by Esther Hatch
A slow smile spread across her lips. Mr. Woodsworth gave rather strange compliments. And even though she knew it was flattery, she found herself wishing for a few more of them. But that was silly. She was his father’s maid, and he was using her to help forward his plans with Miss Morgan. “What kind of social functions, exactly?”
“There is a ball this week. For certain I should like you to attend that one.”
“And who did you say was hosting, again?” She shouldn’t even be considering going. She would be presented at court in just a few short months. Someone could recognize her. But she had to admit she was interested in seeing this Miss Morgan. Even more tantalizing was the thought that in this one thing she could be useful. Mr. Woodsworth claimed he needed her help. No one had ever needed Patience’s help before. If only there was something she could do to hide her appearance.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bernard Simpson.”
Simpson. Did she know anyone by the name of Simpson? Not that she could think of. “What if someone recognizes me?”
“Are you in the habit of going to balls?”
“No.” Well at least that was the truth. “But I have been in other households before coming to this one.” It wasn’t a lie. Mr. Woodsworth would think she had been in households as a maid, but that was his own misunderstanding. Hopefully she would be gaining a lot of Nicholas’s promised character soon. So far, she felt she had mostly been losing it with all of these half-truths. Still, a half-truth was a truth, or at the very least, it wasn’t a lie. “What if one of the servants knows me? It would cause a scandal.”
He pursed his lips together. He obviously hadn’t thought of that.
“I don’t think your plan will work.” Strange that she was a little disappointed. “You will have to find a real lady to use as a pawn.”
“No, I will make it work. We will think of something. You are too perfect for the role. Beautiful, well-spoken—”
“In your father’s employ,” Patience finished for him before he could give her any more undeserved compliments.
“Your employment isn’t on the line if you don’t do this. I want to make that clear.”
“Then why would I do it?”
“I would double your pay.”
Double her pay of four shillings a week? Definitely not worth risking exposure for. “No.”
“What would make it worth your while?”
Was there anything? If she was caught, what would it mean? She wasn’t allowed to attend any balls until she was officially in society. What would happen to her reputation if it was discovered she had impersonated some other woman to attend them? At the very least, she could lose the opportunity to be presented to the queen. At worst, if Nicholas found out, it would solidify every reprehensible thing he had said about her.
But Nicholas wasn’t here. Mr. Woodsworth was, and something about the desperation in his eyes held her captive. After two years of feeling like she was trapped with no opportunity to see anyone, let alone to help them, she yearned to tell him yes. After all, wasn’t helping others noble? Perhaps this was exactly what Nicholas would want her to do.
Her eye twitched at the thought.
Lie.
“You still haven’t told me how we would hide my appearance.”
“That is because I haven’t thought of it yet. Those fiery curls would be most memorable. We will have to do something about them. But if I come up with a way you will be unrecognizable to the servants, will you do it?”
He had said earlier he wouldn’t be invited to the particularly well-footed parties. There were very few families she knew well in London. And if he did, indeed, find a way to conceal her appearance, this could be a chance to keep her position. Mrs. Bates hadn’t hidden her frustration about her lack of cleaning skills. If it weren’t for Mr. Gilbert covering for her atrocious job on making a bed earlier this morning, Patience was certain she would have been let go already.
“I need to keep my position for at least thirty days.”
“You keeping your position goes without saying.”
The tension in her back eased slightly. “Yes, but how will I perform all my duties? Not to mention that Mrs. Bates won’t be happy with me taking an evening off.”
“I’ll have you take over some of the duties in the nursery. When I need to train you or plan our next move, they will assume you are helping with the children.”
Children? Patience pulled her hands off the desk and took a step back. All of her preconceived notions about Mr. Woodsworth flew out the window. “You don’t have any children. Do you?” She hadn’t seen any. And she certainly hadn’t heard of a Mrs. Woodsworth. Of course she hadn’t. That was the whole reason for the fiasco. To procure a Mrs. Woodsworth.
Mr. Woodsworth shook his head. “No, but my sister has.”
His sister. That made sense. She couldn’t picture Mr. Woodsworth with children. His or otherwise.
“I will invite her to stay and instruct her to leave her nursemaid at home. Sophia’s help will be necessary at any rate—for training. I have no idea where to find you a ball gown in only one week.”
Patience had scads of ball gowns at home, ordered and waiting for her entrance into society. Shopping was one of the things her mother loved to do. But there was no way to retrieve them now.
“And who will watch the children while we are attending the ball?”
That gave Mr. Woodsworth pause. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sophia will have to come as your chaperone. Perhaps Mrs. Bates . . .”
Patience shook her head violently.
“Cook?”
Patience grimaced. Cook didn’t like her any more than Mrs. Bates did. Not since she peeled half of the potatoes off with the peel.
He sighed. “With Doris gone, I’m afraid we are out of options.”
An idea came to her. “Mr. Gilbert would watch them.”
“Gilbert?”
