by Leenie Brown
Evelyn shook her head and rolled her eyes but held out her hand to him.
“Your choice of jacket sets off your bruises quite nicely,” she said as they moved toward where Henry and Constance were forming a set with two other couples. “I thought you were too ashamed to be seen until they were healed.”
“I was until a friend dragged me from my hiding and insisted I join society.”
“I believe it was an acquaintance, not a friend,” she replied.
He shrugged. “Whatever you must tell yourself.”
“I do wish you would stop saying that.” She willed herself not to scowl at him.
Again, he lifted his broad shoulders and let them drop as a lazy and tantalizing smile spread across his face. “I might stop if you would stop disagreeing with me.”
It was a comment which superseded her will to appear pleasant.
“You scowl very prettily,” he said as he dropped her hand and took his place opposite her in the line.
Her eyes narrowed. “You are incorrigible,” she whispered.
He leaned forward. “So I have been told many times by Mr. Linton.”
Thankfully, the music began, and their conversation was lost for a time to the patterns of the dance.
~*~*~
“Miss Barrett, if you have a moment,” said a pretty young lady with golden hair as she hurried to catch up to Evelyn after the set had ended.
Evelyn, who had just taken Mr. Edwards’s arm to be led back to her mother, stopped and turned. “Miss Shawe, how may I be of service?”
“Mother is in need of a scullery maid.”
“Did Iris not work out?” Evelyn asked in surprise. Iris was a very capable maid, or at least, Evelyn had thought she was.
“No, it is not that. She has been a blessing for sure, but she is too valuable to be set to washing dishes, according to our housekeeper. And so, she has been moved above stairs.”
Evelyn smiled. “Our girls are the best.”
“Indeed, they are! That is why Mother wishes to know if you have another.”
Evelyn’s brows furrowed slightly as she thought. There were a few young ladies at Eiddwen House who would be delighted to find a place such as the one offered by Mrs. Shawe. “Can your mother meet me tomorrow, say at half ten?”
Miss Shawe clasped her hands happily. “Indeed, she would be delighted to meet you then. I am certain of it.” She turned away and then back. “Thank you, Miss Barrett.”
Evelyn smiled happily as Miss Shawe hurried across the dance floor to where her mother stood.
“Do you deal in servants?”
Blast! She had forgotten that Mr. Edwards was still at her side. “I do, but not usually at assemblies, so please do not mention it to my mother.”
“She does not approve of your dealing in servants?”
“Oh, she does not mind that. What she will take objection to is that I was speaking of such work in this particular setting.”
She had been scolded for bringing her charity work with her to social functions on several occasions. However, her desire to see people’s lives bettered was so strong that it was difficult at times to not mention it. Was she to not say a thing if some lady began complaining about the need to find a footman or a maid? Was she to not mention where discarded clothing could be donated to ladies in need when someone was commenting on getting a new wardrobe and needing to dispose of some items? And more importantly, how was she not to take advantage of such opportunities? It was not as if the fashionable did not participate in charities. She sighed. It was just that they did not like to be reminded that there were those who were not so fortunate as they themselves were.
“Eiddwen House? Is this where you keep your stock of servants?”
“Shhhh.” They were getting close to her mother. “Yes,” she added quickly.
“Only maids? Or footmen and grooms as well?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On who shows up at our door in need of a referral. Now, please stop speaking about it.”
“Very well, I shall as long as you meet me there at eleven and give me a tour of your warehouse.”
Her lips pursed, and her brows furrowed. “It is not a warehouse, and they are not goods one buys and sells. They are people who need employment.”
“If you say so,” he replied with an annoyingly charming smirk.
“I do. Now, be quiet.”
“Then say you will meet me at eleven.”
“I will meet you at eleven.”
His smirk grew into a pleased smile. “You scowl very prettily,” he said in a whisper. “Mrs. Barrett,” he lifted Evelyn’s hand from his arm and held it out to her mother, “I return to you your daughter – completely unscathed – and I thank you for the opportunity to dance with her. She is a delight – a very proper delight,” he added quickly before sketching a bow and taking his leave.
“Smile, my dear,” her mother whispered, “although I must admit that I am happy to see from your expression that you were not enjoying yourself too much with Mr. Edwards. This is good.” She opened her fan. “Now, if Mr. Marsh would just arrive.” Her mother looked around the room. “He would surely have you smiling.”
Just the thought of staid, steady, and pleasant, Mr. Marsh was enough to bring a small smile to Evelyn’s lips. Mr. Marsh would never provoke her into scowling in her mother’s presence. He would be certain to see that she was always happy. She gasped quietly. Oh, he had not, had he?
She looked toward the door through which Mr. Edwards was passing and wondered. Had he only caused her to scowl because he liked to annoy her, or had his purpose been to allow her mother to think her daughter had not been entertained by him? He was just the sneaky sort of scoundrel to do such a thing.
“Evelyn, my dear.”
Evelyn pulled her eyes away from the empty door.
“Mr. Marsh would like for you to dance this set with him.”
