Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
T he next day, Ewart and Mr. Tugs hovered over the dining room table. It was covered with sheets of paper and the sketches Ewart had made the previous day. They’d been going over their individual lists and eventually came up with a master. Ewart, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, was copying the master list for Mr. Tugs. They agreed to get together at the end of each day and cross off what they’d accomplished. Even Mr. Prosser and Mrs. Fraser had given them lists. The latter had also added a detailed list of the ingredients she would need for each of the pastries she’d make—and hawk—at the carnival.
“You don’t have to be the one to handle the pastry booth,” Ewart told her. “We’re hiring plenty of help and will have volunteers.”
“He’s right, Mrs. Fraser,” Mr. Tugs said. “Don’t you want to see to everything in the kitchen?”
“Do I?” she said with narrowed eyes. “I’ve got my own help I’m calling in for this. Besides, if someone’s going to complain about my pastries, they can do it to my face and beduly correctedin their assumption.”
Ewart turned his face away to smile. Mrs. Fraser was a middle-aged battle-axe who would strike fear into the stoutest of generals. He liked her. “Can you suggest anyone to be in charge of the ring toss?” he asked. Mr. Tugs had been educating him on the American names for different carnival games.
“Let me see,” Mrs. Fraser said, crossing her arms in front of her. “Are you talking about other servants, or are you thinking of putting some of the guests in charge of things? After all, you’ve got that Harrington girl helping, don’t you?”
Ewart bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “There was some mention of it, yes.”
“A kissing booth, I heard,” Mr. Tugs said dryly.
Mrs. Fraser’s eyebrows shot up so high Ewart thought they might reach her hairline. “You want to putthat harpyin charge of a kissing booth? Have you both gone round the bend?”
Ewart lost control and laughed. “I don’t know, I think it might prove entertaining.”
“Or horrifying,” Mrs. Fraser muttered. “I’m going back to the kitchen. The two of you can figure this out. I’ve given you my lists.” She left the dining room with a huff.
As soon as she was gone, Abigail hurried into the room. “Mr. Bailey, a messenger brought you something.”
“What?” he said, turning around. “Something forme?”
Before he could say another word, a young messenger entered the room, breathing like a winded horse. Adelia wasn’t far behind and entered as well, eyeing the young man. “Such excitement,” she said with a smile. “Well, let’s have it.” She held out her hand.
The young man took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’ve nothing for you today, Mrs. Pettigrew. This here is for someone named Bailey.” He held up the envelope.
“Mr. Bailey?” She smiled at Ewart.
He shrugged in return.
“Well, well,” Adelia said, taking in the messenger’s rapid breathing. “Don’t tell me you ran all this way?”
“I did… Mrs. Pettigrew…”
“What stamina you have.” She placed a diamond-studded monocle over her left eye and snatched the envelope out of his hand. “Oh dear.”
“What is it?” Ewart asked.
She handed him the envelope. “It’s from Rebecca Harrington.”
Ewart blanched. “Oh, dear is right.” He looked at the others, his eyes falling on Abigail, and opened the envelope.
Dear Mr. Bailey,
I request the pleasure of your presence at tea this afternoon at 3:30. I would love it if Mrs. Pettigrew would also attend, but I know how busy she is. I would like to help with your ball in any way I can. Please send your response with the messenger.
Sincerely,
Rebecca Harrington
He looked up from the note at Adelia and shrugged again. “Why would she send this to me and not you?”
She smiled. “It seems Miss Harrington has something up her sleeve, but knowing her, it might be nothing more than a passing fancy inyou, Ewart.”
“Me?!” he said in alarm. “Do you wish me to decline?”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I think you should attend. After all, we’re going to need all the help we can get, even if it’s from Rebecca Harrington.”
“Do you plan on putting Miss Harrington in charge of the kissing booth, Madame,” Tugs asked, making a show of looking completely innocent.
Adelia’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Why, Tugs, that’s awonderfulidea.”
He arched one bushy eyebrow at her and said nothing.
She nodded at the note in Ewart’s hand. “Send a reply. Tell Miss Harrington that you’ll attend her tea, but that I’m busy with wedding plans, which of course, is true.” She flung one hand in the air, done with the conversation.
Ewart stared at the note, feeling much like a bird caught in a net. He remembered the way Rebecca practically salivated over him like he was a juicy steak when she showed up on his first day of work. He’d shivered at the thought that she might already be holding a knife and fork.
“Something wrong?” Mrs. Pettigrew asked.
In truth, the thought of being ambushed at some intimate tea with Rebecca made himuncomfortable. “Are you sure you can’t go? She did invite both of us.”
“But addressed the invitation toyou.” Mrs. Pettigrew smiled knowingly. “By all means, take this opportunity to discuss the ball with the Harringtons. We could probably put Mrs. Harrington to work as well.”
Mr. Tugs turned to her, eyes wide. “Is that wise, Madame after everything that happened over the holidays?”
Ewart had no idea what they were talking about. He’d have to ask Tugs about it later.
“Perhaps you should take some flowers with you,” Mrs. Pettigrew suggested.
Tugs gasped.
To Ewart’s surprise—and Mr. Tugs’ relief—Mrs. Pettigrew laughed. “I’m joking, of course.”
Ewart’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Very well,” he said, and began to roll down his shirt sleeves. “I’ll attend tea with Rebecca Harrington this afternoon.”
