The numbers had taken twice as long as they typically did. Focusing had never been a problem for Anthony, but he found that wasn’t the case now. He kept thinking of women he could ask to dance a few extra times, who wouldn’t read into his interactions with them. The truth was, he didn’t know any of them well enough to be certain they wouldn’t take his actions seriously. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped into a marriage that wouldn’t further his father’s position in society. The Duke of Wellington was a good friend of Father’s. And although he would never admit it, Father had always blamed his low birth for the fact that Wellington had received a title while he had remained General Woodsworth.
Father hadn’t climbed the ranks from grenadier to general by being satisfied with what life had given him. He always wanted more, not just for himself but for his children too. Howard, Anthony’s brother, had been rising in the ranks as quickly as was humanly possible. It was no secret that their father had expected Howard to be titled one day.
But Howard was no longer here. And at her death Mother had made Anthony promise he would never join the army. That left him to find some other way to make his father proud.
He’d made a list of women whom he could possibly show interest toward to satisfy Miss Morgan’s plan. It had six names on it, but all had been scribbled out one by one. One name he had written and blotted out three times: Mrs. Barton, formerly Miss Grace Sinclair. His childhood friend. She was the only woman on the list he knew well enough to feel that he would be able to explain his predicament and she wouldn’t judge or laugh. She would simply help. But she was married, and he was quite certain her husband wouldn’t agree to such a plan. Rumor had it Mr. Barton had once come to blows with a lord for speaking too long with his wife.
That left no one. Perhaps just ignoring Miss Morgan would be enough. He rubbed his forehead. It was going to have to be. The last thing he wanted was to hurt a young, unsuspecting lady or end up committing to marry someone who would bring no honor to the Woodsworth name.
He folded the last of his papers and reached into the desk for his sealing wax so he could mail them to his father. Instead of the smooth rectangle of wax he was expecting, he found the broken pieces and lumps that had been pushed together until they held the rough shape of a small pinecone. Had that maid kept using his wax even after he told her to put it away?
He rang the bell that sat on his desk. And then he waited. He rang the bell again. Would he have to go seek out Mrs. Bates? He rose just as the door opened.
It was the new maid.
He held the wax out in his hand but then quickly covered it up with his fingers.
“You called, sir?”
Anthony sat back down. “Yes, I did. Several times.”
Her chin was still held high, and she didn’t apologize. Anthony had the sudden urge to apologize for interrupting whatever she had been doing. It was ridiculous.
“I’m afraid I have yet to hear your name.”
“It is Patience.”
“Patience?”
“Yes, as in ‘you may need a lot of Patience if you call for me while we are in the middle of cleaning out the grates.’”
“That is what took you so long?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t call him “sir,” and there was no contrition in her voice. She acted as if she were the lady and he the servant. If it weren’t for the smudge of soot on her cheek and her ill-fitting dress, she could look like a lady. Her dark, fiery hair was tucked into a red stained cap, but the cap hadn’t managed to contain it. Tight, unruly curls framed her face and stuck to her neck. Cleaning the grates must require some effort. He hadn’t thought of it before. Her hair looked very different from the first time he had met her. It had been pulled up in a rather elegant style like he had seen on ladies about town. He hadn’t seen a color like it before. It was dark and almost brown, but when it caught any light at all, it would light up like a flame. He cocked his head to the left. With the right clothing and a maid to tame that unruly hair . . .
“May I ask you a question, Patience?”
The corner of her mouth quirked as he used her name.
“Please.” Again she smiled. Her mouth was so broad, as if it was made for laughing.
“Have you ever wished to be a lady?”
Her smile faltered for a moment, and her eyes went wide. “Honestly?” she asked.
“Yes, honestly.”
“Well.” Her eyes lit up, and one corner of her mouth rose. “I can honestly say that no, I have never wished to be a lady.”
“You wouldn’t want someone to clean your grates for you, so you wouldn’t have to do it?”
“First of all, I am not cleaning my grates. I am cleaning your grates, and yes, I would rather a servant did that for me, but it doesn’t mean I’m not capable.”
Anthony slid open his desk drawer and replaced the broken wax. “Did I say you weren’t capable?”
“No, but it seems like the way you look at me, you think I’m not capable.”
“I look at you that way?”
“Yes, like I shouldn’t be a maid, and then you say something like that. Would I rather someone else cleaned the grates? Of course I would.” Her sweeping eyebrows furrowed together. “But that doesn’t mean I want to go around acting like some sort of lady. I am working diligently and doing everything Mrs. Bates asks me to do.”
He forced down a smile. One of her red-stained hands was at her hip as she spoke to him. She was acting exactly like a lady would. If anything, she was even more insolent than a lady would be. No servant had ever talked back to him like this in his life. If she were any other servant, he would put her in her place. Or at least tell Mrs. Bates to train her better. But he found that his goal was to convince her to be on his side, and he had a feeling reprimanding her wouldn’t help things go in his favor.
Anthony rose, walked around his desk, and leaned the back of his legs against it, then folded his arms. It was a much more casual stance than he was used to, but he felt it might put the young maid at ease. Plus, he was tired of looking up at her. “You haven’t dreamed of being a lady, but have you perhaps pictured yourself at a ball, dancing with striking young gentlemen?”
For the first time since she had entered the room so belatedly, she cast her hazel eyes downward but only for a moment before they flashed back up. “What woman hasn’t dreamed of that? Yes, I have thought dancing with gentlemen would be enjoyable, but that doesn’t mean I am too naive or careless to take care of myself.”
All he had done was ask if she had wanted to dance with gentlemen. He hadn’t expected such a reaction. Perhaps he was being foolish, and picking one of the half-dozen ladies of his acquaintance would be a better choice. But those ladies came with expectations he wasn’t in a position to fill. He had no idea how such a bizarre maid had passed Mrs. Bates’s approval, but she was perfect. Cleaned up, she would be as beautiful as any young lady at any upcoming ball. And she already held herself as if she was better than anyone else around her.