Evelyn smiled at the not too tall, slightly balding, and definitely not rakish Mr. Marsh and extended her hand.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Charles rose much earlier than was his normal wont. It was a task which had been made somewhat easier by having retired to his bed well before he would normally have sought its comfort. After leaving the ball, he had stopped at his club, played a few hands of cards, enjoyed more than was likely his proper share of port, and then, after shaking hands over some bet, the details of which utterly escaped him now, he had made his way home where he startled his servants and had to assure his man more than once that a physician did not need to be called.
“You wish to dress now?” His valet wore the same look of skepticism about his master’s health that he had worn last night.
Charles smirked and nodded. “Yes, Finley, I do. There is a young woman who must be charmed. However, she is not the sort to wait until some civilized hour or activity such as dinner or driving in the park to be worked upon.”
Finley visibly relaxed at the comment.
“She runs some sort of servant repository at Eiddwen House,” Charles continued.
“Miss Barrett?” Finley asked in surprise.
Charles splashed water on his face. “You know her?”
“Many do, sir. She helped my sister find a place in a good home.”
Charles’s brows furrowed as he handed the towel back to Finley. The man looked like he had more he wished to say but would not.
“What is it?” Charles asked.
His man shook his head. “It is nothing, sir. I am certain you know what you are about.”
“I am about charming a kiss from the lady.” He watched as a fleeting shadow passed across Finley’s face. “You think I should not?”
“I could not say, sir.”
“You can, and you will, or Miss Barrett can find you another place.”
Finley stopped midway between Charles’s bed and the wardrobe, with boots in one hand and a jacket in the other. “You will not send me packing if
I speak freely?”
“No. I prefer you be direct with me.” He held up a hand as a thought occurred to him. Finley had only been with him the greater portion of a year now. “How did you get this position?”
The man’s smile was sheepish. “Someone at Eiddwen House had heard it was open, and so I applied.”
Charles crossed his arms. “So, you feel you owe Miss Barrett two good turns? One for your sister and one for yourself?”
“Something like that, sir.”
“And I am not a good turn?”
The man shook his head. “You tend to love a lady and then leave her, sir. Miss Barrett is too kind to be treated so. Other ladies might not be affected by such tactics, but Miss Barrett does not play games, sir.”
Charles glanced up from stuffing his shirt tales into his trousers. He was positive he had never seen a more concerned look on his man’s face – not even when Trefor Linton was pulling Charles from his bed and threatening his life if he did not marry Constance.
“She is pretty,” he said at last.
“Yes, sir, she is that, but she is also kind.”
It was true. She was downright beguiling and yet, from everything he had heard or seen of Miss Barrett, she was kind, and that was not always something that accompanied a pretty face during the season.
“You said I could speak freely?”
“Yes.”
Finley handed Charles his left boot. “She deserves to be loved and kept safe. I should be very sorry to see her heart broken.”
With a final tug and a stamp of his foot, Charles’s boot was comfortably in place. “I have no intention of engaging her heart. I only wish to steal a kiss. Nothing more.”
Finley’s eyebrows rose as he handed the jacket to his master.
“You fear that I cannot do that without causing her harm.”
“She is so kind,” Finley replied.
“So, you have said.” Charles pulled his sleeves straight as Finley smoothed the back of the jacket. “I shall do my best to not cause her harm. I can promise no more than that. She is too tempting.”
His man sighed.
“She likes to argue. Did you know that?”
Finley’s smile was answer enough.
“And I thought I might be special in that regard.”
Finley’s smile broadened. “I have never heard her argue with any gentleman or lady who came to Eiddwen House aside from Mrs. Barrett once and Miss Linton. However, she would argue, on occasion, with Mrs. Alford, the housekeeper.”
“Very good. Then I shall consider myself special.”
“As you should,” Finley muttered.
Charles shook his head as he left the room. “Speaking freely has ceased,” he called over his shoulder.
“Whatever you say, sir.”
Miss Barrett was correct. That was an annoying phrase, he thought with a chuckle as he made his way to the breakfast room.
Half an hour later, Charles was sitting in his carriage in front of Eiddwen House. He was early for his appointment, but, considering that Miss Barrett had required persuasion to agree to this meeting, he had decided it would be best if he watched to make certain she did not leave with Mrs. Shawe in an attempt to avoid him. For as much as his valet claimed the lady did not play games, Charles was quite confident she might. Had she not compelled him to attend the theatre against his wishes?
He settled into his seat as comfortably as he could while still being able to see the front of the house. For a full quarter hour, he watched people pass on the street. Two maids had entered the house, and one young gentleman had left. Currently, as Mrs. Shawe exited, a footman was sweeping the step.
Charles had to admit from where he sat, it appeared that Eiddwen House was a well-run establishment. The thought caused his lips to curl upwards in amusement. Of course, Eiddwen House was a well-run establishment. He would not have expected anything different from Miss Barrett.
She had impressed him as the sort of young lady who got just what she wanted and exactly how she wanted it. That ability was likely thanks to her mother – her stern, demanding mother.
