As November became December, Cora settled into her role as housekeeper. She now felt confident with the marketing, in the still room, and even in the kitchen as she plated the tasty meals Mrs. Caddy prepared. When Mr. Ludlow entertained, as he was doing more and more, she felt secure in choosing the linens and décor that would be used for the dinner table and even aided Watts a time or two in selecting the wine. Her relationships with the housemaids, especially Sally, improved dramatically, and she grew to adore the timid Alice.
One morning in mid-December, Cora arranged her cap on her head and tightened her apron strings, giving her reflection one last glance before leaving her room and skipping down the stairs. With the house so dark and chilly, it had become more difficult to drag herself from her bed, but once she was up and about she found that she loved the early morning hours. Even amongst the bustle, a peaceful feeling radiated through the house in those precious moments before the sun arose. Cora loved catching glimpses of it cresting the horizon or glowing behind thick layers of clouds. With winter just around the corner, the skies were overcast much of the time.
There were at least six servants clustered around the kitchen window when Cora descended, each of them vying for a view into the murky outdoors.
"Has the Prince Regent come to call?" teased Cora, curious as to the reason for all the fuss.
Sally broke away from the group with a scowl. "It's not so excitin' as all that. Just snowin' like the dickens out there. Haven't seen that much white in ages."
"Truly?" Cora's spirits brightened further as she joined the group, standing on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the first snowfall of the year. How beautiful it looked, extending light to the dreariness with its untouched brilliance.
"Makes me want ter go build a snow creature," said Harry, looking like a boy who'd just been given a favorite toy.
"Why in Heaven's name are you scowling, Sally?" Cora asked. "It's a lovely sight."
"From 'ere, 'tis lovely," said Sally. "But when I go trompin' about tonight to visit me—I mean, my—son, it won't be near so lovely. My boots soak up the snow like a dishrag."
Cora pulled her gaze from the window and smiled at the maid. More and more often, Sally was correcting her own grammar, and Cora loved hearing it.
"If that is the reason you are scowling, you must cease at once. I have a sturdy pair of boots that you are welcome to borrow any time you'd like. And a warm coat as well." Indeed, on Cora's last trip to the Shepherd's, she had returned with a bundle of warm clothing that Mrs. Shepherd had insisted were no longer needed. Cora had accepted them gratefully, for the weather had turned quite blustery the past few weeks, and she had begun to dread venturing outdoors. Now, however, she couldn't wait for a chance to step outside and lift her face to the heavens. Oh, what a blessed sight.
"Ah, see?" Cora grinned when she saw that Sally's scowl had gone away. "Now you are not so despising of the snow, are you?"
"'Tis… lovely, I suppose," Sally allowed, cocking an eyebrow at Cora. "You truly don't mind me borrowin' your boots and coat?"
"Of course not. We can't have you catching a chill, can we? Your son needs a healthy mother, and I need a strong and vigorous housemaid."
Sally smiled. "I thank you, Mrs. Notley."
"It is my pleasure," she responded, thinking how nice it was to finally be at peace with the maid—peace with everyone at Tanglewood, really. At least the servants. Mr. Ludlow was another matter entirely. Cora sometimes wondered if she would ever come to truly understand him and feel comfortable in his presence. Sometimes he looked upon her with unseemly warmth and admiration, sometimes he spoke with a curt air of annoyance, and sometimes he treated her with complete indifference as though she were nothing more than a servant—which was precisely how he should treat her, she told herself firmly. Cora did her best to stay out of his way, but it was impossible to avoid him completely considering he requested an audience with her on an almost daily basis. She suffered through those meetings, attempting to behave as though she felt only respect for her employer.
If only that were true. If only she could make it be true.
"Stop gawkin' at the snow," Mrs. Caddy demanded of the group in her brusque way. "Eat your breakfast and get ter work. No sense in standin' about like a pack of good-for-nothin' goats."
Since Watts was not around, it probably should have been Cora who called everyone to order, but why take on the taxing role of taskmaster when Mrs. Caddy seemed to enjoy it so well?
Cora hid a smile, gazed one last time at the cheery snow, and made her way to the servants' table where Mrs. Caddy had set out a tasty spread. Watts appeared and Cora took her place with the other servants, marveling at the camaraderie she now felt with them. How wonderful it was to finally feel as though she belonged.
