Maid to Match

  Grabbing her waist, he plunked her onto his lap.

  Tillie stiffened, heat flooding her cheeks. No one moved. No one said a word.

  Instead of jumping up, Lucy fit a blindfold over his eyes, then looped her arms around him to tie the knot. He made circles on her waist with his thumbs.

  Squirming, Tillie looked at her brother to see if he would intervene. But Allan simply stood, one hip cocked, an indulgent half smile on his face.

  She returned her attention to the center, her gaze colliding with Mack’s. His chest lifted with deep breaths.

  Lucy extracted herself from Earl’s grasp, then slinked toward Mack. “Your turn.”

  Tillie held her breath. The moment Lucy was within reach, Mack whipped the scarf from her hands and tied it around his eyes.

  With a throaty laugh, she slipped a finger beneath the scarf and ran it along the edge, mussing his thick blond hair. “You sure it’s tight enough? We wouldn’t want you to peek, now.”

  Tillie clasped her hands together in her lap, squeezing them.

  He grabbed Lucy’s wrist and thrust it back toward her.

  Allan shook out of his stupor. “Thank you, Lucy. I’m sure that will do just fine. Now for the rules.”

  Lucy returned to her seat while Allan explained the game. But, of course, everyone but Mack already knew how it was played.

  While Allan spoke, Earl quietly removed his blindfold. One by one the rest of the group began to grin. Tillie bit her lip.

  Finally, Allan finished speaking and handed the laundress next to him a rolled-up newspaper. She tiptoed forward and handed it to Earl.

  Winking, he slapped the newspaper against his palm and yelled, “Brother, I’m bobbed!”

  “Brother, who bobbed you?” Mack asked.

  “I believe Lucy Lewers bobbed me,” Earl replied, sending her a lascivious glance.

  The rest of the company simultaneously shouted, “Wrong!”

  When all murmuring had settled down, Earl raised his arm and whacked Mack on the head with the newspaper. Hard.

  Mack jumped. “Brother, I’m bobbed!”

  “Brother, who bobbed you?” Earl asked.

  “Allan Reese bobbed me.”

  “Wrong!” the crowd shouted, snickering.

  Earl waited a moment, then slapped his palm again. “Brother, I’m bobbed!”

  The game continued, but Earl was merciless. He smacked Mack on the side of his head, the back of his head, and again on top of his head.

  “Brother, I’m bobbed!” Mack hollered for the fifth time.

  The hilarity within the group could no longer be contained, and many laughed openly. Tillie covered her mouth, the amusement infectious.

  “Brother, who bobbed you?” Earl asked.

  Mack whipped off his blindfold. “You did!”

  Earl surged from his chair but not fast enough. Mack was on him and the two rolled on the ground, knocking over chairs.

  Squealing, the women scattered.

  Several men jumped in to pull the twins apart. Though the scuffle looked serious enough, the brothers came up laughing and clapping each other on the shoulders.

  Tillie let out a quiet breath.

  With a wide smile, Mack shook his finger at Allan. “You just wait. Your turn is coming.”

  Amidst chuckles, the group returned to their seats and played Jack’s Alive, the Rejected Address, and the Sculptor. But Mack’s initiation had been completed, the ice broken, and he was welcomed as one of the family.

  When it was time for forfeits, so many had to be redeemed that those left to do penance were told to don blindfolds and dance the minuet. Tillie was no exception. Before she could obtain a scarf, however, Mack stood before her with two. He said nothing, just held one out.

  She looked around for a different partner, but the others were already pairing up. Careful not to touch him, she took the proffered blindfold and tied it on.

  The unrelieved cacophony of voices and laughter increased in volume, but the heavy pulse in her breast overpowered all else.

  She stood very still, every nerve trying to sense where he was. “Is your blindfold on?”

  “Not just yet.” His voice was soft, deep.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can look at you at my leisure without you catching me.”

  Goose bumps skittered across her skin. “Cover your eyes, please.”

  He said nothing.

  Finally, she could stand it no longer. “Are they covered?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do I know?”

  He took her hand and brought it to his face, placing it against the band around his eyes. “I don’t lie. Ever.”

  Her fingers grazed his thick hair. Her palm scraped against his whiskers. She jerked her hand back, covering it with her other hand as she pressed it against her waist.

  The minuet started. At the end of the prelude, she slowly stretched her right hand in front of her. Like a homing pigeon, he found it, capturing her fingertips. She advanced a step, retired a step, walked in a half circle, then was freed to curtsy.

  Had he bowed?

  Soft sniggers sprinkled about the room as partners couldn’t find each other, and others bumped into partners not their own, and yet others not paying a forfeit watched the activity.

  Ordinarily she would have joined in with the gaiety. But not this time. This time she only wanted to complete the dance and leave.

  She stretched out her other hand. He cupped it, grazing his thumb over her fingers.

  She missed a step, then quickly advanced and retired until she caught up with the music. They walked in a half circle, releasing hands once again to bow and curtsy.

  With the introduction finished, she slowly lifted both arms and leaned back on one foot. For a beat she stood with arms wide, body open, completely vulnerable.

