This time when the kindling took to flame, she didn’t squeal. She watched. Slowly the fire built and grew until she saw some of the wood smoke and flame.
“Now should I add the coal?” she asked.
The flames of her fire reflected in his eyes, but he didn’t answer her.
It was still such a small fire. “I think I should wait a little longer.”
“I think so too.”
Patience bent low and watched as the fire caught more and more of the wood. The kindling was gone, leaving only the low burn of the thin logs. Flames lowered and lowered until they were barely there. “What am I missing? It was burning so well only a moment ago.”
“There are only three things a fire needs.” Mr. Woodsworth lifted a finger. “A flame or spark.”
“I have that.”
He raised a second finger. “Something to burn.”
“I have that as well.” Patience tried to remain calm, but her fire was quickly burning down to nothing.
“Then it must be the final thing.”
“What is it?” Mr. Woodsworth’s calm exterior had never been more frustrating. Didn’t he know a catastrophe when he saw it?
“You already know what it is.”
“It needs to breathe.” Patience fanned her hands back and forth, trying to get more air to her tiny fire. Images of servants using a bellows to help get coals back to life flashed through her mind. There were no bellows in this room. She knelt down, careful to tuck her skirt under her knees and away from the flame. Leaning forward, she blew softy. The fire needed air, but she didn’t want to blow out what little flame was left.
Mr. Woodsworth was suddenly next to her. He must have removed his jacket while she was putting forth her measly efforts to fan the flame. His thick frame took up most of the space in front of the fireplace. He leaned forward and blew powerfully into her little pile of wood. The reaction was instantaneous. Flames jumped upward and so did a little flutter in her stomach. He was once again so very close. Leaning forward with his face lit by the fire, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepened into shadow, but they didn’t make him scary or unpleasant. He was handsome. More than handsome. How had she not noticed before? Even without his beautiful smile, the character in his face drew her in like the fire stole her breath.
“Come now, you try it.” His shoulder was touching hers, and the heat from his body warmed her more than the heat from the fire did. She leaned forward, and the sleeve of her dress slid away from his arm. Again she was taken aback at how completely unaffected Mr. Woodsworth was whenever he was alone with her. She, on the other hand, had gone from not considering Mr. Woodsworth’s looks at all to suddenly finding him strikingly handsome.
She blew as hard as she could into the fire, and once again, it leapt. They took turns then. He would lean forward and blow on his side, then she would blow on hers. After less than a minute, their fire was strong, and they both sat back on their heels.
“Thank you.” She was out of breath. Hopefully Mr. Woodsworth would blame that solely on their efforts to keep the fire going. “I believe it is burning now.”
“No need to thank me. You did most of the work.” He stood and reached for his jacket. Her eyes froze as his broad shoulders and thick arms slipped into his sleeves in one effortless, smooth motion. “Next time it will be no trouble at all for you.”
“Why are you so proficient at building fires? Surely the servants do it for you.” One side of his mouth twitched at her question. “I mean your other servants, the ones who aren’t so . . .”
“Unruly?”
“Yes.” Unruly was better than incompetent. Or at least she hoped. He hadn’t seemed to mind it with his niece and nephew, anyway.
“My father never grew up with servants, and he worried about his family not knowing how to take care of themselves. His situation changed so drastically over the course of his lifetime. I believe he feels like that could happen to anyone and in any direction. I suppose he didn’t want me to be useless.”
“Like me.”
“No,” he said, brushing off some nonexistent lint from his jacket. “You just built a marvelous fire. Sophia’s children are already happier with you than they have been with any of their nursemaids, and you have given up your time and comfort in order to help me procure a bride. Indeed, I don’t think this household has seen anyone more useful cross its threshold since my father left.”
Patience placed a hand to her stomach. She searched his face for any sign of jest. But he was, as always, sincere. “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
He frowned a little. “I would think a servant would be used to being useful.”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Patience replied. Mr. Woodsworth thought her useful. It had been a good choice to help him, even if she did have a slight risk of exposure. The next time her brother claimed that she was useless, she could bring up this conversation with the son of one of his heroes.
“I don’t think there will be very many more reasons for you to dress up as a lady. If Miss Morgan’s plan doesn’t work within a fortnight, I believe we can assume it won’t work at all, and you will be free to go back to your normal duties. But if, for any reason, you don’t feel like you can continue, please inform me at any point, and we will form an alternate plan. I never want you to feel like you have no choice in the matter.”
Did she want to stop? The pleasant orange of the flame reflected in Mr. Woodsworth’s eyes. Since she had come into this house, she had learned how to sweep, clean out grates, polish silver, and now build a fire. Those were useful skills. She had learned to be useful. Still, all of those things could be done by any number of maids. They were being done before she arrived here, and they would be done after she left. But helping Mr. Woodsworth with his plan? That was something only she could do. Mr. Woodsworth was relying on her, and she would not let him down. “I’d like to continue to help.”
“Good.” He took a deep breath. “I know I owe you a report on three men as per our agreement. I will find you when I have gathered information on three that fit your criteria.”
“May I add one more trait to that list of criteria?”
“I suppose.”
“Don’t worry about informing me about the frivolous lords. I think I should like to know about the more serious ones.”
Patience thought he might find her request odd, but if he did, he didn’t show it. He just nodded. Then, with a pointed look at the coal still in the bucket, he strode out of the room.
The fire was still burning strong, but if she didn’t add the coal soon, it would go out once again. She dashed over to the bucket and carefully dropped in the coals one by one until the grate was filled. She would never build another fire, or even bank a fire, without thinking of Mr. Woodsworth and how he had knelt down next to her and blown on her faltering flames in that calm and steady way of his. For the first time since becoming a maid, she felt as though perhaps she wouldn’t always need Mr. Gilbert to make excuses for her. And when it came time to return home, she wouldn’t miss polishing furniture or sweeping floors, but she would miss building fires. She watched the blue and orange flames begin to engulf the black of the coal. It was beautiful and satisfying, and she had created it.