As soon as they'd eaten, Cora gestured for Alice to join her in the still room where they set a pot of tea to brewing and began to label and shelve the bottles of preserves they'd made yesterday. After that, she walked into the larder to compile a list of items needed at market, and finally helped Mrs. Caddy prepare Mr. Ludlow's breakfast tray.
"Sally," Mrs. Caddy's voice boomed through the kitchen. "I'll be needin' you ter take this up to Mr. Ludlow at once."
Sally glanced at Cora for affirmation, and Cora nodded. Mr. Ludlow had not requested that his housekeeper bring up the tray, as he often did, and she was grateful for it. She could use a day's respite from the man.
Her gratitude lasted only as long as it took for Harry to bustle into the room. "Mr. Ludlow's askin' that Mrs. Notley bring up his tray," he announced as Sally was leaving the kitchen with it. She promptly stopped and turned around, smiling slyly at Cora in a way she'd come to loathe. Harry's wink did nothing to help matters either. The two of them found great enjoyment in teasing her about Mr. Ludlow's particular attentions, and Cora did not care for it one bit. Why did Mr. Ludlow need to speak with her again so soon? Only last evening, they had discussed the menus for the week, planned the dinner party he would be hosting on Saturday night, and had even chatted about the state of the storeroom—something he had employed her to worry about so that he would not have to, and yet he found it necessary to continually inquire about it. Why? Perhaps he secretly wanted to be the housekeeper, she decided, refusing to believe it could be for the reasons that Harry and Sally seemed to think.
Or perhaps Mr. Ludlow merely suffered from loneliness and considered her closer in station than anyone else in the household. It made sense like nothing else did, and Cora would be content with such a friendship if not for the fact that she found Mr. Ludlow far too attractive, charming, and intriguing. Not long ago, she had come to the disturbing realization that she would never be able to enjoy any sort of comfortable friendship with him, not if he continued to stir feelings within her that should not be stirred.
Taking his breakfast tray to his bedchamber was the worst summons of all. His room felt far too intimate and caused Cora greater discomfort than usual. If she had chosen to enter society instead of his service, she would never be allowed to even think of going into his bedchamber, yet in her present circumstances, it was a requirement.
Thankfully, he was already dressed and on his way out of his room when she arrived. "Let us adjourn to my study," he said, looking rather stern. Perhaps he did not care for the snow either.
Oddly enough, he took the tray from her hands and carried it himself. Cora felt awkward trailing behind with nothing, but she knew better than to argue with him over such a trivial matter. Once in his study, he set the tray down, closed the door behind her, and sat on the corner of his desk, folding his arms as he stared at the fire. The flames danced in his eyes, and Cora immediately felt the familiar pull he had on her. He looked unaccountably handsome this morning, dressed in a brown coat and buff breeches. She wanted to go to him and touch his freshly shaved jaw, feel of its smoothness, and ease the lines of distress that were etched across his forehead and around his eyes.
What troubled him?
She followed his gaze to a new painting that hung above the mantle. Vibrant red, orange, and yellow desert sands spread across the canvas with interesting ripples and curves. A fierce blue sky watched over from above, providing a stark contrast to the swells and valleys in the sand. Although brighter and less angry than the seascape that had hung in its place before, this new painting did nothing to inspire Cora either. She realized that both paintings felt empty. There had been no ship on the waters, not even a lighthouse on the shore, and the desert looked so barren, devoid of any life whatsoever. What had Mr. Ludlow seen in such a piece?
"What do you think?" he asked, startling her from her thoughts.
Cora knew better than to mince words this time. It would only prolong their meeting. "I think it looks rather lonely. Are you certain the artist is finished with it?"
Her candid assessment did not amuse him this time. He looked at her with brooding, almost haunted eyes. "This painting is my birthday present to myself, but now you have taken all the brightness out of it."
His words made her feel overly critical, and Cora immediately wished her assessment back. What was her problem, anyway? The artist's lines were smooth and skilled, the colors vibrant and beautiful. Why could she not focus on its attributes instead of its deficiencies?
Instead of attempting a fumbled apology, she stepped closer to him, resisting the desire to cover his hand with her own. "Today is your birthday?" she asked quietly.
He seemed annoyed by the question as though she had missed his point entirely, but he answered anyway. "Yes. Which is the reason I wanted to speak with you. I have decided I will be going out tonight and would like you to inform the rest of the staff that they may have the evening off."