  Then he was there, slipping one hand just below her shoulder blade, closing his other on her waiting hand and pulling her forward into a one-two-three beat.

  His arms were so long that as she rested her elbow against his, her hand only reached his bicep. It was hard and unyielding and shifted beneath her palm. She found herself curious, wanting to discover where the hill descended into valley.

  She concentrated instead on the dance and the circle they made as they waltzed. The farther they went into the turn, the farther his hand slid round her back, fingers splayed wide to indicate the direction he wanted her to go.

  They made it through the first round without stepping on each other’s feet or bumping into someone else. But during the second, she was struck from behind and slammed forward. Instinctively, he encircled her with both arms, pulling her flush against him.

  He continued to lead her with tiny steps and bent his mouth to her ear. “Are you all right?”

  Fire shot down her neck and torso. “Please. You can let go now.”

  Around them, laughter and sharp cries of surprise rose with each measure of music. He relaxed his grip and took her hand again, but kept her far closer than was proper. Her leg brushed his through the thickness of her skirts. As quickly as it occurred, they were on to the next step, only to have it happen again. And again.

  Finally, the song ended.

  He released her immediately. She ripped off her blindfold, making havoc of her pompadour.

  He pulled his scarf down, leaving it around his neck.

  They stood in a sea of mirth and joviality. Neither smiled. Neither looked away.

  His eyes darkened. His chest rose and fell. He took a step forward.

  Spinning around, she wove through the crowd, out the door, and to the wagon. She wanted to go home.

  CHAPTER

  Nine

  He waited for her, as he always did, in the doorway of the terrace. Only this time, instead of facing his mountains, he faced the tapestry gallery. In the dark. In the silence.

  After a few minutes the feminine tap of her heels against parquet floors echoed throughout the first floor and kept time with his
thumping heart.

  He’d not been looking for a woman. Hadn’t been entertaining thoughts of settling down. Hadn’t even been tempted to dance last night. Until he saw Tillie in the arms of another man.

  The urge to flatten her partners – from dairyman to groom to footman – had taken him by surprise. So he’d forced himself to stay in the corner of the barn and watch. From what he could tell, she didn’t favor any one over the other, though plenty had tried to monopolize her attention.

  When Mack had seen Aaron James head Tillie’s direction for the fourth time, he could stand it no more. He’d stepped in the footman’s path, cutting him off, and then presented himself to Tillie.

  For a moment, he thought she’d refuse him. And that one action told him more than any word she could have spoken, for she’d not had any hesitation in partnering anyone else. Which meant she felt the pull between them.

  The heaviness of the limbs. The tightening of the chest. The squeezing of the throat.

  Every morning since that first one, the two of them would stand side by side listening to the silence before beginning their chores. And with each passing day, the less they listened and the more they whispered in the dark.

  She told him about sledding down snowy hills as a child in a shovel. About trimming paper dolls with lace from her mother’s old petticoats. About her father lining his pocket with sweets and painting pictures on their walls with berry juice.

  He told her about running wild on his mountain in nothing but shirttails. About downing his first bear. About hiking thirteen miles to the mill carrying a two-bushel sack of corn. And the way frozen trees crack like rifle shots when their limbs get heavy.

  When they could no longer put off their duties, he’d move the furniture, she’d follow behind with broom and mop. She’d open the shades, he’d follow behind with window cloths. Eventually footmen would intrude, making a ruckus in the breakfast room. Under-parlormaids would trickle in to help Tillie finish what she’d started.

  The mood would be broken. But not the constant awareness he had of exactly where she was. What she was doing. Whom she was speaking to.

  The tapping of her heels stopped. He heard her set her cleaning box on the floor by the light controls. Then, nothing.

  She didn’t join him. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

  He couldn’t see her. Even though his eyes had adjusted to the dark, it was impenetrable. Flaring his nostrils, he took in a deep breath. But instead of smelling her unique scent, he smelt linseed oil and turpentine.

  “Come here,” he whispered.

  Not a sound.

  He headed toward her, his footsteps loud and sure.

  Light flooded the room.

  He pulled up short, shielding his eyes for a moment, before slowly lowering his arm. “What did you do that for?”

  She wore the lavender calico. His favorite. The fancy puff she’d made with her hair last night was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she’d somehow twisted that glorious mane into a knot, pulling her hair back so tightly it had to hurt.

  The severe style brought her graceful jaw and high cheekbones into prominence. He followed the long curve of her ivory neck.

  She took a step back. “I don’t have time to dawdle this morning. I need to start my work.”

  “Why?”

  Clasping her hands in front of her, she looked at the floor. “The Vanderbilts are having a party of guests in two weeks’ time. There’s much to do in preparation.”

  He waited until she lifted her gaze. Their eyes locked. His determined, hers confused.

  “Turn off the light and come here,” he repeated.

  She backed up another step. A massive column halted her progress.

  He closed the distance between them.

  Scrambling around the column, she backpedaled into the main hall, holding her arm out in an effort to ward him off.

  He stopped at the column. The marble entryway was almost as big as the barn they’d been in last night and much more open.

  He pushed the black button, plunging them into darkness. “Dance with me.”

