“Why did you do it? I wasn’t going to kiss you. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I never would have, except that I had a terrible evening.”
“I suppose it is because we were talking so much about infatuation, and I realized something.” She placed Byron back on the bookshelf. “I must be infatuated with you. I know it isn’t self-sacrifice, because you have given me too much, and it isn’t love, because I know you don’t feel the same. But I know what I feel for you, and I know that, given the circumstances, I have no guarantees about how much longer I will remain in your employ. So I thought it would be . . . fulfilling to kiss you.”
Fulfilling? She thought it would be fulfilling? His breath became short for a moment as he contemplated exactly what Patience might feel for him. No, this must be a common thing, for young maids to have foolish visions of their well-placed, unmarried employers. It was infatuation, just like she said. Thank goodness she recognized it for what it was and nothing more. But she would have to stop acting on her impulses. “Haven’t you ever been taught self-control? In general, most feelings do not deserve to be acted upon.”
“Believe it or not, self-control has been pounded into me since birth.” Her face grew hard, and she rubbed the edge of the bookshelf with her thumb. She must be reliving some of her childhood. It must have been hard growing up with the knowledge that she could never be more than a servant. Her lips softened then, curling up on one side, just as they had done while she was reading. Finally her face broke into a full smile. “Thank you for letting me lose my self-control for once. I must admit it was exhilarating.”
He placed his hand back upon the door knob. It had been. Upon his soul, it had been.
“Good night, Miss Patience.” He gave her a short nod and walked through the door as quickly as he could without looking like he was running away.
“Good night, Anthony.”
His step faltered. But he didn’t turn around. She had kissed him earlier, so calling him by his Christian name shouldn’t be any worse, but in some strange way, it felt even more intimate than their lips touching. He pushed his nails hard into the palms of his hands. This was his fault. He was the one who had started this whole charade. He was the one who had asked her to join his world. He was even the one who had mentioned kissing her. Every wild idea that had popped into his head—things every rational person would have refused to do—she had done. What was he to do with her?
Chapter 16
Patience finished scooping out the hot ashes underneath the grate and added a few more coals to the drawing room fireplace. She never did this without thinking of Mr. Woodsworth. It had been two days since she had kissed him. Nicholas would be so very displeased with her, not only for what she had done, but for how happy it still made her every time she thought of it.
The door to the drawing room opened, and the butler, Mr. Gilbert, ushered a gentleman into the room. Patience nearly dropped her bucket of ashes.
Lord Bryant.
“If you would kindly wait here, I will give your card to Mr. Woodsworth.” Mr. Gilbert caught her eye and squinted toward the door. An invitation to leave. Lord Bryant hadn’t looked at her yet—one of the advantages of being a servant. His eyes had barely glazed over her. She hefted the bucket to one side and kept her face toward the wall.
Mr. Gilbert waited with the door open for her to come through it.
“Oh,” said Lord Bryant. “And would you be certain to tell Mr. Woodsworth to invite Miss Smith to join us?”
“Pardon me?” Mr. Gilbert squinted at Lord Bryant. “Did you say Miss Smith?”
Patience ducked down lower. Just a few more feet and she would be out of the room. She could put on her wig. She looked down at her dress and apron. Soot sullied more than one corner of the apron, but the dress was mostly clean. Ill-fitting and plain, but clean.
“Yes, Miss Smith. She has been a guest of the home recently, hasn’t she?” Lord Bryant’s voice was less assured than normal.
“The only guest we have had is Mrs. Jorgensen and her children.”
There was a sharp intake of air from Lord Bryant’s direction, but she didn’t dare look to see if he had recognized her. Patience had made it past Mr. Gilbert and was through the doorway. She practically ran down the hallway to the kitchen, where she deposited her bucket of ashes. It was a good fifteen minutes before common visiting hours. And he hadn’t sent a card, so no one knew he was coming. Did Lord Bryant always do exactly as he wanted?
What to do next? Find Mr. Woodsworth and warn him of the situation? Put on her wig and casually walk into the room, claiming Mr. Gilbert was addlebrained? But he wasn’t addlebrained; he had been very kind to her. She couldn’t tell such an untruth.
She paced back and forth in the kitchen, shaking her hands while she thought. She had to warn Mr. Woodsworth, at the very least. She turned to head back to the main house but stopped when she saw Mr. Gilbert come into the kitchen.
“Has Mr. Woodsworth seen Lord Bryant yet?” she asked without waiting for him to speak.
Mr. Gilbert gave her a quizzical look. “How did you know that was Lord Bryant?”
“You didn’t say his name?”
“I’m quite certain I did not.”
“He is rather well known.”
“Is he?”
“Ask any of the women of the household. They would agree with me.”
Mr. Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “However you know it, Lord Bryant has a strange request.”
“What is that?”
“He is hoping that you would bring in the trays for tea.”
“He asked for me?”
“Yes.”
“By name?”
“I would hardly expect Lord Bryant to know your name.”
“Then maybe he meant Molly.”
“No, he specifically asked for the maid who had been emptying ashes.” Mr. Gilbert cleared his throat. “Do you have a problem with serving tea to the baron?”
“Of course I have a problem with bringing him tea. That isn’t my duty. It isn’t even a maid’s duty. Mrs. Jorgensen should be the one to serve tea.”
“Mrs. Jorgensen is usually not here. Mrs. Bates would normally serve tea, and when she is unavailable, a maid would serve tea.”
“But not this maid.”
“I have never known you to shirk from any of the tasks you have been asked to do. Even the ones you have been deplorably bad at.” He stepped forward. “When a guest asks for something this reasonable, especially a titled guest, we find a way to accommodate.”