Cora blinked in surprise. That was the last thing she had expected him to say. An evening free? How glorious that would be! Her mind whirled with all the possibilities of what she might do with her time. She could go for a long walk in the beautiful snow. Or Harry often spoke of the dances in town. Perhaps there would be one tonight, and they could all go together? Or she could accompany Sally to visit her son or even pay an impromptu visit to the Shepherds. Or—
One glance at Mr. Ludlow and Cora immediately squelched her happy thoughts. Why did he appear so downtrodden? He had said he was going out. Where? He had received no invitations for tonight or the staff would have already known not to plan on him for dinner. Would he be meeting friends or… Cora's gaze strayed to the painting, and she suddenly knew the answer. He planned to spend the evening alone somewhere away from his home while his servants celebrated his birthday without him.
Cora refused to allow such a thing to happen. "When will you be leaving, sir?" she asked.
"Five o'clock," came his answer.
Wanting to be sure she had interpreted the state of things correctly, she prodded, "Do you have an appointment of some sort?"
"No." He stared at the fireplace, appearing lost in thought.
She pressed on even though she knew she had no right to do so. "A dinner engagement?"
"No."
"Are you meeting up with some friends, sir?"
"I have no friends here," he said woodenly, his words wrenching her heart.
"You have me," she blurted before she could check herself. Good gracious, why had she said such a thing? She should not be encouraging a friendship or even considering herself his friend.
He was watching her now, his expression one that she could not read, but it still made her heart thump and her body simmer. "Are we friends, Mrs. Notley?"
"As good of friends as an employer can be with his housekeeper."
"Yes." He sighed, sounding disappointed in her answer. His gaze drifted back to the painting that Cora suddenly wanted to tear from the wall and toss in the fireplace.
She had never seen him so raw, so obviously aching on the inside. It took all her resolve not to go to him and attempt to coerce a smile back to his lips. It had been far too long since she had seen his dimple. She wanted to see it now, there, just to the left of his mouth.
Forcing her feet to remain where they stood, Cora decided that the servants would not be given the night off after all. In fact, they would work harder today than ever before. Together, they would do whatever it took to see that dimple appear on Mr. Ludlow's face before he became one year older. A person should not be allowed to advance to the next year of his life without at least a smile.
Jonathan tied his cravat with quick movements, not caring that the knot was slightly larger on one side than the other. He had been in a wretched mood all day and had sent his valet away an hour earlier so the man would not be made to tolerate any more of Jonathan's surliness. Now he stood before the mirror, scowling at the grim lines on his face and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looked much older than thirty.
Snow had fallen all day without letting up for even a moment. It was a rare thing for Askern to get this much snow—or any snow at all. How interesting it would fall today of all days, as though the heavens thought him befitting of further torment. The road would be a mess, not fit for carriage or beast, but Jonathan would muck his way through regardless. He refused to remain at home.
After one more glance at the mirror, he left his room, grateful to see no servants about. Apparently Mrs. Notley had efficiently spread the word. He could only hope his servants would have a merrier night of it than he would. The echo of his footsteps bounced off the walls of the great hall as he walked down the stairs. The hollow sound of it served to quicken his feet so that he might escape the emptiness. How could a place he'd called home for nearly eighteen months suddenly feel like a foreign, cavernous tomb?
He blamed Mrs. Notley entirely.
Not only had she found fault with the painting of the volatile sea, but when Jonathan had forced himself to choose a work of art that looked brighter and more cheerful, she could not find anything to like in the new piece as well. She had immediately called it lonely, and her eyes had accused him of having the same fault. They had been filled with such pity, and Jonathan hated to be pitied. Initially, he had planned to spend the day holed up in his library, distracting himself with books and brandy. But after Mrs. Notley's sympathetic gaze had landed on him, he had determined that he would not be lonely tonight. He would ride to the tavern and surround himself with crass and surly drunkards, bar maids, and drinks of the most intoxicating variety. He would drink himself into oblivion so he might awake in the morning with no recollection of the day at all.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs to pull on his riding gloves and look for his great coat. His valet had promised to leave it on a chair near the door. Ah, there it was.
"Mr. Ludlow," Mrs. Notley's voice intruded. He twisted his head to see her standing in the shadows of the hallway. How long had she been there and for what purpose?
"Before you go," she said, "I wonder if I might ask your opinion on something."
"Yes?" Jonathan asked testily, not wishing to be detained.
"If you will come with me to the kitchen for a moment, I would be most grateful."
That was the last thing Jonathan wanted. Could she not see that he was in no mood to give an opinion on anything? "Surely whatever it is can wait until tomorrow."
