Second Chance Cinderella

“Don’t be surprised if does. I don’t have the faintest idea about the proper way to serve. I’m afraid I’ll be so nervous I’ll knock over a glass or drop a dirtied plate in someone’s lap.”

Abigail chuckled. “You’ll do fine. Jus’ be sure to steer clear of Miss Ratner’s father, Lord Sanbourne. ’E’s been known to make free with his ’ands when he thinks no one’ll notice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Rose tugged at the tight material bunched at her waist. The clang of pots and pans filtered down the hall from the kitchen. “Anything else I should be aware of?”

“Well,” Abigail said after a thoughtful pause, “I ’ope you won’t think I make a ’abit of carrying tales about Mr. Blackstone or his friends, but if I was you, I’d be careful of Miss Ratner, as well.”

“She and Mr. Blackstone seem very close.”

“Indeed. Tonight is ’er debut as ’ostess ’ere. She’s been in a rumpus all week, giving orders and bragging about ’ow much the master would be lost without ’er. By bringing you on, ’e’s given ’er efforts a punch to the nose, to be sure. She won’t be ’appy about her plans being tinkered with, and she’s the kind to seek revenge on you, not ’im.”

“I’m only here to do my job. If I have my way, I’ll be gone for good before midnight.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Abigail finished pinning Rose’s cap into place. “You’ve got the prettiest ’air. What a pity it ’as to be ’idden under this silly article.”

The rare compliment gave her spirits a boost. “I’ve been a servant most of my life. I know how important it is to blend with the walls.”

“Especially since Miss Ratner searches for things to complain about.”

“She must have something to recommend her. You told me yourself, Mr. Blackstone is taken with her,” she said, denying the sudden ache in her chest had anything to do with Sam and stemmed from her inability to take in enough air.

“I suppose so. ’E’s been with ’er six months— longer than any of the other women ’e’s kept company with in all the years I’ve worked for ’im, more’s the pity. But rumor ’as it she’s angling for marriage, and a clever woman knows nothing is final until she ’as a ring on ’er finger or one in ’is nose.”

A loud clatter and a long stream of angry French drew Abigail’s quick retreat to the kitchen. Rose pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples. Armed with more information than she’d bargained for or wanted, she fought back a dark cloud of depression. Even if she hadn’t been convinced Sam had well and truly moved on without her, she was now.

“Are you presentable?” Mr. Hodges called from out in the hall. “Only ten minutes until it’s time to announce the dinner service. We must go up this instant.”

She took as deep a breath as the gown allowed and whispered a prayer for mercy. Her rattled nerves refused to settle. With one last glance in the mirror, she saw an ordinary servant sausage-wrapped in black wool and starched, white cotton. There was nothing special about her, hopefully nothing to draw Miss Ratner’s ire.

“Robert is managing the soup course, but I shall oversee the fish and carve the roasts,” Mr. Hodges informed her on the way to the first floor. “Hold the platters within easy reach of each guest and allow them to serve themselves. By all means don’t speak to anyone unless you’re spoken to first. If that should happen, keep your responses to a minimum. Some of the ladies and gentlemen present are of noble stock and won’t take kindly to being addressed by a lowly subordinate such as yourself.”

The melody of a violin grew louder as they reached the top step. Both of them were out of breath by the time they paused on the landing. Rose tugged at the tight material bunching about her waist, certain she must be blue in the face while the warm glow of the gas lamps cast Hodges’s wrinkled visage in a golden hue.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the violinist standing in a small circular alcove off the main hall. The somber melody he played added an extra layer of formality to the high, curved ceilings and dark, paneled walls.

The low rumble of conversation signaled the direction of the drawing room and the current location of the party. Hodges lifted an index finger to his lips, warning her to keep silent. He pointed to an open set of sliding doors on the left side of the corridor. Rose nodded gravely and followed him to what seemed like her doom.

* * *

In the drawing room, a fire flickered in the hearth and the aroma of savory herbs wafted across the hall from the dining room.

Aware he should be pleased with the early success of the gathering, Sam could not dismiss his impatience to send everyone home. The laughter and light conversation that flowed freely from the assembly of his guests failed to hold his interest when the possibility of renewing his discussion with Rose beckoned him.

