by Merry Farmer
He rushed up to his apartment first, tossing the garter onto his bureau with a sneer of disgust, more for himself than Alice or anyone else. He was a fool to have fallen for…well, not exactly a ruse, but a mess of topsy-turvydom. He wouldn’t be fooled again.
He brushed his hair and straightened his clothes, then headed back downstairs to fetch his coat, hat, and gloves. The more he thought about things as he marched up to Winterberry Park, the more he was convinced some sort of subterfuge was involved. He wondered if that footman—he should have asked the young man’s name—was involved. Had the man taken his letter to Ada at all?
But of course he had. Ada had sent an answer by way of the maid, Mary.
Unless Mary was somehow complicit in everything that had happened at the cottage.
Only, if Mary were part of the scheme somehow, why had Ada been exactly where she said she’d be at the exact time she’d promised? Mary had been nowhere in sight.
He could only conclude that Ada’s plan to meet him at the cottage had been genuine, though that still didn’t explain the footman. Or Alice. The whole thing was a horrific jumble, but one he was determined to get to the bottom of.
When he reached Winterberry Park, he headed straight to the front door without thinking. He’d always been welcome at the front door, both as a respected member of Lanhill’s community and as someone with a vague claim to the nobility. It wasn’t until after he’d rang the doorbell and stood back to wait that it dawned on him how much better it would have been if he’d gone around to the kitchen door. He wasn’t there to see the Croydons, after all.
Sure enough, Mr. Noakes answered the front door with a glowering frown. “Can I help you?” His tone wasn’t at all encouraging.
Tim cleared his throat. “I’d like to speak to Ada,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
Mr. Noakes straightened to his full height, narrowing his eyes. He was equally as intimidating as Sam Jones, but in an entirely different way.
“I realize I should have gone around to the kitchen door,” Tim added when Mr. Noakes said nothing. “Sorry.”
“Ada is not available at the moment,” Mr. Noakes said, as solid as a brick wall.
“I see.” Tim squirmed on his spot. “It’s just that I truly do need to speak to her. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Mr. Noakes didn’t look remotely impressed. “The servants of Winterberry Park are not at liberty to entertain guests whenever they so choose. Particularly guests of the opposite gender.”
Desperation itched down Tim’s back. “Yes, but it’s imperative that I speak to Ada right away. There seems to be some confusion about….” He stopped. How could he explain the meeting at the cottage the day before without landing Ada in even hotter water?
Mr. Noakes sighed. “There seems to be some confusion about what is proper and improper when it comes to visiting hours and appropriate guests for maids to have. Good day, sir.”
“But, I—”
Mr. Noakes closed the door on him before he could gather his thoughts.
Tim turned away from the door, stepping slowly down the front stairs to the lane. He debated going around to the kitchen door in spite of Mr. Noakes’s dismissal, but didn’t think he’d receive much better treatment there. Besides, knowing how things worked in a big house, word of his presence would probably reach the kitchen before he did.
There didn’t seem to be any choice but to head home to regroup. He still had an entire day before the dance. Perhaps he could figure out a way to get a note to Ada the next morning, or perhaps she’d be in town on an errand. If that failed, he’d have a chance to see her at the Valentine’s dance. Perhaps if he arrived early.
“Yoo-hoo!”
Tim spun out of his thoughts and pivoted at the call. For one blissful moment, he thought the woman in the black maid’s uniform running toward him as he reached the gate was Ada. But as she grew closer, he could see in the dimming light that it was the other maid, Mary.
“Oh, Mr. Turnbridge, stop!”
With a disappointed sigh, Tim did exactly that. He stopped and waited for Mary to catch up with him. Darkness was closing in, and with it irritation. He just wanted to get home before night fell completely. His day had been hard enough as it was.
“Mr. Turnbridge,” Mary said, breathless from running, as she reached him. “I just wanted to see how things went.”
“Things?” Tim frowned, out of sorts in every way.
