Katherine did not enjoy being scolded like a child. But she could not complain that her uncle had remembered his duty at last. They went through the books the next morning and confirmed that her estimates were correct. He took some of the money from her mother to invest in the Exchange in the hope that they might improve their fortunes. She could tell, however, that he was not optimistic about their chances in so short a time.

She thought she might convince him to help elsewhere, but he threw up his hands at the suggestion of assisting with the preparations for the party.

“I may have learned how to quarter and provision troops,” he said, “but I would not presume to intrude on your territory, Colonel.”

In truth, she didn’t mind his retreat. After discussions with Constance, they had determined that the event should be a ball with a buffet supper to be served at midnight. Thirty people had accepted their invitations, with a few more men than women, which she hoped would mean that most of the ladies would get to dance. The preparations were nearly done. She had devised a menu, helped the caterer shop for foodstuffs, selected additional plate and silver, and ordered wine and flowers. She had seen Constance fitted for a new gown and brushed off a burgundy silk gown of her mother’s for herself. She had interviewed and hired musicians and selected a number of dances they were to play. By the day of the ball, all she had to do was confirm the details with the caterer.

Mr. Lloyd was a fussy man, shaped like a child’s ball and just as brightly colored in his lemon coat and eggplant-colored trousers. He questioned her on any number of matters but seemed satisfied that she knew her mind. When she finished late in the morning, she went upstairs intending to spend a few hours tutoring Eric before dressing for the event. Instead, she found Bixby waiting for her on the first floor landing. Putting his finger to his lips, he nodded toward the study.

Her heart sank. Was her uncle drunk again? Sir Richard had been so good. He had taken no more than a glass or two of wine in the evening. But if he over-imbibed today, she would have a terrible a time hiding it from their guests. Almost afraid of what she would find, she tiptoed to the door and peered in.

But Sir Richard was not in the room. Instead, she watched in amazement as a footman with a powdered wig and fat cheeks rifled through the papers on her uncle’s desk. The impudence! Before Bixby could stop her, she straightened her back and marched into the room.

“Here, now, fellow, what do you think you’re doing?”

His head jerked up. A gaze as blue as the sky met her own before being hastily dropped.

“Sorry, mum,” he muttered in a rough-edged voice. “Mr. Lloyd thought he might of left the menu up ’ere.”

She kept her face stern though her heart raced. “Well, he didn’t. Return to your duties.” She watched as he shambled humbly out. When she was certain he had gone down the stairs, she hurried out to meet her butler.

“Bix, tell me I am mad. Was that Viscount Borin?”

The butler nodded with a grin. “God bless you, Miss Katherine, but I’m sure of it. He’s too blatant to miss.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have noticed him if you had not pointed him out. I trusted Mr. Lloyd to choose the appropriate staff.”

He nodded. “No doubt Lord Borin was counting on that. What do you think he’s about?”

“Trying to figure out why you and Eric have been following him, I would guess.” She paused, thinking, but could see no other reason. Besides, outside of her plan, they had nothing to hide.

“What should we do, then?” Bixby pressed. “Call him out?”

She giggled. “Somehow I hate to spoil his fun. I imagine he’s quite enjoying his moments of espionage. Yet, I cannot have him discover our War Office.”

“I quite agree,” Bixby replied with a shudder. “Maybe I can simply keep him busy until he leaves.”

Katherine grinned. “Why, Bix, what a delightful idea. If Lord Borin wants to play footman, we should certainly give him a taste for the role.”

 

–

 

Alex was thoroughly enjoying himself. Mr. Lloyd had been told enough about the deception to know to exempt this particular footman from much work. He did not, of course, know that the footman was a nobleman in disguise. In fact, Alex had the impression the fellow thought the footman was some merchant’s son who needed gainful employment. Whatever the case, Alex merely had to stand about and look officious.

On various pretenses, he had already searched the library and the study. Sir Richard had gone out to his club, and the brother was apparently in the schoolroom. Wherever Alex looked, he found nothing incriminating, but he still had the upper floors to go. He simply had to avoid any more interruptions as he had just had from Miss Collins.

His heart had nearly stopped when she had stormed into the room, head high. It had nearly leaped from his chest when he thought for a moment she had recognized him. But she had sent him about his tasks, and for that he had to be thankful. Miss Collins was a delicious distraction, but he had other plans.