"I'm afraid that is out of the question. Please, sir. It will only take a moment."
Jonathan experienced a surge of annoyance and turned to face her. "What could possibly be so urgent, Mrs. Notley? Has the snow somehow broken its way inside?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," she said without hesitation. "That is precisely what has happened."
He did not believe her for a second. She appeared far too calm and even amused.
She stepped to the side and gestured down the hallway. "If you will only give us direction on how to proceed, I would be most appreciative."
What the devil was she about? "You cannot be serious."
"But I am, sir," she said. "The kitchen is plastered with snow, I assure you."
Jonathan immediately strode towards the kitchen, brushing past her without so much as a glance. He pushed open the door and immediately halted, his eyes widening at the scene before him. The room was filled with his staff. Even his valet and coachmen stood among the throng. What the devil?
"Happy birthday!" they cried, moving aside to reveal a table piled high with food, along with a large cake coated in white icing.
Who had given them permission to do such a thing? And why? They all stared at him, gawking and looking as though he should be as pleased as punch when Jonathan was anything but. He had no desire to spend the evening here with his servants, feigning a merriment he could never feel. He wanted to be among drunken strangers—people who would not remember him or his misery on the morrow.
What had prompted Mrs. Notley to plan such a celebration when there was nothing to celebrate? Surely, she had perceived that he would not enjoy such festivities—not in his current frame of mind.
He turned to find her at his side, looking as pleased as all the others, though there was a strain about her mouth as though she was worried about his reaction.
She ought to be worried.
"I see no snow, Mrs. Notley," he said, his jaw clenching against the anger building inside of him.
"Then you have not looked hard enough." She pointed at the walls where several decorative snowflakes cut from paper hung from string.
He did not find it at all humorous and glared at her. "I instructed you to give everyone the night off."
"And we chose to spend it preparing a birthday celebration for you," she said. "Mrs. Caddy even allowed me to help frost the cake. Doesn't it look wonderful? I cannot wait to—"
Jonathan grabbed her arm and pulled her from the room, closing the kitchen door between them and the rest of his household. He had a great many things to say to her that he did not want overheard.
"Why is it you always insist on doing the opposite of what I say? Or do you simply choose not to listen to what I have to say? Hear this, Mrs. Notley. I am going to the tavern and that is final. Do you understand?"
"Not at all, sir. Today is your birthday. Why would you want to spend it—"
"My reasons are not your concern, and you are overstepping yet again. How could you possibly think this would be a good idea?"
"Because it is a good idea, sir. If you would only stop and consider—"
Realizing she would never cease, Jonathan released her arm and walked away. He would deal with Mrs. Notley and her presumptuous ways later. If he lingered a moment longer, her refusal to listen would likely drive him to throttle her.
"Sir!"
Of course she felt the need to follow. Why must she always do that?
Jonathan ignored her as he grabbed his greatcoat and hat and stormed out the door without donning either one. Perhaps he would find peace in the chilly air. Mrs. Notley was not dressed for the weather and would be required to remain indoors.
Unfortunately, he had underestimated her. She rushed out after him, heedless of the snow, and followed him down the steps in her ridiculous slippers.
"Please do not leave, Mr. Ludlow. This weather is not safe for riding."
"When did my safety become your concern, Mrs. Notley?" He placed his hat on his head as he strode towards the stables.
"When has it not been my concern? Please, do slow down! I cannot keep pace with you."
"I am glad to hear it," he said, not looking back.
A strangled squeal sounded behind him, followed by a thump. Jonathan turned to find her sitting on her backside in the snow, not looking at all happy about it. If he were in any mood to laugh, he might have. She had never appeared more humbled or cantankerous. It was a sight to behold.
He stayed precisely where he was. "Are you all right, Mrs. Notley?"
"Quite," she muttered as she struggled to rise to her feet, only to fall once more.
"Good." He turned again towards the stables.
"Sir!"
Jonathan looked to the heavens before heaving a sigh and turning around again. He strode back to her and held out his hand, which she glared at for only a moment before accepting. He easily pulled her to her feet, feeling the coldness of her bare hands through his gloves. Good gads, the woman could try his patience. Why had she not stayed indoors?
Beyond frustrated, he removed his coat and swept it around her shoulders, then lifted her into his arms so that he might carry her back to the house.
"Sir," she protested, kicking against his hold. "Please put me down. What a scene you are making! I can walk on my own."