“With your secret rendezvous,” Mary said. Even in the fading light, Tim could see a sparkle in her eyes. The woman was mischief personified.
But that just sent Tim’s mind spinning all over again. “What do you know about it?” he asked.
Mary swayed closer, fingering the buttons on his coat. “I know that secret rendezvous can be deliciously fun.”
“How much fun?” He frowned, his suspicions growing. Mary had to have something to do with the cottage incident. He was certain of it, but he didn’t know how.
“Well, private corners,” Mary said, inching closer to him. “Hidden glances. Without anyone to watch, there’s no telling what a man and a woman could get up to.”
She grabbed the front of his coat and pulled herself flush against him. Before Tim knew it, she’d tilted her head back and opened her mouth for a kiss.
“Madame, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong,” he said, pushing her away. “My heart belongs to another, and I’ll thank you to respect that.”
“Aw, come on, love.” Mary tried to grab him again. “I’ll make it worth your while. I don’t play so hard to get, like other people we know.”
“I’m not interested,” Tim said, turning and stomping off into the growing dark.
“I’ll let you finger my fanny,” Mary called after him.
Tim made a noise of disgust. It was incomprehensible that a woman like that could have a position at a house as fine as the Croydons’. He’d have to have a word with Mr. Croydon when they returned in the summer. And how was it that, as soon as he’d made up his mind to pursue Ada in earnest, two other women had thrown themselves at him?
He needed time to think about it, and he needed to cool off. So rather than turning toward Lanhill when he reached the road—someone else was coming from that direction anyhow—he stormed off in the other direction. Nighttime be damned, he needed to think.
Mary let out a disappointed sigh as Mr. Turnbridge rounded the corner of the gate and marched out of view. Her shoulder slumped, and she kicked the ground. Men usually fell all over her when she made them an offer like that. It wasn’t like Mr. Turnbridge was any better than the lot of them. He—
“Oy! You!”
Mary gasped at the angry shout and flinched when Wat stormed around the gate. “Shite,” she muttered before pasting on her brightest smile and rushing toward him. “Wat, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”
Wat stormed up to her. His massive, muscled body excited her most of the time, but when he was in a temper, she wasn’t so sure.
“I heard what you said ta that toff walkin’ past,” Wat grumbled.
“That?” Mary laughed. “You must have heard me wrong.”
“Offerin’ ta let him touch you?”
“No, no.” Mary laughed and slapped his shoulder playfully. “I offered to….” She scrambled for something, anything that would appease Wat. “To let him linger and talk to the nanny.”
Even in the dark, Wat’s scowl was intimidating. “Yeah?”
Mary thanked God that her beau was all brawn and very little brain. “Which is silly, as I’m sure we both know, because there is no nanny in residence right now.” She swayed into him, splaying her hands across his chest and batting her eyelashes at him. “And you know I only have eyes for you, Wat. You’re my man.”
“Yeah?” he rumbled, reaching an arm around her to grab her backside and squeeze her against him. “And you’re my woman.”
“Always.” She pressed up on her toes to kiss him, making it as hot and tempting as she could
.
“That’s more like it,” he said, grinning at her. “That’s the Mary I like.”
“Would you like a little more of it?” she cooed. As long as she could keep him distracted and make him forget what he’d overheard her say to Mr. Turnbridge, things would be all right.
“’Course I would,” Wat hummed. He scooped her up around the waist and carried her over to the shrubs beside the gate.
Mary giggled with excitement as he unfastened his trousers. A little tumble in the bushes, up against the gate, was exactly what she needed to top her day off. Especially since it looked as though Mr. Turnbridge wasn’t enough of a man to stick around and fight for Ada. She’d drive that wedge all the way between the two in no time.
Chapter 7
Ada tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders and clutched the basket of eggs she’d been sent into town to fetch close. She hated being out after dark in the winter. At least the sun was starting to set later, but it still wasn’t late enough for her. She knew Lanhill and Winterberry Park like the back of her hand, but that didn’t stop every shadow from dripping with menace or every sound in the bushes convincing her she was about to be attacked by a highwayman.