By design, he’d left the double doors open and chosen a seat with a clear view of the corridor where Rose would have to pass by. He’d tried to deny his longing to see her, but the simple knowledge that she was somewhere beneath his roof tormented him beyond all good sense and reason.

The music took a somber turn. He stood, intending to request a more cheerful tune, but Rose chose that moment to appear and everything ceased to exist except the slim column of black slipping into the dining room on the butler’s coattails.

To his annoyance, the sight of her eased his restlessness and improved his floundering mood with an immediacy that disturbed him. After all the years they’d been separated and the way she’d broken her promise to wait for him, how was it possible she inspired anything in him except contempt?

Amelia moved to his side and linked her arm with his. “The evening is going swimmingly well, don’t you agree, darling? Just as I predicted, the Ellistons are impressed with the vintage on offer and are already imbibing their second sample.”

“How marvelous for them. I’m going to see about dinner.”

“I’m the hostess. I’ll go.”

“No, stay here and charm your pigeons. I’ll return in a few minutes.” He untangled his arm from hers and moved to the hallway where he caught a glimpse of Rose by the sideboard helping Robert ladle soup into porcelain bowls.

A glossy, blond tendril had escaped her ruffled cap and fallen in a gentle wave between her shoulder blades. An intense longing to touch the soft strands, to touch her, swept over him. He didn’t know what he wanted more: to usher her back into his study and continue demanding answers for jilting him or to kiss her senseless where she stood. He could not have guessed when he first saw her this morning that her nearness would be akin to having a severed arm reattached to his body or his heart returned to his chest.

He must be going mad.

In desperate need of a diversion, he dragged his gaze from Rose and glanced about the dining room. He had to tip his hat to Amelia. For a woman who found it vulgar to speak of money, she possessed a talent for spending his. The trio of crystal chandeliers had been cleaned and reassembled the day before, causing the room to sparkle. No expense had been spared in the crisp white linens, the ornate candelabras or arsenal of silver flatware flanking each set of china. The multiple towers of tropical fruit and hothouse flowers must have cost the earth if they’d cost a farthing.

Had Rose been impressed by the finery on display? Had it dawned on her that, had she waited for him a short while longer, all of this would have been hers?

Behind him, the chatter in the drawing room grew louder and the music progressed into an elegant melody he’d heard somewhere before but didn’t quite recognize. Hodges approached, his weathered features crinkled into an anxious mask. “May I help you, sir? We’re almost ready. Miss Ratner gave strict instructions to announce seating at precisely nine o’clock. We have six minutes remaining.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, waving the older man back to work. Rose had yet to look his way, and her inability to sense his presence when every nerve in his body was fixed on her cut deep. He wanted to rattle her air of efficiency, to make her feel as disjointed as he did. The hour since she’d quit his study had dragged on like a week, and the need to see her face had grown with every tick of the clock.

He willed her to turn around, but she continued her task for an age before finally pausing to glance his way.

She froze the moment she saw him. Triumph surged through him as her dark-blue eyes widened in response and color scored her cheeks. The soup in the ladle she held missed the bowl and puddled atop the sideboard without her notice.

He moved toward her, but Hodges stepped in to scold her, breaking the connection. “What do you think you’re about, you clumsy girl? Look at the mess you’ve caused!”

“I’m so sorry.” She glowered at Sam before dismissing him to focus on the butler. “I’ll tidy up straightaway.”

“See that you do and be quick about it.” Hodges consulted his pocket watch. “Four minutes until we must announce the meal. Miss Ratner—”

“Hodges.” Sam joined them at the sideboard. “Is everything well?”

“Everything except this simpleton, sir. She’s bound to be a detriment. I did try to explain that she’s never served at table, but—”

He dealt his usually mild-mannered butler a quelling glance before motioning toward the table and the flawless crystal goblets sparkling in the candlelight. “There are fingerprints marring several of the glasses.”

“Fingerprints on the glasses? Oh, dear! I just wiped them down. I don’t know how I missed them, sir.”

“A tragedy to be sure. I trust you’ll see to the matter straightaway.”