He had, however, developed a greater respect for her abilities. He was amazed at the number of details the party entailed, and how many of them had been completed in a relatively short time. According to Mr. Lloyd and the others, the feat was entirely the work of one Miss Katherine Collins. Now, with the guests due to arrive in a few hours, there were no confused directions, no sense of panic or even anxiety. People knew their duties and did them promptly. The food that was cooking smelled delicious; the decorations were delightful. He could almost regret he was going to miss the event.

He changed his opinion that afternoon. Bixby cornered him as Alex helped Mr. Lloyd lay out the silver.

“You there, fellow. You seem to have some muscle. Come with me.”

Mr. Lloyd stepped helpfully forward. “If I may, Mr. Bixby, I need James here. Perhaps one of the others…”

Bixby frowned, looking down his long nose and drawing himself up to his full height. “Do you have a particular preference for this fellow, sir?”

Around him, the other footmen exchanged glances. Alex met the gaze of his so-called employer. He could not risk discovery. Mr. Lloyd must have read the message, for he drew himself up as well. “Certainly not! I simply do not like having my people commandeered.”

“You will like less the report I give Miss Collins if you are uncooperative,” Bixby informed him, making the man blanch. “Now, come along, James, is it? I haven’t got all day.”

Alex followed him upstairs to the familiar withdrawing room. Bixby waved a hand to encompass the settee, chairs, and side tables.

“Miss Collins has determined that this room would be more suitable for the dancing,” he explained. “Move all the furniture to the walls and roll up the rug. I’ll bring the polish.”

“By myself?” Alex asked, glancing at the many pieces of furniture.

Bixby raised a brow. “Is there some problem, James? I assumed a strapping fellow like you would be used to hard work. Is there some reason I should exempt you?”

A disinclination to maim myself? That would hardly do. The other footmen did their tasks and said nothing. He had to play the role if he was to get his answers. He dropped his gaze. “No, Mr. Bixby. I’ll ’op right to it.”

It took him over an hour to finish the task. He tried to slip away twice to continue his quest, but once he ran into Bixby and the other time Miss Collins. The butler had merely scowled, but Alex’s sprite had eyed him with a raised brow as if she began to suspect he was not the footman he appeared. He hurried back to the room and threw himself into his work to prove otherwise. Finally, when he could see his face in the walnut flooring, he rose to stretch cramped muscles. Turning to go, he met Miss Collins once again.

He thought she might praise his work, but she merely glanced around the room and sighed. “Still not enough room. It simply will not do. Put it all back.”

“Back?” Alex stared at her.

She frowned, and he remembered to drop his gaze humbly. “Yes, back. I apologize, James, I did not realize you were hard of hearing.” She raised her voice and moved her hands in pantomime. “Put it back!”

“I’m not…” Alex began, but Mr. Bixby appeared in the doorway.

“Is something wrong, miss?”

“Yes,” she replied with a sigh of regret. “Apparently poor James here is hard of hearing. I was asking him to return the room to the way it was. It will not do for the dancing after all.”

“Ah, very well then.” Now Bixby too began to shout. “There you are, James! Miss Collins wants you to put it all back!”

“So I heard,” Alex quipped as they left him to his task.

The rest of the afternoon was no better. He no sooner finished the room than he was hustled off to sweep the front step. He felt hideously exposed as people strolled past, but no one made any remarks or even looked curious. Perhaps servants really were invisible unless they called undo attention to themselves. He felt sufficiently encouraged to try once more to break away for the upstairs, but Bixby cornered him neatly and set him to carrying tubs of water to the second floor so that Miss Templeman could arrange flowers.

Neither did he have a moment after that. He polished windows and shined silver. He rubbed oil in newel posts that already looked shiny to him. He carried Miss Templeman’s arrangements to the sitting room and placed them no less than six times as Miss Collins uncharacteristically dithered about where they would show to best advantage.

His eyes burned from the perfume of the flowers and the tang of the lemon polish. His fingernails were broken and discolored. His muscles ached, and he seemed to have developed a permanent cramp in his right shoulder. Still, he did not have an opportunity to search the upper floors. He decided to make one last try after dinner when the family would be changing. It wasn’t until he sat down with the other servants for some well-deserved dinner of his own, however, that he began to suspect they were on to him.

He had barely taken a grateful bite of the savory stew the housekeeper Emma served the visitors when Katherine burst into the room, eyes convincingly wide in panic. They all rose.

“Mr. Lloyd,” she cried, “the musicians are here. I completely forgot about erecting a platform. I must have assistance. Give me James.”