She picked up her pace as she neared the gate that separated the end of Winterberry Park’s lane from the road. In the distance, she could see the cozy glow of the house already. Her bones ached to be home. She was practically sighing in relief already.
“Ohhhhhh!”
The sound of a woman groaning in pleasure that came from the shrubs just inside the gate stopped Ada cold. Her eyes went wide, and she stared at the bushes. They were moving, rustling in rhythmic fashion.
“Yes, oh, yes,” the woman sighed, then shifted to gasping in time with a man’s deep grunts.
Ada’s face went red. She recognized Mary’s voice, but that was as far as her imagination took her. Who the woman was with and why they would be tumbling in the bushes next to the gate on a cold, February night was an utter mystery to her.
Being careful not to make enough noise to disturb them, Ada hugged her eggs tighter and shot off up the path to the house. She’d always known Mary was a little bad, but that was beyond the pale. As she reached the kitchen door and crossed into the warmth and bustle of Winterberry’s downstairs, she debated whether she should tell Mrs. Musgrave or Mrs. Carlisle what was going on, or whether she should leave Mary to the natural fate that awaited all women who indulged in passions they shouldn’t have.
She still hadn’t made her decision by the time she deposited the eggs in the kitchen, put away her cloak and other winter things, and slipped into the servants’ hall for a quick cup of tea to warm her before she returned to her chores. Mary was a pill at the best of times, but she’d surely lose her position, without a reference, if Mrs. Musgrave knew what kind of behavior she engaged in. She wasn’t sure she was ready to be the cause of anyone’s ruin.
“All right, there?” Ben, the head footman, asked as he popped into the room and poured himself tea.
Ada pursed her lips. “Ben, what would you do if you knew one of the staff was up to no good, but if you said something, they’d be dismissed?”
To her surprise, Ben laughed. “You worried about what we all might say about your gentleman caller?”
Ada blinked, frowning at him. “My what?”
Ben finished a long sip of tea, then nodded toward the ceiling. “That Mr. Turnbridge of yours.”
A sinking feeling formed in the pit of Ada’s stomach. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ben finished his tea and put the used cup on the sideboard. “Your Mr. Turnbridge. He was here earlier looking for you. Mr. Noakes turned him away, of course. Cheeky beggar, he is, coming to the front door to see a maid.”
“Mr. Turnbridge came here to see me?” Ada was filled with equal parts amazement, hope, and anxiety. “Do you know why?”
Ben shrugged. “Why else would a fellow come to see a pretty girl.” He winked at her, then marched out of the room and on to whatever task he had.
Ada sat where she was, blinking in confusion. She debated whether it was safe to assume that Tim had come to finish the conversation they’d started at the cottage the day before. Had he intended to ask her to the Valentine’s dance tomorrow? Or was there something else he wanted to discuss?
She finished her tea without coming to any conclusions, then got up to return to work. But no sooner had she set foot in the hallway than Mary came breezing in through the kitchen door, a smile on her face. Ada’s face went red with embarrassment all over again.
Mary paused in the act of removing her cloak to stare at Ada. “What are you looking at?” She scowled.
The easier course would have been to run, to forget the whole thing, and to focus on discovering why Tim had been at Winterberry Park. But between the satisfied smirk on Mary’s lips and the contempt in her eyes, Ada decided she wasn’t willing to let it go.
“I heard you just now,” she said in a low whisper, approaching Mary with a dark scowl.
“Heard me? Whatever are you talking about?” She crossed her arms and rested her weight on one hip.
“In the bushes?” Ada hissed. “With a man?”
Mary’s eyes went wide, and she dropped her arms as she stood straight.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go to Mrs. Musgrave to have you sacked right now,” Ada said.
