Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
M r. Tugs informed Mrs. Pettigrew that Abigail and Ewart had returned from their errand. She headed for the drawing room, wishing to speak to them, and of course, to see how their outing went.
She found Ewart alone by the fireplace, looking through a book. He was a curious soul, and sometimes she knew his thoughts were miles away from whatever he was doing. Was he thinking about the book he was working on, or perhaps someone in her household with red hair and big blue eyes?
She smiled at that last thought as she crossed the drawing room to him. “Researching something?”
He looked up from the book. “I just thought it looked interesting. I found it in the desk.”
She nodded. “It was one of my late husband’s favorites. He loved history.”
Ewart held up the book and smiled. “Yes, I can see that. He made notes in this one.”
She joined him. “I suppose you find inspiration in everything, don’t you?”
He shrugged and put the book on the desk. “For the most part, yes.”
“And what about today? What inspiration did you draw from your outing with Abigail? Did you see couples walking through the park or lovers on a bench, looking longingly into each other’s eyes?” She frowned and snapped her fingers. “I forgot. You don’t write romance, do you?”
He laughed and stepped away from the fire. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. But I’m tempted after what you just said, and a few things Abigail has told me. She does love her romances.”
Adelia’s smile grew. Her new assistant was going to be a delightful challenge. She suspected his heart was already engaged, though the young lady in question seemed to be less convinced. She’d have to work on Abigail, but she’d think about that later. “You really should write a romance,” she said as she joined him. “I think it would be quite the literary adventure for you.”
He laughed. “I don’t know about that. Not if I write the type of romance Abigail likes. I’d be writing about swashbuckling pirates and damsels in distress.”
Mrs. Pettigrew patted him on the shoulder. “What other kind is there? No one likes a boring book.”
“Of course not,” he agreed. “And I do write adventure tales, but they’re for men, mostly.”
“Well, add a little romance and you’ll have an adventure-romance tale.” She smiled, then crossed the room to her favorite chair and sat. “Did you order the books I wanted?”
“Indeed, we did. Mr. Troeh said they should be in in a few weeks if not sooner.”
“Excellent.” She crossed her legs. “And did you and Abigail enjoy your time at the pastry shop?”
“Yes, it was fine. We brought you your pastry, it’s in the kitchen waiting for you.”
“Lovely. I’ll have it with some tea. Where is Abigail?” she asked.
He looked toward the grand foyer, and she caught a hint of longing in his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” he said, then looked at the fire again, turning away from her.
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be along. Unless you happen to find her for me?”
He smiled at her and started off.
Adelia watched him leave and smiled again. So, it appeared his heart was engaged. Splendid.
Ewart left the drawing room and wondered why Mrs. Pettigrew didn’t simply ring for Abigail. But then, he did want to speak to her and what better excuse than to have been sent by their employer?
He went down to the kitchen first, but she wasn’t there. Mrs. Fraser, the cook, told him to check upstairs. She might be dusting some of the bedrooms.
He took the servants’ stairs and checked the second floor, but she wasn’t there either. Could she be in her room?
When he went up to the third floor, he found her at last. Her door was open, and he found Abigail standing on a chair, wrestling with a curtain rod. “Do you intend to fight that rod alone?” he asked. “Or shall I assist you? That is, if you don’t mind being assisted by a humble scribe such as myself.”
She jumped and nearly fell off her perch. Ewart ran across the room, grabbed her by the arms, and steadied her. “Mr. Bailey!” Abigail cried. “Where did you come from?”
He smiled. It was rather nice holding her this way. “From downstairs.” He looked into her eyes, and they widened. “Mrs. Pettigrew sent me to find you. I looked all over the house. What are you doing up here?”
“Well, if ye must know, I bought some new curtains for my room to make the place a little cheerier. I was trying to put them up.”
He looked at the floral-printed curtains and smiled. “They’re lovely.”
“They are,” she agreed. “Now if ye don’t mind, I’d like to continue my work.”
He shook his head. “No, you won’t.” In one swift move, he transferred his hands to her waist and lifted her off the chair, setting her on feet. “You stay right there. I’ll take care of it.”
Abigail let loose a cross between a giggle and a snort. “Oh, my hero, come to rescue me.”
