Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
A bbey tried to focus on arranging the fresh flowers Mrs. Pettigrew ordered just that morning. Her hands moved without thought as she fluffed a few petals, adjusted the vase, then stepped back to study her handiwork, only to return and do everything a third time. Or was this the fourth?
Mr. Tugs shuffled into the dining room, folded napkins in one hand, polished silverware in the other. “Are you still arranging that bouquet?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve been at it for at least fifteen minutes.”
Abbey jumped at his words, then turned to him with a half-smile. “Call me a perfectionist, Mr. Tugs. Who knows how many people Mrs. Pettigrew will be dining with this evening? I want it to look nice.”
Mr. Tugs shook his head as he glanced at the arrangement. “Stop fiddling with them. You’re done. Help me set the table if you haven’t anything else to do.”
She reached to adjust one last flower, then pulled her hand back. “Sorry. Lost myself for a moment.”
He shuffled toward the table. “All right. Out with it, Abbey. What’s wrong?”
She bit her lower lip, hesitating. Mr. Tugs was anything but subtle. He had a knack for wheedling things out of people—her, Mrs. Pettigrew, the butcher’s boy, didn’t matter who. The man was a master interrogator, and no one realized they’d been interrogated until it was all over.
“I’m fine,” she squeaked. “Well, tired, maybe.”
“Hm.” He handed her the silverware. “Put these in the sideboard, will you?”
She nodded, crossed the room, and opened a drawer.
He followed her. “Isn’t it odd how tired we get when we’re troubled?” He gave her a meaningful look. “And I must say, you look more troubled than tired, my dear.”
Abbey shut the drawer. Should she say anything? “Mr. Tugs... do ye ever wonder…” She paused. “That is, have ye ever tried to reach for something ye know ye’ll never be able to touch?”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean? Reach for what?”
“Something ye can’t have, of course. Something ye were never meant to have.” She hung her head.
“Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”
A blush crept into her cheeks. “Do ye? I know how things work in this world. And people like Mr. Bailey don’t…” She cut herself off and pressed the back of her hand to her lips.
Mr. Tugs clasped his hands before him and said nothing. He didn’t have to. She knew he understood.
Abbey lowered her hand. “It’s not just that he’s kind or...ye know, handsome. It’s the way he listens. He tells stories, and the words in those stories...they mean something. And the way he looks at me...” She trailed off and stepped toward the table, resting her hands on the back of a chair. “It’s like I mean something to him. But that’s silly, isn’t it?”
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She stared down at her hands. “I’m a housemaid, Mr. Tugs. And he’s...not. If ye know what I mean.”
Mr. Tugs pulled out a chair and sat. “Abbey, I’ve been in Mrs. Pettigrew’s service a long time. I’ve seen her make many matches over the years. And I watched her with Mr. Pettigrew. The happiest people, I find, are the ones who follow their hearts—not the ones who do what’s expected of them.” He raised his bushy eyebrows and smiled.
“Oh, I agree,” she said softly. “But that’s easier said than done.”
He shrugged. “Well, look at it this way. Does Mr. Bailey’s title mean anything to you? His money? Because he must have some.”
She waved a hand. “No, of course not. Those things don’t mean anything to me.” She hesitated. “I thought he was just a writer. And, of course, Mrs. Pettigrew’s assistant. And that was good enough.”
“Then remember that,” he said gently. “And you’ll be fine.”
Abbey’s throat thickened with emotion, and she gave him a small nod. “I think I need some air.” She headed for the door.
“Get some, then,” Mr. Tugs called after her.
She stepped into the hall and hurried outside. The sun was warm this late in the afternoon, and she stood a moment, letting it soak into her, before heading toward the rose garden.
The booths for the ball had been set up, along with benches and even a few bales of hay to sit on. She wondered how many people would wander into the hedge maze without realizing it. A few workers were setting up what looked like another booth just inside the entrance.
Not wanting to get in their way and needing some privacy, she stepped into the maze and heard voices.
Ewart’s voice.
And Rebecca Harrington’s.
Abbey’s breath caught. She peeked around the corner of hedge and saw Rebecca standing far too close to Ewart. And…oh dear…was her hand on his chest?
He looked uncomfortable. Startled even. Why wasn’t he slapping her hand away?
Rebecca laughed softly and looked up into Ewart’s eyes. He smiled back, lifting his hand toward hers.
Oh no. Was he about to put his hand on her hand?! Abbey froze. She prayed they wouldn’t look her way.
And yet she couldn’t look away. Did she want to see this? No! Then why weren’t her feet moving?
She shut her eyes tight. It was the only thing she could think to do to cut off the sight of them. Maybe then she could block the anger, the disappointment, the stabbing pain in her heart.
Abbey opened her eyes, quietly backed away, and left. So, Rebecca had finally done it. She’d managed to get Ewart in her clutches somehow.
Well, fine. If he wanted the likes of Rebecca, then that was just dandy. She was his equal, after all. Okay—not in everything. When it came to intelligence, there was quite a difference. But in station, more or less, they matched.