"If that is the case, why did I have to pick you up off the ground?"
"I merely slipped on some ice."
"And now you are soaking wet and will catch a chill if you do not get yourself warm and dry soon. I am only helping you on your way so that I can be on mine."
"I do not need your help."
"And I do not need yours."
Jonathan might have tossed her back in the snow if she did not feel so wonderful in his arms or if he did not find the angry sparkle in her eyes and firm set of her lips so alluring. If she continued in this vein, he would have no choice but to silence her with a thorough kissing. Her lips looked far too rosy to do anything else with them. How could he be so drawn to a woman who caused him endless frustration?
He reached the top step and set her down none too gently. "Go inside and warm yourself. We will speak on this matter later, once we have both calmed down."
She wrapped her arms around her chest, refusing to do as he bid. Her body trembled from cold as she looked up at him. "I do not know what past event has brought you such misery on your birthday, but I do know something dreadful has happened to you. But how do you expect to be free from such sadness when you refuse to replace those memories with happier ones? That is all we are trying to do for you, sir. We have not labored this day out of pity. We labored because we care and because we would very much like for you to experience a birthday you can remember with fondness."
She paused, and a slight smile touched her lips. "And besides, what sort of person wishes to walk away from a perfectly wonderful cake? I cannot understand it. I have sampled the icing myself, sir, and it is divine."
Jonathan's heart lurched at her words, and he felt a spark of something good begin to warm his cold, dark heart. How she managed to do that, he would never know. Standing before him in his too-large coat, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her eyes bright, and her cap askew, with snow falling gently around her, she had never looked more beautiful. He reached out to right her cap before taking her by her trembling shoulders. "Why must you try me so, Mrs. Notley?"
Her body stiffened, but she did not pull away. Wary blue eyes searched his before she swallowed. "Was that not in my job description, sir? To vex you at every opportunity?"
"I'm quite sure it was not."
"Pray forgive me. In the future, I will do my utmost to refrain from causing you further vexation."
He couldn't resist the smile that came to his lips. "Liar."
A victorious light appeared in her eyes, and her mouth transformed into the most radiant of smiles. "Ah, there it is." She lifted a finger to touch his cheek, just to the side of his lips. "I own, I have missed that dimple, sir. It is wonderful to see it again."
Jonathan's breath hitched at her touch. It fanned a fire inside his chest that soon heated his entire body. He captured her frigid hand in his, holding on to it as he gazed at her. Unable to stop himself, he raised his free hand to her cheek and touched it gently.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured.
Her breath caught, and she immediately stepped back. A fierce blush darkened her cheeks as she stared at him in confusion. It was on the tip of Jonathan's tongue to offer an apology, but he swallowed it, knowing it would not be sincere. The only thing he was sorry about was that she had found it necessary to pull away. Did she not feel the almost palpable connection between them?
She removed his coat from her shoulders and handed it back. "I ought to go inside and change into something dry."
"Yes," he said, studying her. "You do look a little… unkempt. I can only imagine the conclusions the others will draw once they see you."
She glanced down at her apron and dress with a grimace. "You are correct. This will certainly set the tongues to wagging, won't it?"
He resisted the impulse to pull her into his arms and say, "Let us give them something to wag about, shall we?" Instead, he pushed open the door and gestured for her to go in. "If I precede you into the kitchen, my appearance will most certainly cause a distraction which should allow you a moment or two to sneak by without notice."
Her mouth parted in surprise. "Do you mean to stay then, sir?"
Jonathan did not wish to, but she could be very persuasive. That, and she had made a valid point about replacing bad memories with better ones. But… an evening spent with his servants? Did she not realize the awkwardness of the situation?
"I don't make it a habit to socialize with my staff," he said.
She nodded slowly as though trying to come up with a logical reason as to why he should. "I understand it is not the norm, sir, but would you prefer to spend your birthday with interesting and engaging people or blubbering drunkards?"
Snowflakes landed on her nose and her eyelashes, and Jonathan could not tear his gaze away. Nor could he bring himself to disappoint her. She and the rest of his staff had gone to a great deal of trouble for him. Perhaps it would not be so dreadful to stay, especially if it meant spending the evening with his charming housekeeper.
"I believe, as always, that you may be in the right of it, Mrs. Notley. So yes, I suppose I will stay so long as you can promise me an evening filled with merriment."
She clapped her hands together and grinned. "Oh, how glad I am to hear you say that. It will certainly be a birthday worth remembering, I assure you."