He beamed at her. “Indeed, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He climbed onto the chair and easily affixed the curtain rod into place. “There. Do you want me to do the other window?”
She clasped her hands in front of her and gave him a demure look. “Well…if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all.” He got off the chair, moved it to the second window on the other side of the room, and got to work. “Mrs. Pettigrew and I discussed me writing a romance novel. What do you think?” He glanced over his shoulder at her.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. What does is what makes ye happy. If it’s writing a romance novel, then ye should do it.” She cleared her throat, went to the bed, and sat. He could see a blush creeping into her cheeks and wondered if she was worried about being alone with him in her bedroom. At least the door was open.
He finished with the curtain, stepped off the chair, and then set it in front of the small desk. “There, all done. Now you’d best go see what Mrs. Pettigrew wants.”
“I’ll do that,” she said. She headed for the door. “Are ye coming?”
He looked around the room. “I like this. It’s very cheery with the new curtains.” Indeed, it was. The curtains were yellow with tiny flowers on them. They matched the pale-yellow wallpaper, also decorated with flowers. Her room was simple and sparsely furnished—just as his was. And he noticed a few tin-type photographs on the desk. “Relatives?” he asked, nodding at them.
“My parents. And a dear friend. She’s still in Ireland.”
He nodded solemnly, then looked her in the eyes. “Do you miss Ireland?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes, yes. But I’ve not been back there since coming to America, and I don’t plan to.”
“Your parents are gone, aren’t they?”
She nodded.
“Well, let’s go find Mrs. Pettigrew.” He put his hand to the small of her back and guided her out the door into the hall.
After closing her door, she sighed and started down the hall to the staircase that would take them into the kitchen. “I wonder if Mrs. Pettigrew is having her pastry,” he said, to start a conversation.
They headed down the stairs, and Abigail didn’t say anything right away. She confused him, and he hoped he hadn’t scared her off with his comments about her hair earlier. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable.
When they reached the kitchen, Mrs. Fraser was putting the pastries on a plate. “Ah, there you are, Abigail. You’re just in time. Take this tea tray up to the drawing room for Mrs. Pettigrew. You’ll notice there are three cups. I suspect she wishes to discuss the ball with the two of you.”
“No doubt she does,” Abigail said. She picked up the tea tray.
“No,” Ewart said, putting his hands on it. “I’ll carry it.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “Are ye sure?”
“Of course. I don’t mind. That is heavy.”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s not like I’m not used to it. It’s my job, Mr. Bailey.”
He gave her a tender smile. “Of course it is. But isn’t it nice to have someone help you out for a change?”
She blushed and looked away. “I…I suppose.”
He smiled again as she led the way into the hall and continued to the drawing room. Mrs. Pettigrew was still sitting in her chair. Ewart set the tray on the low table. “Tea, Madame.” He gave her a bow, straightened, and began to prepare them each a cup.
“What are you doing?” Abigail said. “That’s my job.”
He gave her another pleasant smile and winked. “I’m simply easing your burden this afternoon. Enjoy it. You deserve it.”
“Deserve what?” she said indignantly.
Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. “Abigail, he’s being kind. Let the man serve you. There’s nothing wrong with it. I serve you now and then.”
Abigail began to fidget. “Aye, ye do, but I don’t argue when you do it. Ye do it for your own pleasure.”
“How do you know it’s for my own pleasure?” Mrs. Pettigrew asked.
“Well, I… I…” She glanced between them. “It makes you feel glad in your heart when you take care of other people.”
Mrs. Pettigrew tapped her fingers on her chin. “That is true. But I also do it because I care for you.”
Abigail stared, eyes wide. “Why… thank ye, ma’am.”
Ewart smiled again and handed Abigail a cup and saucer. He then did the same for Mrs. Pettigrew and served himself last. He wondered if Abigail would catch the fact he’d served her first—or if he had her too flustered to notice. No matter. He enjoyed getting her riled. She was adorable the way her nose wrinkled, and her eyes brightened. Her ears were pink now, as were her cheeks. Her breaths came in short pants for a moment or two before she got her breathing under control.
Why all of it sent his attraction to her up a notch, he didn’t know. He was going to have to tread carefully. He didn’t plan on staying in Denver forever and would eventually have to return to England.
The question was, when the time came, would he want to?