He chuckled as he checked his watch and prepared to leave his carriage. Mrs. Barrett had greeted him with something other than displeasure when he had returned Evelyn to her after their dance. Had Evelyn been fuming rather than just scowling, the woman might have actually smiled at him.
That was his goal, of course, to have Mrs. Barrett greet him with something other than displeasure, but he hoped he could eventually achieve the feat without having to provoke her daughter. However, it was a start.
“Mr. Edwards to see Miss Barrett,” he told the man who answered his knock.
The gentleman was tall, broad, and had a somewhat foreboding mien despite his mature appearance. If Charles had to guess, the gentleman was somewhere the far side of fifty. He nodded. He’d put a shilling or two on it that servant’s age was closer to sixty than fifty, he thought as he followed the man down the hall.
“Wait here.” He motioned to a chair about ten feet from a door on the right.
Charles did as instructed and sat down while the butler entered that room on the right. Beyond that door, there were two more on the right and two on the left. There was not a flaw to be seen in the décor save that it seemed sparse. There were no ornate tables or elegant vases. There had been a table with a mirror above it in the entry, and there was another table, flanked by two chairs similar to the one on which he sat, standing between the two doors on the left. Other than those few items and the chair to his left, there was not another stick of furniture in the corridor.
“She will see you.”
Charles rose from his seat and made his way to the door, which stood open.
“I shall be in the chair, miss,” the butler said as Charles entered.
Either Miss Barrett did not trust him and had instructed the butler to sit outside the door, or the butler had sized Charles up and decided that he might be needed.
“Thank you, Mr. Gibbs.”
Apparently, whether the idea originated with Miss Barrett or her butler, there was going to be a chaperone of sorts at the ready to toss him from the house if he were not well behaved.
“Good morning, Miss Barrett,” Charles said as he entered.
“You are punctual,” she said, snapping the lid of a timepiece closed. “I must say I am impressed.”
He accepted the compliment with a nod of his head. “I do attempt to keep my appointments.”
Her lovely lips twitched. “Even at such early hours?”
“Early or late,” he replied with an easy smile. If she was going to tease him, then he was going to push the bounds of propriety and allow his suggestive tone to cause her to blush that pretty shade of pink she was now wearing.
She rose from her desk. “I believe you requested a tour. As soon as Mrs. Alford arrives, we shall begin.”
He chuckled. “Mrs. Alford is to be our chaperone?”
“She always accompanies me on tours since she knows the intricacies of the establishment even better than I do, but yes, it is only proper that we do not tour alone.” She came out from behind the small desk she had been sitting behind. “As you can see, this is our main reception room and place of business. We greet all our new residents and prospective employers here. There are sitting rooms in which those who are seeking a maid, footman, or the like may interview several candidates for the position.”
She clasped her hands in front of her and leaned on the edge of the desk. “No money exchanges hands.”
He blinked. How had she known he was wondering about fees?
“Everyone asks,” she answered his unspoken question. “We are a charity, Mr. Edwards. One that is not opposed to accepting donations.”
“And what might I get in return for a donation?”
Her lips pursed for a moment as her brows rose and amusement sparkled in her eyes. “The satisfaction of knowing you have improved the life of another.”
“Naught else?”
He shrugged. “One cannot fault a gentleman for the attempt.”
“One could,” she replied. “Ah, I hear Mrs. Alford. Shall we join her in the hall?” She motioned toward the door.
“How old are you?” Dressed as she was in a printed blue dress with a fichu that covered her from neckline to neck and with her hair pulled back as it was and under a small cap, and acting as she was, she did not appear to be the debutante he knew her to be.
“That does not matter.”
“I am curious. Linton’s sister is…” His face scrunched as he thought, “eighteen? So, you must be similar in age, are you not?”
She tipped her head and studied him for a moment. Her lips pursed and relaxed. Her brows furrowed. Then, she sighed as if resigning herself to something. “I am eighteen. Do you have any other questions, Mr. Edwards?”
He nodded. “How does a young, gently-bred lady such as yourself establish a facility such as this?” He waved his hand to indicate their surroundings.
She shrugged. “How does a gentleman of,” her eyes narrowed, “thirty not establish a facility such as this?”
“Twenty-seven. I am twenty-seven.”
She smiled and looked at him expectantly.
He shook his head as a woman dressed in a drab grey dress and frilly cap entered. “You have not answered my question.”
“Yes, I have,” she replied. “Mrs. Alford, this is Mr. Edwards. He would like to have a tour of our home as he is considering making a donation to our cause.”
Mrs. Alford gave him an assessing look. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edwards.”
“Likewise,” he replied.
“If you would follow me.”
“Of course.” He fell in behind the woman as she marched out of the room. “You cannot answer a question with a question,” he whispered to Evelyn.
“And yet I did,” she replied with an impertinent smile and a bat of her lashes. “And I believe the answer to both questions might be very similar if one is to think about it long enough. Let me know when you have devised the answer.”
He scowled. She was a cunning chit for being so proper.