"I am glad that you are glad." He gestured inside. "Shall we go in then?"
"Yes, sir."
He had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her to please refrain from calling him sir. It rankled, feeling much too distant and formal. He did not want to be "sir" or even "Mr. Ludlow" to her any longer.
As agreed, Mr. Ludlow returned to the kitchen first and found the servants clustered together, laughing and talking. The food remained untouched as though they had known Mrs. Notley would convince him to remain. And why would they not think that when Mrs. Notley always seemed to have her way of things where he was concerned? At least they had the grace to appear surprised when they spotted him.
It was an awkward moment to say the least. Apparently, they did not know if they should shout "Happy Birthday" again or carry on with whatever festivities they had planned. They looked past him, no doubt wondering where Mrs. Notley had gone, but none dared to inquire.
Not one to enjoy so much attention, Jonathan mustered a cheerful tone and moved through the throng. "I have been told that a person should never walk away from a perfectly wonderful cake, so here I am. Let us celebrate my dreadful birthday and be done with it, shall we?"
Cheers filled the room and everyone surged towards the food. Mrs. Caddy was the first to speak, her brusque voice rising to be heard over the others. "If you think it ain't easy ter reach thirty, sir, only think 'ow I'm nearin' fifty."
Everyone laughed and Jonathan smiled. They seemed to think his foul mood was on account of his advancing age, and he would let them continue to think that. Only Mrs. Notley had perceived that his dislike of this day went deeper than age. She had seen past his disagreeableness and into his heart, and, surprisingly enough, Jonathan found that he did not mind at all.
From the corner of his eye, he spied her hurrying through the room unnoticed by the others. She shared a grateful smile with him right before she disappeared up the stairs. Mrs. Caddy handed Jonathan a plate, which he piled high with the pork roast, potatoes, and a generous slice of cake. He accepted it gratefully and moved to the corner of the room. A few of the others looked his way and wished him a happy birthday, but they did not linger near him, likely because they had no idea how to socialize with their employer. Jonathan understood completely because he had no idea what to say to them either. Apparently he did not know his servants well at all, not even his valet.
At last Mrs. Notley returned, looking much dryer. Her cap was back in place, her cheeks had returned to their usual cream, and her eyes glowed with happiness. Only Sally raised a speculative eyebrow at her, which Mrs. Notley promptly ignored. Everyone else seemed far more interested in their food, which, Jonathan had to admit, was much tastier than the fare he would have been served at the tavern. Mrs. Caddy had outdone herself.
Mrs. Notley filled a plate as well, sampled a bite of cake, and glanced from Jonathan to the rest of the group. He could practically see her mind working, attempting to figure out a way to bridge the distance between the two classes. He could not wait to see how she would manage it, but somehow he knew she would. Once Mrs. Notley set her mind to something, she found a way to make it happen.
She popped another bite of cake into her mouth and walked over to him, raising her voice so that Mrs. Caddy would hear. "Did I not tell you the cake is divine?" She nodded towards the half-eaten cake on his plate. "I do not know how Mrs. Caddy manages to cook such wonderful things, but she does. Every single day. Is she not a wonder?"
Mrs. Caddy's face reddened with pleasure, and she waved a dismissive arm. "Oh, how you do go on, Mrs. Notley."
Jonathan smiled. "You are, indeed, a wonder, Mrs. Caddy. Many thanks for this exceptional meal."
"You're most welcome, sir." She beamed at him before slicing herself a piece of cake.
Mrs. Notley directed her next comment to Sally, "Your boy is quite fond of his new caretaker, is he not?"
She nodded, swallowing the food in her mouth before replying. "'E likes 'er almost as much as me. I can't thank you enough, Mr. Ludlow, for findin' 'er."
Jonathan nodded, accepting her thanks. "How old is your boy?"
"'E be four in two month's time and can't hardly wait till the day. Says 'e wants a pony, a dog, and a cat." She laughed and shook her head. "I told 'im I could manage a cat, but certainly not a pony. Silly boy." Jonathan could see the pride in her eyes when she spoke of her son, and it did her credit.
"You know the small mare in the stables called Tranquil?" asked Jonathan. "Once the weather clears, perhaps on one of your afternoons off, you could bring your son for a ride."
"Oh, 'e would like that very much, sir!" she exclaimed, her smile wide.
Mrs. Notley smiled as well, and Jonathan quite liked the approval he spied in her expression. It inspired him to add, "Tranquil does not get ridden so much as the other horses and could use more exercise. Please feel free to make use of the beast whenever the opportunity permits."