Abbey was a fool for thinking Ewart would want anything to do with the likes of her, no matter what Mr. Tugs said.
Ewart plucked Rebecca’s hand off his chest as she prattled on about nothing of importance. His mind, however, was still stuck on the comments and odd looks he’d received earlier from some of the workers.
“Is it true, Mr. Bailey?” one of Mr. Tugs’ associates had asked. “You’ll be Miss Harrington’s partner in her kissing booth?” The old man had then chuckled and hurried on his way to whatever task awaited him.
Ewart had stared after him, jaw slack.What did he just say?
Another man had approached not long after. “Well, well. I hear you’ll be escorting Miss Harrington to the ball. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He patted Ewart on the back and added with a grin, “Frankly, son, I’m not that brave.” He too had hurried off, leaving Ewart standing there, mouth agape.
What on earth was Rebecca telling people? Not that it was hard to figure out. The next man who passed offered him a wary look. “I can’t believe someone who appears to be so intelligent would volunteer to aid someone like Miss Harrington.” The man winced, then quickly added, “I’m sorry. I’d best not say anything else. Please forgive me.” He strode away, waving down Adelia as he went.
Ewart’s eyebrows twitched then, much as they were twitching now.Good grief!What had the woman done? How was he going to fix this? Thelastthing he wanted was to be trapped in a kissing booth with Rebecca.He shuddered just thinking about it.
There was only one thing for it. He’d have to talk to her. Calmly and without sounding prudish or worse, deeply concerned for his own safety. Rebecca wasn’t the sort you wanted to rile. She was liable to make a scene.
So, he’d gone looking for her. He’d spotted her across the lawn chatting with several workers and gesturing toward her kissing booth. A few of them glanced at him, then burst into laughter.
He’d waited until she left the small group, then strode toward her. “Miss Harrington, may I have a word?”
She smiled prettily at him. “Why, of course, Mr. Bailey. Anything for you, Ewart.”
His smile was forced. “Mr. Bailey is fine.”
“Oh, of course,” she said, batting her lashes. “What did you want?”
“I believe there’s been some confusion,” he’d said.
She tilted her head. “Oh?”
“Yes. I’ve heard you’ve told several people that I’ll be assisting you in your booth.”
Her smile widened. “Why, of course! Who else would I ask? You helped build it, after all. It only makes sense that you’d help man it during the ball.”
“Yes, well... I was happy to help with the construction. But I’m afraid I’ll be rather busy the evening of the ball. There’s far too much to take care of and oversee, and I…”
Rebecca grabbed his arm. “Come with me. We should talk about this in private.”
He’d let her drag him away. She had a point, and the last thing he wanted was a scene in front of the workers. Still, he grew concerned when she pulled him into the maze away from prying eyes and ears.
She’d then turned to him, her expression coy. “Now, what were you saying, Ewart?” She fluttered her lashes again and smiled.
Oh, for heaven’s sake . It was all he could do not to about-face and march right back out.
“Well, the way I see it,” she began when he didn’t speak, “you can surely spare a few moments with me in the booth.” She’d then placed her hand against his chest and smiled up at him.
Ewart stiffened. He’d opened his mouth to object just as her voice dropped to a sultry murmur. “With the two of us running it, my booth will be the most popular of the evening. Don’t tell me you’re going to leave me to fend off all those eager suitors.”
“Suitors?” he squeaked. The mere word snapped him back to the present.
“Oh,” she giggled, “I meangentlemen. But then there are theladies, too. Of course they’ll want to partake.” She gave him a hopeful look. “So you see, I need a man with me.”
He raised his hand and removed hers from his chest. He’d best keep a polite but firm distance from her. Not that there was much space between them at this point. Every time he took a step back, she stepped forward.
“Miss Harrington, I assure you. I have no intention of being kissed by anyone, least of all in public. I am not manning your booth with you.”
“Oh, come now,” she huffed. “It won’t be that bad. In fact, I think it’ll be fun. Don’t you?”
He shook his head. “I’m not jesting. I won’t be able to help you the evening of the ball. I’m sorry if you misunderstood.” Before she could say another word, he sidestepped around her and strode out of the maze. Thank goodness she hadn’t dragged him too far in.
When he emerged, several men looked his way and chuckled before turning back to their work. He rolled his eyes and started for the stable to see if any more lumber had been delivered when Adelia caught him near the edge of the rose garden.
“Ewart, come here. I think we should have Mrs. Fraser sell her pastries out of this booth as it’s right in the middle of everything. What do you think?”
He glanced toward the maze just in time to see Rebecca storm out of it, a frown darkening her face. “I think I could use one of those pastries right now,” he muttered. “And maybe a hot cup of tea. How about you?”
Adelia arched an eyebrow. “Oh dear.” She looked toward Rebecca, then raised her other brow. “Oh dear, dear, dear. Well then,” she said, offering him her arm, “shall we head to the kitchen?”
“Yes, thank you.” He took her arm, and together they escaped the garden.