“Certainly, sir.” The butler shuffled away with all the meager speed he could muster. “Robert, come quickly. It seems renegade fingerprints abound on the tableware.”

Sam turned back to Rose once Hodges passed out of earshot. “Look at me, Miss Smith.”

“I have to see to this soup you caused me to spill,” she said as she searched the drawers in the sideboard for a cloth.

“I caused you?” He smiled at the dig. She’d always been cheeky, especially when her ire was up. “I was nowhere near you.” He took a clean square of linen from his pocket and mopped up the hot broth. “All better. Now look at me,” he insisted.

She tossed her head back. Eyes bright with hostility glared at him. “Why are you hounding me?”

“Is that any way to speak to your employer?” He placed the damp linen on a nearby tray of used items bound for the kitchen.

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “You are not my employer, Mr. Blackstone. I work for Baron Malbury. I realize you have the power to see that I’m dismissed if you choose, and I sincerely hope you will not, but I was sent here to help in your kitchen, not endure humiliation just because you want to teach me a lesson.”

“How have I humiliated you? You’re a servant. I’ve tasked you to serve.” Noticing Hodges and Robert glance his way, he lowered his voice. “I’ve made you a footman for the evening. If anything, you’ve been promoted.”

“We both know what you’ve done and why.” She located an extra cloth and shut the drawer with a not so gentle shove. “There are rules to these sort of functions, Mr. Blackstone. I may be a simple cook’s assistant, but even I understand your guests won’t see me as anything but a mistake that will make your hostess appear inept. I’m not trained to serve at table. Most likely I’ll commit one blunder after the next.”

“And that will humiliate you? Who cares about the opinion of a bunch of uppity toffs?”

“Don’t you? They’re your friends.”

“Hardly. They’re an experiment.”

She frowned. “And Miss Ratner?”

“She’s my concern, not yours.”

She used the clean cloth to wipe excess drops from the edges of the steaming bowls of soup. “That may be, but from what I understand she’s put a good deal of effort into making this dinner party a grand occasion. It seems small of you to mar her arrangements just to show me what I’ve missed.”

His eyebrow arched in vexation. It had been years since anyone had dared to bring him down a peg. Even longer since he’d conceded he was in the wrong, but he did now. When Amelia first brought up the idea of tonight’s engagement, he’d considered it a lark, the first move in a game to see if a low-born weevil such as himself could worm his way into the upper crust. Little wonder he’d found it easy to change the rules the moment something more interesting came along.

He cupped her shoulders and turned her to face him. She looked up, her blue eyes pleading with him to understand something he didn’t quite grasp. Her soft lips tempted him without mercy, but as much as he wanted to kiss her, she belonged to someone else.

Bitterness burned him. His hands dropped back to his sides. “Despite our past association, don’t think you know me well enough to lecture me. What I do with Miss Ratner is my business. You know nothing about our arrangement.”

“You’re right, except that I don’t know you at all. The Sam I knew was loving and kind. As far as I can tell, that Sam is nowhere to be found. It seems London’s made you rich, but it’s also made you heartless.”

“Rich, yes, but heartless? You can’t blame London on that score,” he scoffed. “That honor belongs to you, nothing and no one else.”

The clock chimed nine. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Hodges ringing his hands. “Mr. Blackstone—”

“It’s time, Hodges.” An agitated Amelia stood in the doorway. “What did I tell you about being prompt? Where has Mr. Blackstone gone? Oh, there you are, darli—”

The word died as her eyes narrowed on Rose. “Why are you consorting with this...this housemaid?” she asked Sam.

Ignoring the question, he stepped in front of Rose. “All seems to be ready. Hodges has outdone himself just as I suspected he would do. If you’re ready, let’s begin.”

Chapter Four

Thankful the first two courses had kept her too busy to ponder Sam’s cryptic accusation that she had somehow made him heartless, Rose picked up a heavy tray of seasoned beef from the sideboard and returned to the six couples seated around the long table.

If she were the hostess, she would be pleased by the evening thus far. The lovely smells of dish after dish filled the dining room. Piano music drifted in from the drawing room, having replaced the violin sometime during the first course. The merriment of the diners and the ease of discussion among them proclaimed the party a triumph. All the while, Sam sat at the head of the feast like a lord to the manor born.