Ewart arrived at the Harringtons’ mansion down the block at precisely three-thirty. An elderly butler answered the door, and Ewart was quick to pick up the sound of female chatter coming from somewhere in the house. A knot formed in his gut as the butler greeted him and motioned for him to come inside.
“Your coat and hat, sir?” the butler asked.
Ewart removed his coat, hat, and gloves and handed them over. “Is Mrs. Harrington entertaining guests?”
“Mrs. Harrington and Miss Harrington are having a tea party. I trust you’re here to attend, sir?”
“Yes… only, I thought I was the only guest. Apparently, I’ve been misinformed.”
The butler raised both eyebrows and let out an impatient sigh. “Follow me, sir.” He led Ewart across the grand foyer and into a large drawing room filled with what had to be half of Denver high society.Good grief. What was Rebecca thinking?
He scanned the room, filled with ladies perched on furniture, sipping tea from delicate china cups. What few gentlemen were present had clustered together as men often did at these affairs, speaking amongst themselves. His mother had hosted enough tea parties for him to know how this worked.
Rebecca spotted him from across the room, her eyes lighting up. The look on her face made Ewart want to do an about-face and run. She had that hungry look in her eyes again, and he had to admit it was disconcerting.
“Mr. Bailey!” she called, extending a gloved hand. “I’m so glad you could join us.”
He noticed she didn’t look for Adelia. Perhaps she wasgladhis employer was nowhere to be seen.
He swallowed hard as she joined him, her hungry smile still plastered across her face. “Well, isn’t this nice,” she cooed. “Now my party is complete.”
“Even without Mrs. Pettigrew?” he couldn’t help but ask.
Rebecca made a show of looking behind him. “Oh,” she said with feigned disappointment. “You mean she couldn’t come? How dreadful.” She wrapped one of her arms around his and began to drag him into the room. “Busy, is she?”
“Quite,” he said. “But she does have three weddings to plan. Not to mention a ball, which by the way I want to discuss with you.” Ewart scanned the other guests. “She mentioned drumming up some volunteers while I’m here. She was thinking of you and your mother, of course.” He tried not to glare at her. “Your invitation didn’t indicate there would be more than the three of us.”
“Two of us now,” she purred.
He looked around the room again. “I’d say closer to seventeen or eighteen? I dare say I don’t see one empty chair.”
She giggled. “Well then, I guess that means my party is a success! Everyone showed up… except Mrs. Pettigrew, of course. But no one is surprised by that.”
“Oh?”
“She rarely leaves that mansion of hers. But I’m so glad she allowed you to come.” She dragged him to a tea cart—one of several—and smiled at the maid standing next to it. “Prepare a cup of tea for the future Baron of…” She turned to him. “What is the formal title?”
“Baron of Bailey Hall,” he said. “A title which my father currently holds.”
“Currently , ” she murmured under her breath.
He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Before he could comment, however, Rebecca’s announcement caught the attention of several ladies nearby. “A baron, you say?” A middle-aged woman tittered. She turned to them and smiled at Ewart. “I thought I detected a British accent.” She put on apince-nezthat was attached to her jacket by a small chain. “My goodness, just look at you. Tell me, are you here in America to find yourself a baroness?”
He chuckled low in his throat. “I’m afraid not.”
“He is whiling away his time in America, exploring,” Rebecca said. “Isn’t that right, Ewart?”
Another woman gasped softly. “She’s calling him by his Christian name already!”
Ewart fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was the centerpiece of this tea party, and he was going to have to come up with a polite way to extract himself from Rebecca’s clutches.
Several more women joined them as the maid handed him a cup and saucer. He busied himself adding sugar and cream as the group around them grew larger. “It’s too bad my Edith is away at school,” one of the ladies said. “I’m sure she’d love to discuss England with you. She has a passion for it, you see.”
To be polite, he turned to the woman and smiled. “Then she should visit it one day.”
“Yes, Edith should,” Rebecca agreed, slipping her arm around his again—despite the fact that he was holding a cup and saucer.Good grief, how was he going to pry her off?
A tall, slender man approached. He was middle-aged, with slicked back salt-and-pepper hair.
“Sothisis the young Englishman I’ve heard so much about.”
Ewart glanced at Rebecca. Just what had she been telling people?
“Rebecca tells me you’re a writer—and that you’re quite good. You’ll have to show me your manuscript when it’s done. I’m always looking for new talent.”
His jaw dropped. “I say, but…” Great Scott!He was tongue-tied!
“Ewart, this is Mr. Sharp,” Rebecca said. “He’s a publisher here in town and a friend of my father’s. I thought the two of you should meet.” She gave him a pretty smile, and his heart pinched.MaybeRebecca wasn’t so bad after all. Then again…this could be a ploy to get into his good graces.
“Do you write newspaper or magazine articles, Mr. Sharp?” the man asked. “My son-in-law has a small paper and is often looking for stories to print.”
Ewart gave him a blank stare, then managed to collect himself. “I have in the past, but I’ve never published any of them. They were more for pleasure than profit, you see.”
“Of course,” Mr. Sharp said. “In your position, you hardly need to work.”
Rebecca smiled at his words, her arm tightening on Ewart’s.
“Come with me, my lad,” Mr. Sharp said, “and you can tell me about your book.”
Ewart breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Sharp waved Rebecca away and led him to the other side of the room.