit causing herself irreparable damage, it would be a miracle sent straight from God himself. No one else could have a hope of accomplishing such an impossible task.
***
Oh, she’d really fricking done it now. Leah clutched the teapot as if she could yank the steaming brown liquid back by sheer force of will. No such luck. It soaked into the shiny green satin of the woman’s skirt, a large stain that would probably never come out. Ever.
She didn’t know what had happened. She knew it wasn’t really the maid’s job to serve, only to see to the table, but when the woman had asked her for a cup, she’d agreed without thought. One minute she’d been pouring a cup of tea that the lady held out to her, and then suddenly the cup was three inches further to the left than it had been. The steady stream of tea had gone straight down, splattering against the woman’s skirt like rain pouring from a rooftop.
“Oh my God,” Leah moaned. “I am so, so sorry.” Her hands shook as she put the pot back on the table and searched wildly for a towel, a cloth, something she could use to try to make this better.
The duke would kill her. His mother would kill her. And if there were anything left after those two were done, Avery would kill her twice. He’d tried so hard to keep her from fucking this up.
The woman laughed aloud, a sound that shocked Leah to the core. What the heck?
“Oh, look at what I’ve done! I’ve spilled tea all over my gown, what a clumsy fool I am. Dear, would you mind accompanying me so I can put myself to rights?”
She held her hand out toward Leah.
Stupidity gummed up the thought gears in Leah’s head. What?
“Dear, can you assist me?” The woman smiled at Leah, the ostrich and peacock feathers atop her hat quivering sympathetically.
“Oh, oh! Yeah, I mean yes, of course.”
The conversation around them resumed as Leah followed the lady through the room, past a shocked-looking Avery, and into an unoccupied parlor across the hallway. The woman s
hut the door behind them with a click, then turned a serious look on Leah.
Sweat broke out along Leah’s forehead, and she stumbled backward a step. Better get talking quick, girl, or you’re screwed.
“Ma’am, I am very sorry. I only looked away for a second, and the cup was—”
“Hush, dearie. We must speak before anyone follows us in here.” The lady sat on the chair in the corner, completely ignoring her damp and stained skirt. “I am Amelia Florin, Baroness of Chesterfield. I noticed that you have an odd accent. Where were you born?”
“Um.” Leah fought the urge to shove her hands into the pockets of her apron. Show no fear, Ramsey. Play your role. “I’m from the colonies.”
“Stuff and nonsense. The truth, dear, we’ve no time for prevarication.” A fan suddenly appeared in the woman’s hand, and she opened it with a snap.
Leah gulped. “I’m from North Carolina.”
“And when, precisely, are you from?” She started fanning herself, never letting her steely gaze wander from Leah’s eyes. “I shall know if you lie to me, dear.”
The sweat spread from Leah’s forehead to her cheeks and chest. She wanted to pull the tight neck of her gown aside to get some air, but Lady Chesterfield’s gaze kept her frozen like a tonnish Medusa.
“Twenty thirteen,” Leah mumbled.
The woman rose, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “As I suspected.” She made a circle around Leah, who stood ramrod straight, confusion locking her muscles in place.
“How…how do you…”
“My lady’s maid is a most unusual girl. She used to serve in an earl’s household as a parlor maid, if you can believe it. A certain Micah Axelby, Earl of Dunnington. When he supposedly ran off to the colonies, she came to be in my employ.” Lady Chesterfield patted Leah’s cheek. “Muriel has told me the most fantastic stories about a woman named Jamie Marten, and you know, I am inclined to believe her. A young woman who traveled through a bureau’s mirror in order to find her true love. A bureau that has recently been purchased by the Duke of Granville. Now quickly, before they know we are missing. Are you also here to search for your true love, as Jamie was?”
Hope and relief slammed into Leah’s forehead, and she swayed unsteadily. Her yes came out half gasp, half laugh.
Lady Chesterfield grabbed Leah’s hands and held her steady. “And do you need assistance in that quest?”
“Holy crap, yes. It’s tough to land a duke without any help. But why would you want to help me?” Even though Leah desperately wanted to grab Lady Chesterfield’s help with both hands and take off running, possibly do some parkour down St. James’s Place, she couldn’t help but be worried that this might be too damn good to believe.
But the woman’s smile was as sincere and kind as any she’d seen. “Because I’ve had my own dear husband, and he was everything to me. Now that he’s gone, I can amuse myself as I damn well please. And I like you, dear. You remind me of a very young Amelia Florin, and that’s the truth.” She pressed a delighted kiss to Leah’s forehead. “Now, we must plan. Presenting you into society will not be easy, but we can do it if we are careful. Here’s what you must do to avoid suspicion.”
As Lady Chesterfield outlined her plan for the next twenty-four hours, Leah’s excitement grew. Firstly, no more chamber pot emptying. Lady Chesterfield laughed when Leah offered to be a parlor maid in her house too. Leah didn’t hide her relief at that. Everyone knew she wasn’t cut out for the domestic servitude life.
After sponging off Lady Chesterfield’s skirt with a damp cloth, they returned to the party. Leah was careful to keep her face calm and her hands steady as she tended to the refreshment table, but damn was she dancing inside. This was it! This was the way she’d imagined her trip into the past. She’d go to balls and routs and teas and soirees and masques and house parties and hunts and rides in the park…
“Ramsey.”
