A Proper Charade

by Esther Hatch

  “Oh, sorry.” She started to slink back out the door.

  “No need to leave,” he called out to her. He glanced at the rag in her hand. “Are you here to dust?”

  “Yes, but I can come back later.”

  “You won’t bother me.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I’m certain. Please stop standing at the door. It is making me nervous.”

  She hurried inside and, without thinking, shut the door behind her. Should she open it? Would that seem stranger than just leaving it?

  “Leave it.” Mr. Woodsworth apparently knew exactly what she was thinking. “I may have a few questions to ask of you that are best answered in private.”

  Patience nodded. She simultaneously longed to both look at Mr. Woodsworth and run away. She had missed him, and their time together was growing short. Knowing that she should spend absolutely no time in his company hurt her heart, and his rumpled hair touched her soul. No one in her life had treated her like this man had, and no one would again. She would become Lady Patience again soon. Someone to be taken care of, not someone useful.

  Patience slowly turned around. He was looking at her expectantly. He was beautiful, and he wasn’t even smiling.

  “Would you rather I left?” he asked.

  All the tension in Patience’s stomach left. A small gasp like a laugh escaped her throat. He was so formal and to his maid. She didn’t need to avoid him. He was Mr. Woodsworth. Calm and collected Mr. Woodsworth. As long as she didn’t do anything foolish, he certainly wouldn’t. “No. Please don’t. Dusting won’t take long. I didn’t think you would be here, but I was hoping for it.”

  Mr. Woodsworth raised an eyebrow. “Was there something you needed to talk to me about?”

  “No,” Patience replied. “It is simply that I’ve been lonely the past few days and have felt the need for connection. I would like it if you stayed.”

  “Of course, although I am hardly proper company at the moment.”

  She eyed the papers on the floor. “Something has happened.”

  “Not something bad, if you are worried about it. But it has left me feeling . . . not quite capable.” He stopped.

  “You? Mr. Woodsworth, you are one of the most capable men I know.”

  “And you know a lot of men, do you?”

  Almost none. “Well no, I suppose I don’t. But it is true nonetheless.”

  He nodded and ran his hand down his face. He looked tired. Placing both hands on his desk, he narrowed his eyes at Patience. “May I just ask you one question? One completely inappropriate question?”

  “More inappropriate than asking me to pretend to be a lady?”

  He shifted his head to one side. “Possibly.”

  The tightness in her stomach returned, and her breathing became short. “Yes,” she answered. He could ask her anything. She would help him with whatever he asked.

  He stood from his desk and paced back and forth in front of the window. “If I asked if I could kiss you, what would you say?”

  Her heart stopped, and her hands flew to her chest. What would she say? She couldn’t kiss Mr. Woodsworth. The lines between his eyebrows deepened as he watched her reaction. She needed to leave. Mr. Woodsworth had no idea whom he was talking to, nor the repercussions of such an action. “No,” she finally said.

  He ran both of his hands down his face and sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Of course you wouldn’t want to.”

  “It isn’t that I wouldn’t want to. If circumstances were different . . . you are just so serious. And a kiss . . .”

  “. . . Should be exciting and fun,” he answered before she could say anything else.

  That was not what she was going to say. Not at all. She pressed her cold palms against her hot cheeks. Whatever she was going to say was better left unsaid. If she was intelligent at all, she would run out that door, perhaps even quit her whole charade. She could go find solace with Ollie. He was a much better choice than Mr. Woodsworth. Even when they ran about the garden, her heart didn’t race like this. But she still felt drawn to Mr. Woodsworth, and she hadn’t finished her dusting. “May I still stay, even if I don’t . . .”

  He dropped his hands to his sides, took a deep breath, and sat back down at his desk. “Of course, I mean, if you are still comfortable with me after what I just said.”