"Oh, thank you, sir! Jimmy'll like that above anythin'. I cannot wait to tell 'im the news!"
Mrs. Notley did not vocalize her thanks, but the admiring look sent his way was one Jonathan would not forget anytime soon. Like a warm cup of restorative tea, there was a power in her gaze, infusing him with a sense of wonder and goodness. How interesting that only an hour before he had felt the opposite.
Mrs. Notley stayed at his side as they ate and continued to introduce him to the servants that dared to come near or returned for more food. Jonathan discovered that Harry was an avid fisherman, Drew had a knack for cards and recently won a gold pocket watch from a wager, Watts enjoyed flying kites, Charlie was saving every farthing to purchase a race horse, and the timid Alice supposedly had a remarkable voice.
"'Tis true," said Mrs. Notley, causing a rosy blush to appear on Alice's cheeks. "I've caught her singing many times when she believed no one could hear, and she is utterly brilliant. I only wish we could convince you to perform for us now, Alice."
The maid's eyes dropped to the floor, and she shook her head emphatically. "Oh no, ma'am. I could never."
"You could, and you should," said Mrs. Notley firmly. "God did not give you that voice so you could bury it in the still room. Only think of the happiness you could bring to others by simply sharing your talent. It always fills my heart with joy when I hear you sing."
"I'll think on it," was all Alice managed to say before making her escape.
Jonathan watched the girl disappear into the still room, wondering if her voice was as angelic as Mrs. Notley made it out to be. Regardless, it felt good to know something more about his servants than what they did for him. He rather enjoyed spending time with them in this way, when household matters could be put aside and the focus placed on more personal things.
Once everyone had finished with their meal, Mrs. Notley proposed a diverting guessing game and arranged them all around the large table in the servant's hall. She directed them to think of two correct statements and one incorrect statement about themselves—something that no one else in the room might know. The rest of the group would be required to determine which statement was fact and which was fiction.
"As our man of the hour," she said when she had finished with her explanation, "I think Mr. Ludlow should take his turn first."
Jonathan squirmed, not knowing what to say. What facts could he possibly tell his servants about himself? What sort of fiction would be believable? "Since this is your grand idea, Mrs. Notley, I think it should be you who takes the first turn so that you might show us by your example how to play."
"Aye," called Harry from the far end of the table, slapping the table with his hand. "Let's 'ear what you 'ave ter say, Mrs. Notley."
She appeared unperturbed and nodded. "Very well." She pressed her lips together and crinkled her forehead in thought. After a moment or two, her brow cleared, and she said, "Statement one: It has always been my secret wish to perform on the stage at Drury Lane. Statement two: I believe every man ought to know how to dance, and—"
Harry immediately leapt from his chair and raised his arms. "I know 'ow to dance, Mrs. Notley," he declared, gesturing for her to join him. "Come and let me show you."
"Perhaps that can be one of your truths when it is your turn, Harry," she teased.
Everyone laughed, and Harry said, "Come now, Mrs. Notley. Won't you be my partner?"
"Oh, do sit down, Harry," she replied, a red hue touching her cheeks.
Jonathan experienced a moment's jealousy at the easy camaraderie the two shared. Had Mrs. Notley been flattered by the invitation? Did she wish to dance with the footman? Did she blush from embarrassment or because she had feelings for the man?
Jonathan suddenly wished Harry to the devil.
"For my third statement," Mrs. Notley continued, returning to the game, "I once caught a field mouse with my skirts."
More laughter was heard, along with comments like, "'Ow can a person catch a mouse with a skirt?" and "'Appen she likes ter watch men dance" followed by Harry's comment of "That's why you wouldn't dance with me, ain't it, Mrs. Notley? You'd rather stand back and admire my 'andsome figure."
Boisterous laughter followed that remark, but Mrs. Notley merely rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Jonathan remained silent while the others continued to joke and speculate. The incorrect statement was obvious. Anyone who knew Mrs. Notley at all would know that she had no desire to perform on any stage—be it at Drury Lane or in a drawing room filled with local society. Her frequent blushes testified to the fact that she was anything but an attention seeker.
"You're all gormless," Sally said to her peers. She lifted her gaze to Mrs. Notley and said firmly, "I'm sayin' it's the one about the mouse."
"What is your opinion, Mr. Ludlow?" Watts asked, drawing him into the debate.