  Before she could answer, he captured the hand she still held in front of her and began to hum the minuet. Whether she went through the motions of the dance out of reflex or a desire to acquiesce, he wasn’t sure. But they made it through the introductory steps and then he had her in his arms – though not quite the way he’d imagined.

  Still, he took full advantage of the moment and spun her around the large space in a series of waltz turns. One-two-three. One-two-three.

  He threw a quick message of thanksgiving up to his pa for insisting he and Earl learn to dance when they’d reached that age between boyhood and manhood. The two of them had chafed at the lessons. What good would such foolishness do a mountain man?

  But Pa had been adamant. Just as he’d been adamant about their reading, writing, numbers, geography, and languages. Just as he’d been adamant about using proper grammar within the walls of their home. Just as he’d been adamant about protecting women and children.

  When Mack finished humming the song, they were exactly where they’d started. Steps away from the column and the tapestry gallery. And like the night before, he did not release her.

  Nor did she pull away.

  Silence.

  He felt her shallow breaths with the hand he pressed between her shoulder blades. He pictured the rising and falling of her chest. The apron bib covering her bodice.

  He slid his hand down her spine, slipping his little finger beneath the knot of her apron bow.

  A shudder ran through her frame.

  Slowly, he brought her palm to his mouth and took his first taste. Buttermilk and something indefinably sweet.

  Sucking in her breath, she tugged at her hand. “Please.”

  Reluctantly, he freed her. She brushed past him and turned on the lights, then whirled to face him. Her eyes were wide. Her face flushed. Her chest pumped like bellows. “You mustn’t do that. We’ll lose our jobs.”

  “I don’t plan on being here long.”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  She looked at him as if he were addled. “I’m up for lady’s maid. Lady’s maid. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yes. It means you’ll be at the beck and call of somebody else twenty-four hours a day. It means you’ll, more or less, have an electric wire attached to you at all times. It means you must be in attendance whether you want to or not, while simultaneously pretending to be deaf, dumb, and blind. It means giving up every ounce of independence and freedom you have.”

  She whipped herself straight, squaring her shoulders. “It means I’ll travel the world. It means I won’t have to rise at four in the morning. It means I’ll make in one month what you’ll make in three and what the scullery makes in six. It means I can help support my family and give to those in need.”

  “At what cost to you, Tillie?”

  She looked him up and down. “I don’t think it will cost me much at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do and so do you.”

  Sloop opened the door to the orphanage. Mack winced at the sight of him. The man’s nose and jaw were bruised, and his left eye still didn’t open completely. Had he done all that? It’d been two weeks since their fight.

  “What do you want?” Sloop growled.

  “I’m here to see my sister.”

  “You’re not welcome in this building or on this property.”

  “It’s visiting hours.”

  “I couldn’t care less.” Sloop started to close the door.

  Mack reached out to block it. Sloop jumped back in fear.

  A twinge of guilt pricked at Mack, but he reminded himself Sloop had hit Ora Lou – no telling how many times – and his anger swelled all over again. “Get her or I’ll come in and fetch her myself.”

  “I’ve talked with the police chief. He’s promised to throw you in jail if you so much as touch me again.”

  “In that case, I’ll make sure I
do a lot more damage next time. Maybe something permanent. Now, unless you have something to hide, I suggest you go and get her.”

  Seconds ticked by as they stared at each other. Without inviting Mack in, Sloop spun and stalked through a door at the end of the corridor. But he left the front door open.

  Mack stepped inside, then made his way to the parlor, where visitors waited. Alone in the room, he paced beside a stiff couch and fragile chairs, the thick rug cushioning his boots. Pausing, he picked up a marble dove, speculating on what kind of tools the craftsman had used to sculpt it.

  Ora Lou and another girl of about the same age entered, closing the door behind them.

  “You look like Earl again,” his sister said. “It’s creepy.

  Doesn’t that bother you?”

  The bruise on her round face had faded to a sickly yellow. He wondered if there were any new ones. “Has Sloop touched you again?”

  She shook her head, thick blond braids swinging. “He hasn’t so much as looked at me. It’s as if I’m a ghost and not even here.”

  “What about his missus?”

  “She doesn’t ignore me like he does, but I’d rather she would.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Does she beat you, too? Harm you in any way?”

  “No. She’s just a grouch and a very difficult person to like.”

  Some of the tension left his shoulders. He glanced at the other girl. “Who’s this?”

  Ora Lou grasped the hand of her companion. “This is Irene, my new chum that I’ve been telling you about.”

  Had it not been for the telltale evidence of a blossoming figure, he’d have guessed the girl was about eight. She was a fraction of the size of his sister. Her petite frame and features looked as if they’d break in two at the slightest touch. Limp honey-colored hair had been twisted into thin braids.

  He nodded. “I’m Mack.”

  She cast her gaze to the floor.

  “She’s a bit shy,” Ora Lou said, her blond braids three times as thick as her friend’s. “Where have you been? You haven’t been at church or to see me in two weeks.”

  “I got a job up at Biltmore.”

  Eyes widening with surprise, she clapped her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. “You? You wear that stuff Earl does?”