“Yes, he loves children.” Mr. Gilbert had mentioned his grandchildren twice to her. It wasn’t exactly proof that he loved children, but Patience trusted him more than any of the other staff. “The children will be asleep for most of the time we are gone anyway. It isn’t as though he will have to entertain them.”
Mr. Woodsworth finally nodded. “With a little advanced planning, something I’m not ashamed to admit I excel at, we should be able to iron out any other wrinkles that come our way. I’ll write to Sophia right away.”
“I never said that was my only condition. I started with the easiest accommodation.”
“A fine tactic. What is your next request?”
“A letter of recommendation. I would like a glowing review of my work here whenever it becomes time for me to leave.”
“Done.”
“And my last request . . .” Was she really considering this?
He didn’t move. Just waited.
How could she word this in a way that didn’t come off sounding strange?
She couldn’t.
“For each night I play along with this scheme of Miss Morgan’s making, I would like you to tell me about three of London’s most eligible bachelors. I want an honest report about their character and habits.”
After he had surprised Patience so often this evening, it was nice to see Mr. Woodsworth’s face go blank in astonishment. “Why in the world would you want to know that?”
“I might one day find myself in the position of establishing myself in one of their homes. I’m afraid I won’t be able to work here forever. In fact, I would assume once Miss Morgan becomes Mrs. Woodsworth she won’t want a maid around who spent time in ballrooms. I would rather go to a household that is kind and good.” Her voice quivered as she spoke, and she shook her head. She wasn’t afraid of marriage. Why was she acting this way? Nicholas would make certain any man who took an interest in her was a decent person. But Nicholas only ever saw
the best side of men. Mr. Woodsworth had the distinct advantage of not being someone a lord would feel the need to impress.
“I told you, you won’t lose your position because of this.”
“Not because of this, but still, I won’t work here forever. I will eventually move on to another chapter in my life, so those are my conditions.”
Mr. Woodsworth was quiet for a moment. He had been much more ready to grant her other two demands. Of course, those two had actually made sense. But finally he nodded. “I will do it. Information on three men in exchange for each time I will need you to pretend to be a lady.”
Was she really going to agree to this? Somehow Patience didn’t think dressing up as a lady was what Nicholas had in mind when he’d said serving under General Woodsworth would teach her about hard work and sacrifice.
“If I do it, I also want to keep at least some of my duties as a maid.”
His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, but if he thought she was confusing, well, he was even more so.
“If you insist, of course you can keep your duties as a maid.” He leaned forward off the desk, his brilliant blue eyes starting to shine with confidence. “Is there anything else?”
“If I get caught, you will take responsibility.” That was unfair of her. He didn’t even realize what kind of responsibility he was signing himself up for. But she needed to know he took protecting her from being discovered seriously.
“Yes. I swear I will find a way to make you unrecognizable. I will find the best food for you to eat, I will be your informant on the best employers London has to offer, and I will dance with you often enough to ensure you live out any dreams you might have had of being a lady.”
Her lips lifted slowly. This was not at all what she’d signed up for when she came here. But dancing with the stiff Mr. Woodsworth would be entertaining. She would learn a bit about society before she was forced to enter it, and then later she would be certain she didn’t get caught up with a social-climbing man like him. “Mr. Woodsworth, I believe we have come to an agreement.”
He stood from his chair and came around to her side of the desk. He put his hand out and waited for her to take it. A handshake? And he was the one who offered it. She hesitated. It was so untoward of him to expect that of her.
And then she remembered what she had just agreed to. With a laugh, Patience heartily threw her hand into his and pumped it up and down.
“May we never get caught,” she said. The way he nodded in agreement and tightened his grip in hers made her feel like she finally had someone who was willing to fight alongside her no matter what struggles came. She hadn’t felt that way since the day her mother had entered a carriage and left for Paris.
That was her excuse, she told herself, for leaving her hand too long in his. His vibrant eyes pierced her, and his face softened into a different face altogether. One not burdened by keeping himself serious all the time. When she finally pulled her hand away, his eyes widened, and he stepped back away from her. What was his excuse for not pulling away sooner?
She turned to walk out of the room, already uncertain about her decision to attend a ball. She snuck one last glance at Mr. Woodsworth. He was back at his desk once again, checking to make certain every paper was in order. What kind of man elevated a maid to the position of lady only to go back to lining up papers? He looked as lonely as she had felt while in mourning. His father was still alive, but the man was far from home, and Mr. Woodsworth’s mother and brother were gone. Patience might not be making the right choice by masquerading as an unknown lady, but helping Mr. Woodsworth was the right thing to do. She would stake her reputation on it.
Which was exactly what she had just agreed to.
Chapter 6
“You need to borrow one of my ball gowns for what, exactly?” Sophia’s hands were on her hips, her lips a tight line. The nursery was only used while Sophia’s children were staying, and her son and daughter were quietly circling the nursery, checking to make sure all of their favorite toys were still here. Sophia knew how to make anyone question their decisions, and that look she was giving Anthony now most definitely made him wonder if he had thought through his plan at all.
