Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
O ne moment, Abbey was trying to decide whether to head to one of the refreshment tables or slink back into the house and hide in the kitchen. The next, Rebecca was in front of her. Her eyes narrowed, her voice syrupy sweet, and loud enough that those around them would have no problem hearing her.
“Well,don’tyou look charming?” Rebecca circled her like a shark. “I had no idea Mrs. Pettigrew started using her housemaids as entertainment.”
Abbey froze. Several heads turned in their direction.
Rebecca’s eyes darted toward the onlookers, her mouth forming a dainty smile. She leaned toward them, as if about to share a delightful secret.
Abbey cringed. Oh great. Here we go.
“Didn’t she tell you?” Rebecca said brightly. “She’s one of the maids. Dresses beds, cleans out hearths. Why, just this morning I caught her in the scullery, elbow-deep in a washtub.”
Abbey shook her head. Rebbeca Harrington lied like a rug, and with a smile on her face too!
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. Denver’s elite was out here in all their finery. Some faces held polite interest at Rebecca’s words. Others, only amusement. After all, Abbey blended right in with the gown she wore.
Still, Abbey was smart enough to know what a certain type of frown meant. And more than a few in the growing crowd were wearing it. The ones actually listening to Rebecca.
Abbey felt the color drain from her face. She opened her mouth but had no idea what she was going to say. She was a maid, there was no denying it. And though she might not have been elbow deep in a washtub earlier, she had been covered with flour while helping Mrs. Fraser bake.
Rebecca tilted her head and pounced on the silence. “Though I must admit, the dress is doing a great deal of the work. Without it, I doubt anyone would have mistaken her for a guest.”
Yep. There it was. The knife. Abbey should have expected it and left as soon as Ewart did. But no, she’d stayed, and Rebecca took a verbal swing at her. The cruel jest found its mark.
Abbey turned, cheeks burning, and cut through the guests with their murmured whispers and giggled remarks. Her vision blurred as she crossed the lawn, heading for the back of the house. She didn’t know who was watching her at this point. Nor was she sure if Ewart had heard, or what sort of look he might be giving her. And she certainly wasn’t about to stay and find out.
She broke into a run twenty feet from the house and rushed inside. The moment she closed the doors behind her, she pressed her back to the wall and let out a long, shuddering breath. And good grief, why were her hands trembling?
Abbey should have known. Blast it. Shehadknown.
What had she been thinking, dressing up and hoping someone might see her as something more than the maid who changed the sheets on their beds? “Idiot,” she muttered. But even as the word left her mouth, she realized that Rebecca Harrington didn’t get to decide who she was.
She clenched her jaw. Rebecca certainly didn’t get to chase her into corners either.
Abbey straightened, smoothed her skirt, wiped away the tears threatening to spill, and stared at the French doors. She might not have wanted to attend the ball like this, true. But she wasn’t about to let Rebecca Harrington steal the night from her either. She lifted her chin, stepped back out into the night air, and made a beeline for Mrs. Fraser’s pastry booth. Maybe there she could enjoy her evening and find a bit of peace. Or at the very least, something sweet enough to dull the sting of Rebecca’s words still making her chest tight.
She spotted Rebecca’s booth along the way; over-decorated, and unmistakable in its gaudiness. Rebecca stood smiling prettily at anyone who would look. Not one person approached the booth.
Abbey paused, her jaw twitching. “Serves the harpy right,” she muttered. Perhaps not everyone was as easily charmed by Rebecca as Rebecca thought.
She huffed and continued to Mrs. Fraser’s booth. The cook spotted her and waved her over. “Well, look who’s here. And to think you didn’t want to put on that dress,” she said with a wink. She set down a tiny tray of lemon tarts. “What’ll it be, love? Something to eat or something to throttle?” She looked past Abbey in the direction of Rebecca’s kissing booth. She must have heard what Rebecca did.
Abbey laughed. “Maybe a little of both.”
Mrs. Fraser nodded again. “I see she finally took up her post.”
Abbey nodded. “Aye. And no one’s stopped by, as far as I know.”
“Hmph. Can you blame them?” Mrs. Fraser said, stacking pastries with precision. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Who in their right mind wants to be kissed by a viper?”
Abbey bit back a grin, but it slipped out anyway.
“Well, come on then,” Mrs. Fraser said. “If you’re not going to kiss anyone, at least have a tart.”
Abbey accepted the offer and bit into one of the tiny desserts. The lemon was sweet and sharp on her tongue, and she savored it. The sting in her chest hadn’t disappeared—but at least it was duller now. Better yet, it no longer owned her.
She smiled and took another bite. The tart soothed her, and she reached for another. Abbey was almost finished with her second tart—apple this time—when Mrs. Fraser gave her a look that made her stop mid-bite.
