Dressed in his livery, Steven Coolidge fought the urge to tug at his cravat. The snowy white length of linen had been starched so thoroughly, he felt like his neck was trapped in a vice. Equally uncomfortable was the powdered wig perched upon his head which itched on account of the overheated ballroom.
Standing tall, his features schooled, he strove to ignore both predicaments by focusing on his task for the evening. As first footman he’d positioned himself at the ballroom entrance in order to gain the best vantage point of the room and its occupants. This would allow him to see if anyone lacked food or drink, if a lady desired to borrow a fan, or if a gentleman needed a light for his cheroot.
A pretty melody played by the violinists the duke had hired accompanied those engaged in the first dance of the evening. Steven took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He’d held his position as first footman for two years now since being promoted upon the previous first footman’s departure. The pay was good – better than what one might find in other households. And Steven genuinely liked the family. He did not want to let them down or cause embarrassment for them by fidgeting with his attire.
“Excuse me, Charles, but might I have a word?” inquired the duke’s youngest daughter, Lady Isabelle.
He gave her his full attention and wondered, not for the first time, if she actually knew his real name. Of course, the lady would never deign to reveal as much since doing so could suggest an intimate knowledge of him as a person, which threatened the rules of propriety. Not that he minded being addressed by a different name than his own. It was common practice for every first footman who passed through a home to have the same name. This was also true for the second footman, which was why Steven had been called John before his promotion.
Dipping his head, he clasped both hands behind his back. “Of course, my lady.”
Lady Isabella glanced over her shoulder as if to make sure all was well with the guests before meeting his gaze once more. “If you would please follow me.”
She vanished into the hallway, leaving Steven slightly unsure of himself for a moment. Giving the room a check just as she had, he spotted the butler, whose presence would help offset Steven’s absence if he stepped away for a moment.
Unhappy with Lady Isabelle’s request yet unable to deny it, he went in pursuit and spotted her almost immediately at the far end of the hallway. She gave him a frantic wave right before disappearing into one of the manor’s three parlors.
Increasingly worried with where this was heading, Steven huffed a breath and strode toward the room. When he entered, Lady Isabelle was there, immediately inside the doorway – much too close and looking far too flushed for Steven’s liking.
Intent on handling what was swiftly becoming a dangerously inappropriate encounter, he retreated from her a few steps before stiffly facing her once again. “My lady?”
“I wish to give you this.” She held a folded piece of paper toward him.
Steven frowned. Was it just his imagination or were Lady Isabelle’s cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink? If so, he feared it did not bode well for his future employment with her father.
Heavy hearted, he accepted the note. The piece of paper was barely in his hand before she fled, departing so swiftly it almost felt like she’d never been there at all. He sighed, closed his eyes for a brief moment to gather his wits, then gave his attention to the note he’d received.
Meet me at the pavilion at midnight.
Damn. It was just as bad as he’d feared. Lady Isabelle had clearly developed a tendre for him, and since he worked in her family’s employ, he could not refuse her summons. Not without risking her wrath and the terrible outcome that might lead to.
He considered this for a second. She didn’t seem like the sort who’d spread lies about him out of spite. In fact, he’d always considered her to be kind, but would this still be true if a footman rejected her advances? And why on earth would she be casting her interest upon him instead of setting her cap for a peer?
Steven knew there were women who liked the idea of bedding down with their servants. The forbidden element spiked their interest. But they were generally of the more experienced variety, while Lady Isabelle struck Steven as not only an innocent but as the sort of proper young lady who strove to uphold her family’s reputation. So the note made no sense to him whatsoever.
Aware he’d been absent from the ballroom too long, he stuffed the note in his pocket and walked back with a clipped stride. He’d do as the youngest mistress of the house requested, but he’d make damn sure she knew he would never be more than her employee.
At five minutes to midnight, Beatrice heard the duke announce the commencement of that evening’s fireworks display as she rushed past the ballroom. With a heavy wool shawl draped over her shoulders, she exited through a side entrance and proceeded along a garden path that would take her toward the pavilion.
Her heart hammered madly against her breast. The very idea of having to turn down an older man’s romantic interest was nerve–wracking enough without the added problem of having to work with him after.
Pulling her shawl a bit tighter, she braced herself against the frosty air while wending her way along a moonlit garden path. The night was perfect for the display the duke had arranged. A clear sky dusted with stars lent the perfect canvas for bright bursts of color. Although Beatrice’s feet were chilled in her serviceable shoes, she ignored the discomfort and kept going, happy she didn’t have rain or snow to contend with as well.
She brushed past some dormant rhododendron bushes and found the pavilion. The wooden structure which served as an idyllic spot for tea during the summer was empty now – a lonely structure devoid of life until she stepped inside.
Expelling a misty breath, she watched it meld with the darkness. A shiver stole over her shoulders. It was colder now that she’d stopped walking. She clasped her hands in front of her mouth and blew warm air onto her palms.
She’d give Scofield another minute. If he did not arrive by then she’d leave, return to the house, and try to obtain a hot cup of tea. The pleasure that came with this thought spilled through her when footsteps – heavy and sure upon the frozen ground – caught her attention. She started to turn, only to stop when she heard the one voice that could send her pulse leaping.
“My lady,” said Steven, “I’ve come as you requested though not, I fear, with the message you desire. Indeed, as flattered as I am by your attentions, I must inform you that I do not reciprocate your…interest. While this may be hard for you to hear, I hope you’ll one day realize it’s for the best.”
More confused than she’d been before, Beatrice turned toward the man whose gaze had the power to weaken her knees whenever it found her. Surprise widened his eyes. Clearly he was as shocked to find her here as she was to come across him.
A nervous smile tugged at her lips. “I gather I’m not who you expected.”
“No. You’re not.” He stared at her until her ears burned with awareness. Then, stepping toward her, he said, “I thought you were Lady Isabelle. She was the one who gave me the note requesting I be here at midnight.”
“She gave me a similar note and told me Scofield had asked her to pass it along.” Beatrice pressed her lips together before admitting, “I feared I would have to reject him and am glad to know I shan’t have to now.”