  “I’ll stay.” Patience tightened her grip on her rag and made her way to the fireplace to dust the mantle. It was the farthest she could get from Mr. Woodsworth. She didn’t trust herself to be near him. His question rang in her mind. If he asked whether he could kiss her . . . What would it be like to be kissed and cherished by Mr. Woodsworth? How often would he smile at her if that were the case? But he was going to marry Miss Morgan. He had been working toward that for the past two years, and Patience had yet to see Mr. Woodsworth fail at anything he set his mind to.

  “Do you feel like you are making progress with Miss Morgan?” She felt a sudden need to bring her up. “I’m not sure I will be able to attend many more social functions; I may not have time.” She sucked her lower lip into her mouth. She wasn’t sure how he would take the news, but it was best she started preparing him now for her departure.

  His head jerked up from the paper he was looking over. His eyes found her lips first, and she immediately relaxed her mouth. Was he still thinking about his request? He shook his head and found her eyes. “Because of what I just said? Please, ignore it. It was a moment of weakness. I know I am a hypocrite when I say I would never use someone under my protection, but I wouldn’t. Not in that way.”

  “I know.” Mr. Woodsworth had obviously had something terrible happen to him. Maybe she should have just kissed him. He wouldn’t tell anyone. He already had the power to ruin her reputation just by mentioning she was a maid in his household. What harm would have been done if she had kissed him as well? If Miss Morgan had made him feel this way, she would get a piece of Patience’s mind once they saw each other again. “It isn’t that. It is just that I may not be able to stay much longer.”

  “Why not?” He threw down the pen in his hands and rose from his desk. His footsteps matched the beating of her heart as he strode over to the fireplace.

  “It will be time for me to go soon. I can’t work here forever.”

  He reached for her rag and put in on the mantle. His touch, so casual to him, caused pinpricks of fire along her skin. “What if you could? Would you want to stay? You have done so much for me. I would love to return the favor in any way I can.”

  “But what of Miss Morgan?” Patience couldn’t help but ask him. He was so close to her. His hand rested on the edge of the mantel as he leaned over her, wanting to help. He had never looked at Miss Morgan the way he was looking at her now. At least not since she had known the two of them. He was making a terrible mistake with Miss Morgan, and she wished he knew it. A relationship between Patience and Mr. Woodsworth was impossible, but that didn’t mean he needed to settle for a marriage that only made sense on paper.

  “I’m quite certain she doesn’t love me.”

  “Is that why you are so distracted today?” She glanced around him at his desk.

  “Surprisingly, her lack of love for me has not wounded me at all.”

  So he would still marry her? Even though he knew she didn’t love him? Was he so set on his plan that it didn’t matter, or did he love her enough to marry her regardless? “I believe true love—romantic love, anyway—takes two people.”

  “That sounds like an absolute. I’m not certain I believe in absolutes about love.”

  “It is an absolute,” she said. “Anything else is just infatuation.” His cravat was askew, and her finger itched to fix it. He just didn’t look like himself.

  He brought his hand down from the mantel. “Are you implying I have been infatuated with a woman for over two years? I woul
d think I was above that.”

  “In my opinion, if you know she doesn’t love you, it must be infatuation or some kind of silly self-sacrifice. And you should be above that.” She stepped forward and reached for his cravat. They had crossed so many lines already; one more shouldn’t hurt. With a couple of tugs, she had it looking better, if not perfect.

  When she glanced up, his eyes were on her mouth. His body swayed forward toward her. “Have you ever been in love like that?”

  “With someone who loves me back?”

  He covered one of her hands still at his neck with his own. “Didn’t you say that was the only kind of love?”

  “Yes. I mean no. I said that, but no.” Her answer was barely a whisper, but he was so close she knew he could hear her. “I haven’t had that.”

  He slid his thumb across her poor, chapped knuckles.

  “Should I leave? Are you going to kiss me if I don’t?”

  He dropped her hand and instead pulled at one of the curls along her neck. She found it hard to breathe. She didn’t know what had happened to Mr. Woodsworth today, but he was acting very strangely.