“It is just for one ball. It will be returned unharmed.”
“I’m not worried about the ball gown, Anthony. I’m wondering what my upstanding younger brother could want with a ball gown.” Her eyes glanced over to her children, who were at the moment trying to reach a puppet on the top of a shelf. “Harry! Put down Augusta this instant.” The children settled down immediately, though Sophia didn’t even watch to make certain they had obeyed. She was more like Father than Anthony was. More like Father than even Howard had been.
“I have a . . . friend who needs to borrow it. She may need to borrow a few other things as well. You look about her size, so I’m sure the fit won’t be a problem.” Anthony turned and walked to the children, hoping to borrow a page from his sister’s book; if he just assumed she would listen to him, perhaps she would.
The rustling of her skirts meant she was following him. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Miss Morgan, would it? I don’t think a dress of mine would fit her. She is quite petite, and I can’t imagine her needing one. You haven’t given up on her at last, have you?”
“Given up on Miss Morgan? Of course not.” He had spent two years courting her. If he couldn’t get a marriage out of that, what would that show about himself? “But yes, it does have to do with Miss Morgan. We’ve a plan.”
“You’ve a plan?”
“Yes, a plan.”
“A plan that includes my dress.”
“Most likely dresses.”
“So help me, Anthony, if you don’t tell me what this plan is this moment, I am packing up my unruly children”—they were quietly stacking blocks—“and leaving. You will have no help from me, and I assure you, a ball gown isn’t something you can order at the drop of a hat.”
He sighed. There was no arguing with Sophia. “Of course I will tell you.” But how? That was the question. “Let’s find a place to sit. It may take some time.”
Sophia strode over to the wooden rocking chair and sat down in one smooth, graceful movement. Anthony shook his head and reached for a small wooden child’s chair near the children. He slid it over to Sophia and sat down across from her. He had to look up at her from his low-perched position. Only Sophia and their father could make him feel so much like a child.
“As you know, Miss Morgan and I have been hoping to marry for over two years.”
“Everyone knows that, Anthony. You may skip over that part.”
And so he did. He skipped over the part that this was Miss Morgan’s plan, and he skipped over the part about how he barely knew this maid he had employed. The more parts he skipped, the more he worried this plan was perhaps not the best route, but it was time to take action. There were times when doing something was more important than doing the very best thing.
Sophia was quiet as she listened to him ramble on. Very quiet. When he finished, she leaned forward, making him feel even more like a child, towering over him in his little chair.
“And whose idea was this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Whose idea was it for you to bring a maid to a ball and use her as a decoy to make Mr. and Mrs. Morgan worry that they will lose you?”
“Well, the maid part was my idea.”
“Because you wouldn’t want to lead on a lady, I assume. That part makes sense, I suppose. But the rest was Miss Morgan’s.”
Anthony didn’t answer. Sophia would know by his silence.
“And how long have you known this maid? Is she trustworthy?”
Blast the woman. How had she known exactly which answers would be the most damning? “She has been in Father’s employ for less than a year, but I find her trustworthy.”
�
��Which means she must be beautiful.”
This was outrageous. Anthony stood from his chair. He was tired of feeling like a child. “Her looks had nothing to do with my decision.”
“Is she homely then? You picked a homely maid to distract all of London?”
“No, she isn’t homely. She is, as you said, quite beautiful, but it wasn’t her looks that gave me the idea.” Anthony looked about the room in an effort to grab hold of something. He was floundering, and he knew it. “She has a way about her. She doesn’t act like a maid. She doesn’t even speak like a maid. Her family must have had a setback later in life. You will have a chance to get to know her. I have asked her to help you with the children. It will serve as an excuse when I need her help.”
Sophia was quiet. She slowly rocked back and forth in the chair. “So that is why you asked me not to bring the nurse. It is all coming together now.”
“Good,” Anthony said, hoping this meant their discussion could be over. “I take it you will assist me, then.” If he acted as confident as Sophia, perhaps she would agree with him.
“On one condition.”
Blast these women and their conditions. He would be paying for these few weeks of deception for years to come.
“What is your condition?”
“If this hairbrained idea of yours doesn’t work, you should move on from Miss Morgan. Don’t worry about marriage for a year, at least, and then try again at that time.”
“A year! Miss Morgan could be married in a year.”
Sophia stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm. He started—the Woodsworths didn’t touch. Not in the middle of a conversation, at least. “I don’t mean take a break and then try again with Miss Morgan. I meant that you could try again with some other young woman. One that is better suited to you.”
“Miss Morgan is perfectly suited to me.”
“She is suited to Papa and what he wants. Perhaps she is even suited to what you think Mama would have wanted. But Mama isn’t here, and if Papa is so determined to have Miss Morgan’s Scottish title and her fortune in the family, let him marry her. You go find a woman that actually suits you.”