The cook was wiping her hands on a dish towel, her eyes locked on something beyond Abbey’s shoulder. “Don’t look now,” she said in a low voice, “but the gentleman with the calf eyes is back.”
“Calf eyes? What are you talking about?” Abbey turned.
Ewart was striding across the lawn with purpose in his step. There was something unreadable in his eyes, and it sent a tingle up Abbey’s spine. He stopped a few paces from the booth, hands behind his back, and rocked from toe to heel a few times. “My, those pastries look good,”
Mrs. Fraser gave Abbey a sly smile. “Oh, he’s got it bad.”
Abbey’s breath caught. She didn’t mean that Ewart was attracted to her. Did she?
Ewart’s eyebrows shot up in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
Abbey blushed and fixed her gaze on the tray of pastries.What was Mrs. Fraser doing?
The cook turned to Ewart with mischievous delight. “Mr. Bailey,” she said.
“Mrs. Fraser,” he returned, wary.
“I wonder if I might impose on you both.” She eyed Abbey and gave her a sweet smile.
Abbey wanted to cringe. Mrs. Fraser didn’t know the meaning of sweet.
“I need to fetch more pastries from the house, and I could use someone to mind the booth in the meantime.”
Ewart didn’t hesitate. “Oh, well then, happy to assist.”
Abbey blinked. “I’m not so sure…”
“Stop your haverin ,” Mrs. Fraser said, cutting her off. “You two will do just fine.”
Before either could object, she handed Ewart a linen towel and Abbey a tin of poker chips which acted as coins. Then she slipped out of the booth and slowly sauntered down the aisle between booths. If Abbey didn’t know any better, she’d say Mrs. Fraser was leaving them alone on purpose!
Abbey glanced at Ewart as he stepped into the booth beside her, making the space feel far too small. “Ye didn’t have to stay and help,” she said softly.
“I wanted to.” He folded his hands in front of him and seemed to look at anything but her. Maybe he didn’t want to be there after all.
Gah! She was going to have some choice words with Mrs. Fraser.
“I’d like to say something, Abbey” Ewart began, his voice low. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to corner you or push too hard.”
She nodded, unsure of what he was referring to. Their dance, maybe? Or something else?
He drew a little closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle pat. “You’ve had a rough evening.”
She couldn’t get up the nerve to look at him. Had he heard what Rebecca said after he left to help Mr. Tugs? “Aye... I suppose ye could say that.”
“Abbey, what I was trying to say to you in the hall the other day...” He paused. “I find I have...formed…a great affection for you.”
She glanced at him as she stiffened, then looked away. Oh. So that’s what he was referring to. “Ye don’t know what yer talking about.”
He laughed. “What do you mean?”
“How would ye know?”
He laughed. “I think I know my own mind and heart.”
“I think yer addled in the brain,” she said quietly. “And that’s all I have to say on the matter.” She sidestepped away from him. Even if he was fond of her, there was nothing to be done about it. He of all people should know that.
Ewart reached her in two steps. “Abbey don’t be frightened of me. Please.” He tucked a finger under her chin and gently lifted her face toward his. “I like spending time with you.”
She sucked in a breath as a tingle went up her spine. “Do ye now?”
“I do. Very much. So much so that I’d like to spend more time with you.”
“Ye would?” she squeaked.
“Yes. I would.”
She didn’t respond. Silence stretched between them until it was broken by a pair of women strolling past the booth, their eyes fixed on Ewart. One was blonde. The other brunette. Abbey recognized them from previous gatherings Mrs. Pettigrew had hosted since she was first hired.
They drew closer, their whispers just loud enough to be caught by passing ears. “I heard she’s one of the servants,” the blonde said.
“And he’s the son of a baron,” the brunette added.
Abbey stiffened. It seemed Rebecca’s wicked tongue had hooked more than a few fish.
Ewart turned to them with a pleasant smile. “That’s correct. My father is a baron.”
Both women blinked, then looked him up and down as though appraising a horse for sale.
“And as for Miss O’Connell,” he continued, “I find she carries herself with more grace and charm than anyone I’ve met since crossing the Atlantic.”
The women gasped.
He turned to Abbey and reached for her hand.
“What are ye doing?” she hissed under her breath.
He ignored her. “In fact,” he went on, “I find her quite fetching this evening. And more than that, I find myself wanting to dance with her again.” Then, very deliberately, he lifted her hand and kissed it. Soft, slow…
Abbey’s breath caught.
Ewart met her gaze and smiled. “As soon as Mrs. Fraser returns...may I have another dance?”
Abbey’s cheeks burned as her heart pounded so hard she was sure everyone could hear it. Abbey couldn’t bring herself to say yes. But she couldn’t say no, either. What was she going to do?