An Affair of Honor (Rebel Hearts Book 2) (6 page)

The captain gave her nothing but trouble.

She glanced down the table, missing the steady presence of her beau Harry Lloyd but grateful he might never hear these terrible whispers about her character. They had met when he was a footman here, but he had gone away to make his fortune so they might marry one day soon. It was disappointing that she’d not had word of him recently, but the promise of his love kept her warm at night. It could not be too long till he came back to collect her and they could start a life together somewhere nicer.

She took her place well down the table from the highest-ranking servants in the house and forced a smile as the housekeeper strolled in with Mr. Dawson following close on her heels.

“His Lordship passed another quiet night,” Mr. Dawson informed everyone, smiling broadly at the news.

“That is very good.” The butler nodded approvingly as he poured wine for Mrs. Young and himself. “He’s had a trying time of it, but it seems he is out of danger at last.”

“Indeed he has.” The housekeeper glanced over everyone as she snatched up her brimming glass.

No one but the upper servants took wine so early in the day, and Matilda fumed. Such gluttony turned her stomach.

Mrs. Young’s eyes lingered on Matilda, and her glass twitched in her hand. “We will still endeavor to keep as quiet as possible so he is not disturbed and stay out of his way.”

The household was walking on eggshells around William Ford as they went about their duties. He’d been irritated for most of the week and usually scowled when he saw her working nearby.

“He has no plans to go out today,” Dawson remarked, casting a quick glance in Matilda’s direction. “He’s settled in the library and seems in exceptionally good spirits. He has asked to speak to you at eleven, Mrs. Young.”

There were a few among the servants who sighed with relief. The others glanced her way, no doubt wondering what she knew of the captain’s evening activities that might have attributed to his good mood.

The captain confused her. One moment speaking to her as an equal, touching her hair, and the next shoving her away and refusing to even acknowledge her existence. He’d been cold and abrupt all week, and he made her consider that running away might have been a better option than continuing to live another day under his roof.

Matilda held her breath, but Dawson never mentioned a similar summons for herself to see the captain. She was disappointed. Captain Ford had not recovered her letters from Mrs. Young yet nor had he passed them along. He had apparently forgotten his promise to retrieve them from the indolent housekeeper, if he ever intended to get them back for her at all.

Matilda lowered her eyes as the butler said grace, adding thanks for the captain’s continued good health while she gave thanks the man had finally ventured downstairs.

Amen
.

She had to dust the first floor today, which contained the drawing room, his dressing room, and bedchamber. Those rooms needed a good airing too. She didn’t particularly want him anywhere close at hand to observe and comment on her efforts.

Heaped platters were passed around, starting at those servants of highest rank down to those far lower. When the first plate of meat landed next to Matilda, there was decidedly less to choose from than she’d hoped to find. She filled her plate sparingly, leaving enough to the young scullery maid and boot boy so they’d keep up their strength. A servant’s life was hard, and they were very young and still growing like weeds. The footmen always left everyone else too little to fill their bellies, and that made her angry. However, there was nothing she could do about it. She had absolutely no influence belowstairs.

“Want to wager we find her in the library later,” someone whispered.

Matilda made the mistake of looking up and discovered Jenny and Jane were smirking at her. The pair of maids laughed outright at her scowl. Matilda resumed her meal, annoyed by their continued speculation about her supposed affair with the captain.

They were convinced she’d bewitched him, if there was such a thing even possible.

She sipped the cup of tea that had been set before her plate, pushing Captain Ford and his critical gaze from her mind. Her easier duties were in the past. She must face the realities of life in service once more. Every brief moment of idleness at his side had been a precious respite, gone and soon to be forgotten.

She swallowed another mouthful, noticing absently her tea left a strange taste in her mouth. She took another sip and then spluttered as she realized the tea had been laced with salt rather than the usual single spoon of sugar she’d been granted.

Across the table, the other maids were struggling not to laugh. Matilda pushed to her feet, begged to be excused, and without waiting for a response fled for the kitchen to find fresh water to rinse her mouth out with.

She spat the disgusting taste out into the nearby washroom basin several times until the vile flavor was gone. She hated this place. No one was kind here.

Heavy treads approached. “Miss Winslow? Are you all right?”

Matilda hurried to pat her mouth with her only handkerchief before Mr. Dawson saw what she’d been doing. She could never be sure if Mr. Dawson should be considered her friend or not. He was the captain’s man and almost as critical as their employer. “The tea was too hot.”

He lifted his hand. He had her cup judging by the familiar chip next to the handle. He poked in one finger. “Lukewarm at best. Are you sure that’s all it was?”

“Yes, Mr. Dawson.” Matilda didn’t want trouble.

The way he’d been looking at her this past week made her suspect he’d seen her in the captain’s arms last week too. He’d been different toward her lately. Concerned for her welfare in a way he never had before, asking her opinion about everything she ought not to care about as a lowly maid. Almost to the point of embarrassing her even more in front of the other servants with his deference.

Dawson slowly lifted the cup to his nose and sniffed, and then, as if he intended to take a sip, he brought the cup to his mouth.

She stopped him before he was able to taste the evil brew. “You don’t want to drink that.”

Regardless of her warning, he took a sip and promptly spat it out into the basin. After he rinsed his mouth with fresh water, he asked, “Who did this?”

Matilda shrugged.

“I’ll speak to the housekeeper and make it stop.”

That was amusing. Was Dawson really so naïve? “Who says she doesn’t already know?”

His mouth gaped.