  “I want to. Does that make me a terrible person?”

  She wanted to tell him, no, it didn’t make him a terrible person at all. Wasn’t that something Mama would say? Live in the moment? If she were Mama, she would have jumped at the chance to share a kiss with Mr. Woodsworth. And she would have kissed him well enough to have left a smile on his face instead of the sullen look he had now. She placed her hands on his chest and balled up the material of his jacket into her fists. Some poor maid would have to iron that tomorrow. Not her. Mrs. Bates hadn’t trusted her with an iron since she had put a hole in one of the sheets. “I could ask you the same question. What answer would you give me?”

  Stiff, reliable Mr. Woodsworth leaned in closer. His face was only inches away from her own. The lines that so often creased his face were smooth. He was calm in this moment, and his face at peace was as beautiful as his laughing face. “Have you ever . . .” A slight line of worry crossed his otherwise smooth brow. “I mean . . . whose employ were you in before you came here? Do you make a habit of consoling your employers in such a way?”

  She laughed. Mr. Woodsworth knew nothing about her. She should step away, but her feet were rooted in place, and her body was much more inclined to fall forward into him than away. She was Mama today—all fun and no consequences. If she continued this, she would have to admit that Nicholas was right about her. Maybe Nicholas was right about her. Was it so very wrong to live in the moment? “I thought you came over here to comfort me about losing my position as maid.”

  “Oh no.” He shook his head. “I am being very, very selfish, and even touching your infuriating curls as I am is more that any gentleman should do. Especially to one in his employ. I’m a cad.”

  “There are plenty of men who wouldn’t think twice about dallying with the help.”

  He stiffened, releasing the curl he had been softly pulling. “Do you speak from experience?”

  Her mind went blank. Of course she didn’t speak from experience. This was the only household she had served in, and Nicholas would never do such a thing in their home.

  “Don’t answer that.” He dropped his hands and stepped away from her. “Nothing you could say should affect my actions. No matter if I am drawn to you, there is no future for us. I’m terribly sorry. You came here to work, and I have acted in a most devilish manner.”

  “No, not devilish. Human.” She wanted to run into his arms. She wanted that moment back before he had remembered it was his maid he was speaking to. What would it feel like to be enveloped by someone as large and as caring as he was? “I’ve missed you these past few days. I didn’t want to be alone, and you have given me that. So thank you.”

  “We both have work to do. But after you finish, you could stay and read in the corner if you still don’t want to be alone.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Stay even longer in his study with him? Was that wise?

  “I will keep my hands to myself. No more touching of curls, you have my word.” His arms were stiffly back at his sides.

  “Thank you. I will think on that after the dusting is done.” She moved past him to his bookcase and began dusting the multitude of leather-bound books there. Behind her, Mr. Woodsworth moved back to his desk. Even without seeing him, she was attuned to his every movement. He was so strong, so resolute, and unmoving. And then, at times, he was soft and vulnerable.

  She stepped gingerly as she worked her way down the row of books. Were her movements as all-encompassing to him as his were to her? She finished dusting everything except his desk. She returned to the bookshelf. “I will read for a moment if you don’t mind.” She hadn’t had time to read for weeks, and she missed it. She reached for a copy of Byron’s poems—a poor choice for sitting alone with a man she was so drawn to—but she took it anyway. As she passed his desk, he cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry you have such a serious and lifeless employer. I’ve never understood why I couldn’t be serious about my work and about planning a future for myself and also be a compelling, enjoyable person. But apparently I can’t. Shouldn’t a person be able to be both?”

  “What did you say?”

  “Shouldn’t a person be allowed to be both serious and enjoyable? Must my whole being be summed up in just one characteristic?”