“You can’t prove anything,” Mary started. She opened her mouth to say more, but stopped. A flash lit her eyes, and her smirk returned, sending a chill through Ada. “You wouldn’t like it if the truth came out anyhow.”
“What truth? That you’re a feckless harlot?” Ada arched a brow in challenge.
“I was only taking what was offered to me,” Mary told her with a grin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that your Mr. Turnbridge is quite the hot-blooded fellow.” She licked her lips, flickering one brow.
Ada’s gut seized up. “You leave Mr. Turnbridge out of this.”
“Oh, Mr. Turnbridge was definitely in this,” Mary said, grabbing her crotch and thrusting her hips.
Ada gasped in disgust. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and fury. “That’s a disgusting fabrication,” she hissed.
“There was nothing disgusting about it. The poor man’s probably gone without for so long that he was just bursting to get his willy wet. Who was I to say no?”
“Tim would never do that,” Ada insisted, shaking with rage. “He’s an upright man, a schoolteacher.”
“Even schoolteachers get an itch now and then,” Mary said, then sighed salaciously. “He can school me anytime.”
“You’re lying,” Ada said through clenched teeth.
“Am I?” Mary asked. “You said you heard me yourself.”
“I heard you with someone. It’s not possible that it was Tim.”
“No? Did they tell you that he was up at the house just now?”
Ada’s throat closed up. But just because Tim had been at the house—to see her, not Mary—and because she’d heard Mary in the bushes with someone did not mean that a single thing Mary said was true.
“I still say you’re lying,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Mary.
“Am I, now?” Mary took a step closer to her. “Well, how about this. I made arrangements to have a little private time with your teacher yesterday. At Violetta’s cottage. The two of us were planning to give each other lessons.”
Ada gulped, taking a step back. She was certain Mary was lying, certain beyond a shadow of a doubt. Except it would explain why Tim had been at the cottage. She didn’t know that he had ever so much as looked twice at the cottage before that day.
But no, just because he had been there didn’t mean what Mary was saying was true.
“I still think you’re lying,” she said, ready to resort to desperate measures to wipe the snide grin off Mary’s face.
“You can think what you’d like,” Mary said,
her nose in the air. “All I’ll say is that your teacher can wrap me over the knuckles with that stick of his any day.” She sent Ada one last smug look, then walked past her into the servants’ hall.
Ada balled her hands into fists at her sides, so furious that tears stung her eyes. Mary had to be lying. She had to. Tim would never do that to her. He was good and true. He loved her, she was certain. He wouldn’t be lured off into the bushes to shag the first bit of skirt that came his way. And he wouldn’t arrange for wicked assignations with the likes of Mary at Violetta’s cottage.
But he had been there, at the cottage. And he’d just been at Winterberry Park too.
She couldn’t bear the thought that she’d been wrong about the one person she thought more of than anyone else. Clutching a hand to her heart, she dashed down the hall and up the servant’s stairs to the main part of the house. It was a blessing that the family wasn’t home, because it meant she could flee to the library and throw herself into one of the overstuffed chairs by the cold fireplace.
As her tears began to flow, she tugged Tim’s handkerchief from her apron pocket and held it to her eyes. “Oh, Tim,” she wailed, hating how weak she sounded.
She dabbed at her tears, then hugged the handkerchief to her cheek, rubbing the embroidered T against her hot skin. It was the closest thing she could manage to Tim’s touch, which she needed then more than ever. He wasn’t unfaithful. He couldn’t be. That wasn’t something the man she knew would do. And Mary was a notorious liar. But there was too much circumstantial evidence, too many things that didn’t quite fit together. Something was very, very wrong.
“Oh, hello, Ada.”
Ada straightened with a gasp as Tad walked into the room. “Tad.” Her heart sank. Of all the people that could possibly find her in such a state, and over such a muddle, Tad was the last one she wanted to see.
“You all right?” he asked, approaching her cautiously, but with a kind smile.
Ada sighed, lowering her eyes and debating whether to answer the question honestly, or at all.