He was quite defensive. It wasn’t as if everyone could be Wellington. Although General Woodsworth did seem to be as close as a person could get. “Your father’s house was the only household I wanted to work in, and I was very fortunate to obtain work here.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You know I don’t lie.”
He finally nodded. “I know. I suppose it is a tender spot in this household. My father respects Wellington, of course he does. But he has always wondered what he could have achieved if his own family hadn’t been quite so common.”
General Woodsworth was the only general she could think of that didn’t start his career by buying a commission. “Is that why you are so bound and determined to marry well?”
He gave her a sad smile and then pointed to the fireplace. It looked as though she would get no answers from him today.
She placed her hands on her hips. How hard could it be to light a fire? “I was planning on putting the kindling down first,” Patience said. “Then the wood and coal on top of that.”
“And how were you going to light it?”
“With a candle from the hallway. Although I know Cook has some lucifer matches in the kitchen. I’ve never lit one though, and truthfully, they scare me a little.”
“A candle is a much safer option. The sparks from a lucifer are never very predictable, and the last thing we want is for you to catch your dress on fire.”
She laid the kindling in the bottom of the grate while he pulled up a chair from near the pianoforte and sat down, watching her. Next she piled on a few pieces of wood. It was a simple thing, lighting a fire, and yet she felt quite powerful building it herself. She reached for the coal and laid it on top of the wood, always aware of Mr. Woodsworth’s eyes on her. When everything looked quite ready, she stood and smiled. Mr. Woodsworth smiled back at her. She must have done it right.
“Go get your candle.”
She walked out the door and fetched one of the candles that lit the hallway, then came back in. Not wanting to be distracted by his smile, she didn’t look at him. She put the candle just below the kindling and squealed softly with delight when it burst into a small flame.
She turned in triumph, now ready for Mr. Woodsworth’s rare smile.
But he wasn’t smiling. Instead he was watching her small flame. He pointed with his chin for her to turn and look at it as well. It was still burning, but not quite as bright as before. Only the outside edges of the kindling had burned, and everything under the wood was still intact. A few seconds more and her flame became nothing but a pale blue line. Then it disappeared completely.
She lowered her head and groaned. “What did I do wrong?”
He just shrugged his shoulder. “I thought you wanted to do it yourself.”
“I do,” Patience said. Mr. Woodsworth was quick to go back and forth between being helpful and being the most infuriating man she knew. “You obviously knew that wasn’t right. Why did you let me do it?”
“You had just told me you wanted to do it yourself.”
“And I also told you I would tell you of my plan so you could correct me if I was wrong.”
“I wouldn’t say what you did was wrong.”
“But you wouldn’t say it was right either.”
“You have it very close, actually. And I’m confident you will figure it out without my help. Any maid with a knowledge of Thucydides can manage a fire.”
Ah, so that is why he had looked at her strangely earlier. A maid most likely wouldn’t have read that tome. Of course, neither would most ladies. She tried to think back to the few times she had seen the servants light fires. Or even here, when she had added coals to an already burning fire. In all her times of watching, she had never seen the coals added until the fire was already going. “Maybe if I added the coals later?”
Mr. Woodsworth smiled and nodded. “Why do you think that is?”
“I honestly have no idea. But if you tell me, I promise not to forget, and I will be able to do it completely on my own next time.”
Mr. Woodsworth stood and strode over to Patience. He lifted her left arm and slid off her dirty work glove, leaving her with only her right one. He didn’t put his hand inside the glove—it was much too big for that—but instead used the glove like a cloth to pick up the top coals and place them back into her bucket. Patience watched him. Not moving, barely breathing. Her hand tingled where his hand had slid down it while removing her glove. Mr. Woodsworth was far too comfortable with her.
“Are you really going to make me do the job for you? I understand I am only a mister, but surely I still demand some respect.”
She shook her head. “Of course not.” She jumped forward, with the one glove she had left, knelt down next to Mr. Woodsworth, and began removing the coals as quickly as she could. Each time he leaned forward to reach a piece of coal, his arm slid along hers. Then he would lean back and reach behind her waist to deposit the coal in the bucket. Why hadn’t she knelt to the other side of him? Of course, then she would have been the one reaching over him. She focused on controlling her breathing as his arm once again curled behind her, this time mere inches from running across the ties in her apron.
Why was he not affected by her nearness? Because she was a maid? They were halfway done removing the coals when she couldn’t handle his nearness any longer. She could see the faint traces of stubble on his chin, for heaven’s sake. “Why not just dump them out like you did last time?” she asked.
“Because you have done an excellent job laying the kindling, and if we dumped everything out, it would become quite a mess. The wood just needs to be moved about a bit to add more air to the fire.”
“So I did that right?”
“You did that right, save one small thing.” He placed the final piece of coal in the bucket and stood.
She rose as well. It was the perfect opportunity to step away from Mr. Woodsworth—a lady shouldn’t be examining a gentleman’s chin as thoroughly as she was—but she didn’t. Other than dancing and playing with Harry and Augusta, she hadn’t been this close to a person since Mama went to Paris. “I suffocated it.” He was only inches from her. “Everything was too close together, so the fire couldn’t breathe.”
“That’s right.” He motioned for her bare hand, and she held it out. He slipped the thick glove back on her hand without noticing that he was having the same effect on her as the tightly packed wood had on the fire. He went back to his chair and sat down. “Now, try again.”
Patience was determined not to fail a second time. She looked into the grate. The wood was still stacked fairly tightly on top of the kindling. She lifted out each piece and fluffed out the small slivers of wood and bits of cotton that had been set out for kindling. She placed the wood back over it, this time laying it at different angles so it would be able to breathe. Reaching for the candle she had placed on the mantle, she turned and raised an eyebrow at Mr. Woodsworth. He gave her a short but affirmative nod.