The room fell silent as though the servants had only just recalled their employer was present. Jonathan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, feeling the desire to tease Mrs. Notley for no other reason than to show Harry that he shared a connection with her as well. He quirked an eyebrow as he answered the question. "I believe Mrs. Notley would rather run through the snow without a coat and in her slippers than seek the stage at Drury Lane."
"Run through the snow in 'er slippers?" Harry said. "She'd 'ave to be daft ter do such a thin'."
"Yes, quite daft," Jonathan agreed, unable to keep the smile from his lips. "And we all know that our housekeeper is anything but daft. Isn't that right, Mrs. Notley?"
Her cheeks became redder still, but her lips began to twitch, showing that she had taken his teasing in stride. "Like any human, I can be daft on occasion," she admitted, neatly side-stepping his teasing. "But when it comes to performing in front of others, especially on stage, Mr. Ludlow is correct. I would never seek for, or even delight in, such an opportunity. I can only pray that Mr. Ludlow will retain my services so that I will not need to resort to the stage for my bread."
"I am tempted to dismiss you just to see you attempt it," said Jonathan. "But alas, I do not know what we should do without our Mrs. Notley. I have become rather fond of dry and crispy pastries and am certain no other housekeeper could make them as you do."
Everyone burst into laughter, and Mrs. Notley glared at him, or at least attempted to glare. Her eyes brimmed with too much amusement for anyone to believe she was truly offended.
"You are quite the court jester, Mr. Ludlow," she said. "Perhaps you can do better with your statements?" The look in her eyes silently challenged him to come up with something that might fool her and the rest of the group.
Having given the matter more thought, Jonathan was ready to take his turn. "Statement one: I have won a barebacked horserace while riding the animal backwards. Statement two: I once wagered my dignity in a game of cards and lost."
"'Ow can you wager dignity?" one footman asked.
"Rather easily, actually," said Jonathan. "I was required to compose a poem and perform it at a crush of a soirée, and I am no poet."
"I should like to hear that poem," said Mrs. Notley, appearing delighted by the prospect.
"How do you know that is not my incorrect statement?" Jonathan challenged.
"Because it is far too specific."
"As was my first statement. Perhaps my last statement will be specific also."
"Very well, sir. What is your final statement?"
He continued to watch her. "I have quite literally swept a beautiful woman off her feet." There, what would she have to say to that?
Nothing, it seemed. Her cheeks flamed, and she cast a covert glance around the room as though worried the others had deduced that Jonathan had been referring to their recent encounter. He was glad to see that she had been diverted from wanting to hear the dreadful poem he'd written.
"What do you mean by swept?" Sally asked, appearing confused.
"Exactly what it sounds like," answered Jonathan. "I picked her up and carried her off."
"Off ter where?" Harry chortled.
"The destination was not part of my statement," said Jonathan, though he took great delight when Mrs. Notley's face turned a darker hue of red.
"Is your incorrect statement about the horse race, sir?" asked someone.
"I think it's the poem," said another.
"It's got ter be the last," said Mrs. Caddy. "Mr. Ludlow is too well bred ter ever pick up a woman and carry 'er off… somewheres." Her cheeks flushed as she finished that thought.
"What do you think, Mrs. Notley?" said Jonathan, noticing she'd been silent throughout the discussion. "She had only to guess between the first and second since she already knew the third was true. Would she guess correctly? He found himself hoping that she would, as though it would somehow prove that she cared for him at least a little.
He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until she answered.
"I believe that you won a barebacked race, but you did not do so seated backwards."
A slow smile stretched across his face. "You have guessed the incorrect statement correctly, but the facts incorrectly. If you must know, I did race a horse seated backwards, but I did not win. I lost by a large margin to a pretty little girl named Cecily, who rode a pony facing forward. I fear my ego was crushed that day and has not recovered since."
Laughter filled the room once more, and Jonathan shared a smile with Mrs. Notley. It lasted only a moment before she continued with the game and instructed Sally that it was now her turn. As the housemaid gave her statements, Jonathan only half listened. He was too preoccupied with his beautiful housekeeper and the unexpected birthday gift she had given him. This night had been a gift, he realized as he relaxed further into his chair, feeling at ease amongst his staff. For the first time in a very long while, he felt a return of his old self—the Jonathan who had not taken things quite so seriously as he did these days. He used to think that part of him was forever lost, but perhaps it had merely been shut away for a while, waiting for the right person to show himself to again.