“Mrs. Young has been indifferent to my happiness for a long time,” she remarked in a soft voice. Matilda suspected it was not just because of the time she’d spent alone with the captain. They did not rub together well—never had from the very beginning of her employment. Since those early days of gratitude, Matilda had come to see the housekeeper as a lazy old woman who lived well off the captain’s largesse. The woman did as little as possible and never noticed Matilda did the work of two maids. Now the captain was recovered, it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Young found a way to be rid of her for good. Or was the woman hoping to overwork Matilda to the point she would leave without a reference or die of exhaustion? More than likely.

Dawson glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll speak to the captain.”

“And make things worse.” Matilda shook her head firmly. “You’d better not.”

“What will you do then?” He stared at the contents of the cup before upending it in the sink. “This must stop. You cannot wait until someone makes you ill.”

She shuddered, knowing he was right. “It won’t come to that. I have a plan.”

Dawson paled. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

She didn’t answer him at first. Who knew who could be listening around the corner? A servant had no privacy and certainly wasn’t allowed too many secrets. As it was, she always ran the risk of being caught scanning the newssheets for an alternative position. The only reason she stayed was because Harry Lloyd knew he’d find her here.

However, her lingering over the papers might be grounds for instant dismissal if she was found in one part of the house when she was meant to be elsewhere. If she allied herself with another servant, she might do a better job of finding other employment. And she would know, one way or the other, if Dawson could be considered a friend or foe. “I would never leave until Harry returns.”

“Harry? Harry Lloyd?” Dawson said slowly. “What is he to you?”

“He’s a very good friend.”

“Surely not?”

“I’d best get on with my work.” Matilda tossed her head defiantly, fetched her bucket of rags, and then inched past him. “Excuse me.”

Too bad if Mr. Dawson did not care for the connection. Matilda did. She would be a bride and have a home of her own.

Since she had no appetite left for the fare of the dining room, she left the servants’ hall and climbed the stairs to the first floor. With only Captain Ford in residence, the upper floor was as still as the grave. A peaceful place where time dragged, sometimes pleasantly.

She liked these rooms best of all, having spent so much time here while the captain recovered. The drawing room boasted a set of four tall windows that drowned the room in lovely soft light, and she took a moment to enjoy the view.

She barely went outside anymore. She missed long walks in the park, the comfort of greater society, and the occasional butterfly to follow through a field of wildflowers. Their delicate beauty fascinated her, but they were never seen in the great city.

She absently brushed dust from the back of a deep, upholstered armchair and looked about her.

Matilda was almost certain the captain’s younger sisters would arrive any day. She imagined the house filled with feminine laughter. A rare commodity here. She could not afford to dawdle when there was so much to prepare for. It was a surprise they’d stayed away so long, though they had mentioned in their early letters that the duke had forbidden them to pester the captain until he sent for them.

Since the captain was on the ground floor in the library, Matilda chose to attend to his bedchamber first. Just in case he had returned unexpectedly, she tapped lightly on his door and then slowly eased it open. The large room was empty. The fire had burned down to embers, so she attended to that quickly, resetting it in readiness for the captain’s return later that day. She had spent a great deal of her days in this room until recently and was very familiar with the way the captain preferred it kept—neat to the point of severity.

Absolutely no flowers or feminine touches allowed.

She shook his heavy linen sheets, smoothed them back into place, and plumped his single pillow. He always slept in the exact center of the bed, so she returned the pillow to its expected place. As she turned to gather an empty glass from a side table, her gaze landed on the headboard and then dropped to the locked boxed beneath.

She had nothing to fear from this room, but she still thought of that afternoon last year with mixed feelings. Anger certainly. Embarrassment often. Why did he keep those things and hidden away? Why had touching them made him so angry that he’d spanked her like a misbehaving child?

There was no way to find out without humiliation. The captain was no longer kind to her.

She glanced around the room, checking that everything was in order, and then backed out to the dressing room. She dusted the mantel and side tables, flicked dust off the windowsills, then lifted the window sash high.

She breathed in the thick scents of London, then quickly slammed the windows shut. Today wasn’t the day to air the captain’s rooms. Perhaps tomorrow the smoke of thousands of fires would have blown away.

The work of a servant never ended, and it had been a savage week spent on catching up on forgotten chores, so she moved to the drawing room.

Dawson was waiting, holding a tray. “Fresh tea.”

Matilda stared at him in shock. “Please tell me you didn’t speak to the captain.”

“I didn’t, but you should. I had no idea things had become so bad for you. He will not like it.” He gestured to a nearby table and carried the tea tray there. “Drink and eat what you like.”

Matilda swallowed, just a little nervous of his sudden kindness, but eyed the tray. She was thirsty. “I don’t need it.”

The valet moved closer, eyes fixed on hers but reflecting only concern and kindness. “Drink the tea, Miss Winslow, or it goes to waste out the window. I know what you give up each day to the younger pair. My eyes are opening to what is happening belowstairs, and I believe you and I are of the same mind about the subject of how the servants’ hall is run. Shoddily, indeed. You have barely eaten this past week, and I cannot stand to do nothing about it.”

She had not thought anyone had noticed, but perhaps she wasn’t as circumspect as she hoped. “Very well,” she whispered, hoping the captain would not return and catch her making use of his drawing room like a proper lady. He would truly have a reason to punish her then.

She poured tea into one of the finest cups kept in the house with a tiny worry for the impropriety, added just a single spoon of sugar, and sipped the hot liquid slowly. The tea was a stronger-flavored cup than she was used to receiving in the servants’ hall, and it was wonderful. She was reminded of the comforts of her old home and how much she missed her old life.