  Something deep inside Patience stilled. Mr. Woodsworth was right. A person should be able to be both. She had been working so hard to kill off the fun-loving part of herself, when in reality, she could become more serious and still be young, free, and happy. Being happy didn’t have to mean neglecting the ones she loved. She could be carefree and not be like her mother. She dropped the heavy book to the floor, and it landed with a loud thump. She turned to Mr. Woodsworth. He was slumped forward on his desk with his chin resting on his arms. His eyes were still dull and frustrated. She hoped what she was about to do would change that. After all, she hadn’t promised not to touch him.

  “I’ve definitely never kissed an employer. I’ve never kissed anyone.” She took a breath to steel her nerves. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to kiss her. She knew he didn’t love her, but she wanted to take whatever moments of happiness she could before she had to leave him. She stepped deliberately over to his desk. She leaned forward, placing both her hands on either side of his elbows. Mr. Woodsworth sat up straight, his head cocked to one side and he eyed her warily. That would make it more difficult. She could have reached him easily had he stayed slumped over as he had been. She would have to practically climb over the top of his desk to reach him now. She pushed aside his papers and scooted the ink bottle to the edges of his desk, then leaned forward and grabbed the lapel of shirt and pulled him closer. His eyes were wide, but he practically fell forward to her without an ounce of resistance. Surprising Mr. Woodsworth was one of her favorite pursuits. He was still too far away. She scooted on top of the desk, sitting on the edge of it, then leaned forward the few inches to his mouth. “Not until now.”

  She kissed the line to the side of his mouth first. It had been driving her crazy since the first time she saw him smile. Softly, moving carefully so as not to startle him, she moved to the other side of his mouth and kissed that line as well. His hands tightened around the handles of his chair, the muscles in his forearms cording with the effort. His eyes were open, but he didn’t pull away from her. Instead he watched, his chest expanding with each breath.

  She pulled herself forward again, this time kissing the edge of his bottom lip. Mr. Woodsworth’s mouth was softer than she had imagined. Much softer and responsive. She had meant to only touch them with her own and then go read in a chair. But now that she was here and knew she would never be again, she decided to explore a little. Mr. Woodsworth didn’t lean forward into her, which was unfortunate. That would have made the kiss much more comfortable. But he
didn’t pull away either. Her eyes were closed, but as far as she could tell, his hands stayed where they were, holding onto the arms of his chair. She smiled. Even in this moment, he would keep his promise.

  His lips, though, explored just as much as hers did. First at one corner of her mouth and then the other. Until they both met again at the center, their breath becoming one for a moment and then another. For her first kiss, she thought it was going quite well. Mr. Woodsworth was proving himself to be anything but boring. With one last touch of her lips against the line between his eyebrows, she straightened, pushed his papers back where they had been, and turned to go to her chair. She picked up the book she had dropped and settled into the plush leather of the club chair. Only after she had opened the book did she dare glance up at Mr. Woodsworth. He hadn’t moved. His eyes were still just as wide as when she had kissed him.

  She pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a smile. At least when it came time for her to leave, she would have that memory. “Well, Mr. Woodsworth, I believe that was both serious and fun. So whoever made you feel that was impossible must have been wrong.”

  ***

  Patience was sitting there calmly reading a book. Byron, if he wasn’t mistaken. What kind of maid kissed her employer and then read Byron? Logically, the reading of Byron should have come first. He shook his head, but nothing would clear his mind. The stacks of papers he had organized with renewed fury after his scene with Miss Morgan sat unattended as he waited for Patience to either leave or speak to him again. The longer he sat waiting, the more uncertain he became about which outcome he desired more.

  The book of poetry was open in her hands, but he hadn’t seen many pages turn in the fifteen minutes since she had kissed him and jauntily sat down as if nothing had happened. Why had he invited a woman to spend time alone with him in his study? He clenched his pen tighter in an effort not to reach up and touch his lips. He had wanted to kiss her. Or perhaps more accurately, he had wanted her to want to kiss him. But he had kept his dignity and integrity intact by refraining. All of his refrain was for naught, thanks to his impulsive parlor maid.