Mr. Lloyd was obviously resigned to the popularity of his new employee. He sighed. “But of course, miss.”

Alex wanted to argue. The smell of the stew set his stomach to growling. But they were all looking at him expectantly. He had no choice but to follow her out.

“This way!” she shouted, waving a hand toward the yard. He almost corrected her again but decided it wasn’t worth the argument for the few more moments he intended to be in her presence. Following her, he found himself in an old carriage house. She motioned to the wall, where rested a set of large oak planks that had probably been used to raise the carriage of the previous owners for repairs. “See those?” she shouted. “Carry them to the house!”

He frowned, moving closer to eye the boards. They were heavy and dusty. “I think we’d do better with a couple on men.”

She moved to lay a hand on his arm. “Oh, James, I am certain you can handle these yourself.”

Inadvertently he met her gaze and saw the merriment in her grey eyes. She was laughing at him. She knew! Had she intended him to earn the blisters he could feel on his palms? Well, two could play at this game. If she wanted to watch him work, he’d be happy to oblige. He stepped politely back.

“Mayhap you’re right, miss,” he said humbly. “But ‘twould be a real shame to ruin Mr. Lloyd’s fine livery.” He began to unbutton the coat.

“What are you doing?” Was it his imagination that she seemed a bit breathless?

“Removing my coat, miss. To lift something so heavy a fellow needs room to move.”

She backed away from him as he pulled off the coat. He held it out to her, and she snatched it from him. “I’ll wait in the house,” she snapped, backing toward the door as if she could not take her eyes off his white shirt.

“What?” he shouted, unbuttoning his cuffs to roll them up. “Did you say something about going out, miss? Please don’t leave me. I need you to point out the way to go.”

“Now what are you doing?” she all but gasped as he removed his cravat and opened the top button of his shirt. She stared at him, obviously fascinated. He flexed his muscles as if in a stretch, and her eyes widened. Hiding a grin, he bent to heft the timber onto his shoulder.

“Lead on,” he told her.

She skittered out of the carriage house as if the building were on fire. He followed her into the house and up the stairs to the sitting room, where he set the plank down. There were no musicians in sight. Instead, conspicuous under the windows was a neat platform draped in white.

“Fancy that,” he said. “You didn’t need this after all. Maybe you’d like me to carry it back down for you.”

“Yes, perhaps that would be best,” she agreed, swallowing.

He bent to pick up the beam and paused, then rose, staring at his shoulder. “Now look there. I’ve gone and dirtied my shirt. Perhaps I should remove that as well, before I get more dust on it.”

She swallowed again. “Yes, perhaps you should.”

The minx. She was still enjoying herself. He rolled his shoulders and watched her catch her lower lip with her teeth. And such a nice lower lip it was, rounded, rosy, tender. Before he knew it, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms.

Her kiss was as sweet as he’d expected, her breath a soft whisper against his mouth. Her curves nestled into him as if designed to fit his body. He reveled in the feel of her, until he felt her hands push against his chest. He raised his head.

“Are all footmen so bold?” she murmured, eyes wide.

“Only when their mistresses are so very desirable,” he promised.

“Mistress!” She gasped and pulled hastily away. “I am not your mistress, Lord Borin, in any sense of the word.” She threw his coat at him.

He caught it neatly. “No, you are not,” he agreed, shrugging into it. “And that kiss was all the payment I need for the near slavery you put me through today.”

“If you pretend the role of footman, my lord, you cannot be surprised when you are asked to play the part.”

“And when you send your staff to spy on me, you cannot be surprised when I retaliate in kind.”

She paled. “There was nothing nefarious about my actions. If a man shows interest in my stepsister, should I not make sure he is a gentleman?”

“Your stepsister? I showed no interest in her. I only arrived at your door because you chose to spy on me. Do you care to explain?”

She stepped up to him and put a hand on his chest. Though the coat lay between them, he fancied he could feel the gentleness of her touch.

“My guests will be arriving shortly,” she said. “I cannot explain as I should. Will you wait on us tomorrow, my lord, say three o’clock? I promise to tell all then.”

Could he trust her? Those upturned grey eyes were deep with unspoken emotions. He thought he saw regret, concern, interest, and desire. Were any of them true? Or was this still a game she played? The only way to know was to take her up on her offer.

“Very well,” he said. “We will speak of this again, tomorrow.”