The rough and tumble youth she’d loved had been replaced by a fine-mannered gentleman whose tailored waistcoat probably cost more than Andrew’s school tuition. Had she not known he’d spent the first fifteen years of his life in an orphans’ asylum and the next four gambling, stealing and doing whatever else it took to scrape together the barest of necessities, she would never have believed he hadn’t been weaned on wealth and privilege.

She lowered a tray of beef for the gentleman she’d heard referred to as Mr. Winters. Deeply unimpressed by the change in Sam after the foul way he had treated her, she was not proud of how her gaze sought him out time and time again or that she found him so handsome she had to keep reminding herself that outward beauty was of no consequence when the core of the man was rotten.

“If I were you,” Mr. Winters said quietly, “I’d find something besides Blackstone to marvel at before Miss Ratner goes apoplectic.”

Marvel? At Sam? Was that how she appeared? She balked at the idea of Sam thinking he had her moonstruck. She glanced toward the hostess, whom she had already served.

Miss Ratner appeared to be having a cozy chat with the honored lord to her right, but her eyes were devoid of mirth and throwing daggers in Rose’s direction. Rose shrank from the malice fixed on her and went quickly back to her work.

“Thank you,” she whispered to Mr. Winters, a rakish gent with dark hair and green eyes who’d flirted with her each time she brought a new offering to the table. She wished she had the opportunity to say more, but after the butler’s warning to speak to guests as little as possible, she didn’t dare give Miss Ratner another excuse to take offense with her.

“I be...believe you’re correct, Winters,” slurred Lord Sanbourne from across the table.

“Of course I am, milord.” Winters winked at Rose as he speared a piece of beef with his fork. “But might I inquire as to why you think so?”

“That tempting do...dove beside you.” He picked up his goblet and signaled toward Rose. “Quite a lovely little bird Blackstone has caged there. Wouldn’t mind having one in my own parlor to sing for me whe...whenever I like.”

His suggestive laugh brought heat to her cheeks, but Rose kept her face expressionless as she swiftly moved on to the next guest. After making her way down the table, she came to Sam, who was listening to Lady Fulton rattle on about her trio of dogs.

With no way to avoid him, she held the tray while he took his time to choose a selection. Miffed that he ignored her except to make her stand there overlong, she was tempted to drop the lot in his lap and bully the consequences.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he warned under his breath. Their eyes met in challenge. She ground her teeth, hating that he still knew her well enough to make an accurate guess at her thoughts.

An hour passed and Rose silently rejoiced in the arrival of the last course. Her feet and lower back were on fire. The tightness of her dress pinched her middle and her empty stomach mourned the inability to sample the array of cheeses, fruit and confections on offer.

As she arranged steaming cups of coffee and tea on a small trolley, she prayed the next hour would fly by without incident. Except for the constant distraction of Sam, she’d survived the evening intact, and once the meal concluded her services would no longer be required. If all went well, she’d be able to head back to the Malbury townhouse by half past one. Not only did she need a few hours of rest before beginning work in the morning, she planned to avoid another confrontation with Sam by escaping while his guests kept him too occupied to notice she’d gone.

After serving the Nesselrode pudding, a complicated iced dessert that Rose had seen only twice before, Robert fetched a silver platter of strawberry charlotte russe and returned to the table. Rose followed him with the hot beverages. Careful not to spill a drop, she started with Miss Ratner before working her way up one side of the table, past Sam, who took his coffee black as she’d known he would, and back down the other. As she served Miss Ratner’s father, he placed his hand on the small of her back, holding her captive despite her best efforts to extract herself without drawing attention.

“I wasn’t aware Blackstone meant to marry anytime soon,” Mr. Winters said.

“Oh, yes, we’re ess...pecting a proposal any day now, aren’t we, poppet?”

“Papa, you weren’t supposed to mention our little secret, don’t you remember?” Miss Ratner said coyly. To the rest of the company within earshot, she added, “I trust all of you will be more discreet than my dear father has been. Mr. Blackstone and I intend our joyous news to remain private for a few weeks longer before we announce the occasion in the Times.”