She jumped. “Yes?”
“Fetch a fresh pot of tea,” Mrs. Harper sniffed. “Silly girl, whatever you are dreaming of I can never know.”
Damn skippy, Q-tippy, Leah thought with an internal snort. They didn’t have drugs good enough to give Mrs. Harper a dream this awesome.
And in just a little while, Leah would be living it.
The rest of the evening proceeded uneventfully, fortunately. After two near disasters, Leah was petrified that the third time would be the charm. She managed to keep quiet and out of the way of the other servants and guests. But it was kind of tough to stay away from the duke. Now that she knew she’d get a chance to meet Wymond—holy shit, his name was Wymond ?—on equal ground, she had to avoid him as much as possible. Their only time together so far had been so brief and unmemorable, at least for him, that Lady Chesterfield thought it would be best to keep their real introductions for society. After all, if anyone figured out that Leah was a servant, the duke wouldn’t look at her twice—certainly not to figure out if she was good enough to marry.
So despite her desire to get to know him, Leah kept her distance while the party wound down, and he and the dowager said farewell to their guests. When there were only a few old women left, he kissed his mother on the cheek and took his leave.
Leah sighed in a mixture of relief and disappointment. Oh well. It’d all be worth it in the end.
She was hefting a tray toward the kitchens when she passed Avery in the hallway.
“Hey,” she said, pausing for a second. “I didn’t embarrass you too bad, did I?”
He gave a half smile. “Get about your duties, Miss Ramsey. No time to be dawdling now.”
She smiled back, curious at the heavy twinge in her chest as she turned and walked away from him. Avery. She hadn’t thought about leaving him at Granville House. He’d been so kind to her, the only real friend she’d had in this time before she met Lady Chesterfield. And honestly, she wasn’t sure how she’d get along without him.
She set the tray in the bustling scullery and stepped out into the area to catch a breath of air. The late afternoon wind was chilly, and she shivered. Tilting her chin skyward, she closed her eyes and filled her lungs. Things were so odd here. Everything, not just the lack of electricity and the ridiculous workload—the way she felt.
Back home, she knew what she wanted. She always acted first and thought later. But here she found herself second-guessing every move she made. What had caused this crisis of confidence? Could she fix it? Should she?
A bitter laugh escaped her. Well, her second-guessing wasn’t getting her out of any trouble. As it was, she had stepped in it way more often than not here. Avery would probably be glad to see her go. She’d caused him enough problems already.
She shook her head, straightened her apron, and headed back into the fray. She had a rout to clean up after, a bag to pack, and a resignation to give.
It was time for Leah to hurtle headlong into her future. And that was just the way she liked it.
Fourteen
Avery could not relax until the carriages rolled to a stop beside Granville house. Even then, after the hampers were unloaded, and the servants had gone about their final duties of the night, tension lined his shoulders and clenched his teeth. Miss Ramsey may have avoided the dowager’s wrath, but what could she have been doing so long with Lady Chesterfield? The woman was mischievous, clever, and as eccentric as any matron of the ton could ever hope to be. He did not know what she was about. How could he prevent Miss Ramsey from falling prey to a bored baroness’s scheme? Simple. He could not.
The duke had gone straight from his mother’s rout to his nightly amusements and would not be back until the wee hours of the morning. With his own duties completed and the preparations made for their departure on the morrow, Avery had nothing pressing to attend to, and his beleaguered brain made free reign of the lack. Pacing along the back edge of the dark garden, he set his mind to wander where it willed.
Miss Ramsey wanted the duke. She was beautiful enough for any man, he was quite sure. And compassionate—he’d seen t
hat in the way she’d looked at his ailing aunt. Why did he long to see her looking upon him with compassion and—dare he think it—regard in her eyes?
Spinning with a soundless roar, Avery plunged his fist into the oak’s trunk. The tree shuddered, raining leaves down around him. His knuckles stung with the ache of fresh scrapes. The pain eased the anxiety that had built in his chest at the words he could not think.
He must not think them.
Shaking out his hands, relishing the numbing pain of them, he sank down onto a garden bench and looked up into the branches that had showered him with greenery. God could be so cruel. His father had taught him that.
In his mind’s eye, he had always pictured God with the face of his father, sitting on a throne and pointing down at Avery with a scowl on his face. No matter what Avery had done, it had never seemed to please either of them.
He dug his fingers into the stone bench on either side of him. And when he’d decided it didn’t matter and stood up for the one person in the world who’d loved him, she’d paid with her life.
He was not good enough to pursue Miss Ramsey. She had proved tonight that she was quick, clever, and strong enough to pursue the best in the land. And Avery was the farthest thing from what she deserved. He’d keep his distance, no matter the cost.
Shoving to his feet, he turned and walked toward the stables. Better to hit his training bag than an innocent tree anymore. If his dark thoughts were prone to destruction, then he should be in a safe place, away from living things that could come to harm because of him.
He’d just passed the entrance to the area when Miss Ramsey exited the kitchen door.
“Hey,” she said, her beautiful smile stretching her lips. Her hair wisped out from beneath her mobcap, and her cheeks were stained pink with excitement. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Even though he longed to smile back at her, he did not. He could not. Looking away, he spoke toward the stables.
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