Rose’s stricken gaze flew to Sam. Winded, unable to catch her breath, she lost all sense of her surroundings. The chatter faded to silence as though she’d been sealed in an airless glass box. Blissfully unaware that Miss Ratner had just dealt her heart a savage blow, he continued to listen to Lady Fulton with a glazed expression and tolerant half smile.

The prospect of losing Sam forever sickened her to the core. Through all their years of separation, even after she’d lost faith he’d ever return, a long-buried part of her had hoped she might be wrong. The cup rattled against the saucer she held, but she remained incapable of movement. Even Lord Sanbourne’s hand creeping around her waist failed to elicit a response.

Sam’s indolent gaze turned her way. He quit speaking midsentence and a question of concern furrowed his brow. He mouthed the words What is it? but she could do no more than shake her head.

Sanbourne’s hand stroked her hip. Outrage thawed her frozen state. She jerked, splashing hot coffee against her palm as the hubbub of the party filled her ears in a rush.

His expression fierce, Sam motioned for Mr. Hodges. The butler shuffled to him, bent forward to listen then started in her direction. Intent to be away before the butler reached her, she squirmed to be free of Sanbourne, but the old man’s fingers tightened into a claw that dug into the layers of her garments and pinched painfully into her skin.

Mr. Hodges didn’t speak to her as she’d thought he intended. Instead, he stopped on the other side of Lord Sanbourne and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

The viscount’s wandering hand dropped from her waist as though she’d caught fire. She scuttled away and took a place next to the sideboard, her back to the wall. Grateful the scene had transpired without causing so much as a ripple of interest among the guests, she longed to rub the sore spot where the painful stamp of Sanbourne’s fingers lingered on her hip.

She daren’t look at Sam. His outrage had been palpable a few moments earlier. Did he believe she’d caused the incident with his future father-in-law? She’d seen maids held responsible and dismissed for the improper advances they were subjected to, and given Sam’s dissatisfaction with her, she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t delight in placing the fault at her door.

Without making a to-do, Mr. Hodges instructed her to leave and wait in the corridor. Worry followed her into the hall. Surely being sent away like a naughty child spoke ill of her performance as a footman.

Outside the dining room, the heightened volume of the piano music veiled the clink of glasses and cutlery as a pair of maids stacked the dishes for their return to the kitchen.

A huge oil painting graced the wall above a tufted velvet bench. The landscape reminded her of a meadow on the edge of Ashby Croft that she and Sam used to visit.

Her feet aching, she ignored her training and sat down. Beside her, a chest of drawers offered partial concealment from anyone not intent on finding her.

The need for rest demanded she sleep. She fought the urge to kick off her tight shoes and leaned her head against the chest of drawers, promising herself she’d close her eyes for just a moment.

* * *

Sam waited ten excruciating minutes before excusing himself from Lady Fulton and the endless account of her madcap pugs. He didn’t usually make tactical errors, yet he’d failed spectacularly today when he’d come up with the harebrained scheme of having Rose brought in to serve. He’d been an idiot to imagine watching her from across the room through several long courses of rich food and vacuous conversation would be anything less than torture. Not that she’d suffered the same ill effects.

If her behavior this evening was anything to go by, he was no more than a nuisance to her, a relic from the past that she’d best like to forget. His reappearance and the unusual task he’d given her tonight may have knocked her off-kilter, but she’d handled every demand with a reserve and poise not found in someone that was overly upset.

Ignoring the annoyed glances Amelia cast his way, he strode into the corridor. The maids clearing the dishes stopped their task and bobbed a curtsy. He looked to his right. The warm, yellow glow of several gas lamps lit the long hallway, but he saw no sign of Rose.

Had she disappeared again? Unreasonable panic gripped him. Had he been such an ogre she would risk the danger of leaving this late at night without an escort? If anything ill happened to her, the fault would lie with him.

So far the pendulum of his emotions had swung between disbelief and anger to desperate, irrational longing. His need to feel indifferent warred with a base desire to hurt her as deeply as she had wounded him. Why her sudden appearance troubled him after their many years apart and all he’d accomplished was an enigma that demanded attention. If he believed God had the slightest interest in him, he might even pray for the answers.