A Bid for Romance

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

~March 26~

Lady Margaret sat on the comfortable Grecian sofa in the Duchess of Kendell’s drawing room. She pulled forward the menu for Lady Norman’s wedding celebrations she and her sister-in-law, Tina, the Duchess of Warwick, had put together the last time they’d met.

Lady Norman was close to Tina and marrying her father, so she had volunteered to help organize the wedding. Margaret was very happy to assist, and quickly, the two young women found themselves to be the sole organizers of two rather large parties, the wedding breakfast, and the ball the following day. Tina had even offered to host the ball in her home, which was one of a few houses in London with a ballroom large enough for such a crowd.

The menu still needed a lot of work, though, and they probably needed to discuss it with Tina’s cook, who would be overseeing everything first hand. Much would depend on what was in the market and in what quantities.

For the wedding breakfast, the number of guests would be kept small—only the fifty or so people who were invited to the ceremony itself. The ball the following evening, however, would have hundreds of guests, and they would all need to be fed supper as well as smaller finger-foods throughout the evening.

They would start today by going over the dishes for the wedding breakfast, Margaret decided. One thing at a time. She looked down the list of possible dishes and started pairing them for each course.

“You are always hard at work when I come,” Tina said, entering the elegant gold-hued room. Her voice made Margaret jump. She laughed at her own silliness as she stood to give her sister-in-law a quick curtsey.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Tina said, sitting in a matching chair opposite Margaret.

“Of course I do. You’re the duchess,” Margaret said.

“And you’re the duke’s sister.”

“And you need to get used to people paying deference to you,” Margaret added with a little laugh.

Tina scrunched up her face in disgust at that. “I don’t need people—”

“You may not need it, but you should expect it and receive it,” Margaret interrupted.

“I think we’ll agree to disagree on this one,” Tina said finally. “Now, tell me how your search for a husband is going.”

“Oh! I thought you were here to go over the menus,” Margaret said.

“I am, but honestly, I’m much more interested in you and how you’re doing. The wedding isn’t for another three weeks.”

Margaret sat back and smiled at her sister-in-law. Now that she was happily married, Tina was determined to see Margaret in the same happy state. Margaret didn’t even think her sister-in-law gave a thought to the fact that there was a set deadline by which Margaret had to marry or lose her inheritance. Tina just wanted to see Margaret happy and settled.

But finding a husband was currently the bane of Margaret’s existence. She hated being on the marriage mart. She’d hated it last season, and she hated it even more this one. She was too shy to laugh and flirt and attract gentlemen like most girls her age. If she had a choice, she’d never go to another society party ever again. Sadly, she didn’t have a choice.

Even as her smile faltered, Margaret lifted a shoulder negligently. “I’m doing my best.”

“By which, I assume, you mean you’re not doing anything,” Tina said, reading through her words.

“No! I’m going to parties,” Margaret said defensively. Tina didn’t go to many parties. She didn’t need to, and since she hadn’t yet learned how to dance to her satisfaction, she avoided most engagements unless they were a soirée where dancing wasn’t expected. Margaret envied her sister-in-law to no end.

“Are you encouraging gentlemen to dance with you, spend time with you, flirt with you?” Tina asked.

“I don’t know how to encourage a man to flirt with me,” Margaret said slightly aghast.

“By flirting with them!”

“But I don’t know how to flirt.” Margaret tried really hard not to whine.

“I know. It’s not easy,” Tina said, finally letting up on her. “Just please, try.”

Margaret looked at her sister-in-law and then narrowed her eyes. “Warwick put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“What? Your brother?” Tina asked, widening her bright green eyes. They were very pretty. Margaret had always thought so, wishing her eyes were as bright as Tina’s instead the watery, washed-out blue of her own eyes.

Margaret laughed. “Yes, my brother. I know him, if you remember, and I know he’s desperate for me to marry.”

“He’s worried,” Tina admitted.

“I have this entire season to find someone.”

“And you had all last season too,” Tina pointed out, making Margaret wince. Tina sat forward. “Please, Margaret, can you try just a little harder?”

Sighing heavily, Margaret nodded. “I will try, but you know how difficult it is for me.”

“I do. Truly, I do. But I also know that you can do it if you put your mind to it. My goodness, you danced with the prince at your own debut ball! And you made him laugh! If you can do that, you can certainly attract other gentlemen. You just have to put your mind to it.”

“But you see, that’s the problem. I was trying with the prince. I was trying very hard. But I don’t want to marry a man I have to always be trying to impress—it would be too exhausting. And besides, you were there supporting me as was Warwick. I don’t have that anymore.”

“You have the duchess.”

“Yes, but she’s not as…” Margaret lifted a shoulder and dropped it again. “She’s very sweet and so kind to chaperone me this season but…”

“Please, Margaret,” Tina said, looking at her imploringly.

“Yes, yes. I promise,” Margaret finally relented. “Now, can we look at the menu?”

“Yes. Let’s go over the menus.”

~*~

Margaret walked Tina to the door after they’d finished with their work.

“Now, don’t forget, you have promised to do your best at the ball this evening,” Tina reminded her.

“Yes, I remember,” Margaret said. She hadn’t forgotten. How could she, when it filled her with such trepidation? Flirt? Her? She hadn’t a clue as to how to do so. But she’d promised because there really had been no other choice—and she wanted to make her brother and Tina happy.

“Good. I’ll see you then.” Tina gave a nod to the footman who opened the door for her.

“Oh! Will you be there?” Margaret asked.

Tina scowled. “Yes. Warwick is insisting I attend more parties. I think he’s hoping to convince me to actually take the leap and dance—in public!”

Margaret laughed at her sister-in-law. “Well, if I can put myself forward with the gentlemen then you can dance.”

Tina scoffed but gave her a smile and a wave and went out to her waiting carriage.

Margaret started to return to the sitting room when she suddenly noticed the footman. She stopped. She didn’t recall ever seeing him before. She would most certainly have noticed such an Adonis.

All footmen were easy on the eyes. It was one trait which all employers looked for, although Margaret did have to admit that the duchess wasn’t especially particular in that regard. But this man… He was tall, blond, and blue-eyed, and the way he filled out his livery made it difficult for Margaret to keep her eyes above his shoulders—his very, broad shoulders. Somehow, they kept straying down his long regal neck, broad chest, narrow hips, and well-turned calves encased in white stockings.

Her eyes flew back up to his face. He’d raised an eyebrow at her inspection of him and seemed to be trying very hard not to smile. Just before her gaze met his, he quickly reverted to staring blankly over her shoulder as a good servant should. Margaret felt her face heat with embarrassment.

“Are you new?” she asked the man. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recall seeing you before.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, in a soft baritone with a refined accent. What footman had such impeccable diction? “I started the day before yesterday, but today is my first day at the front door, er, the butler insisted. I believe he doesn’t like taking the position?”

“It’s difficult for him with his lame leg,” she explained briefly. “What is your name?” she asked because she always liked to address people by their correct names. She knew some people simply called all their footman the same name, so they didn’t have to actually notice who was serving them, but Margaret thought that a horrid practice.

“James, my lady. My friends call me Jamie,” he added.

“James,” she said with a smile—she didn’t dare presume friendship. “It’s very nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy working here.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed slightly and continued to stare over her shoulder.

How odd it was that Margaret wished he would look at her instead. She shook off her fancy and turned to go back upstairs. She paused with one foot on the first step unable to get past his refined accent. “Where are you from, James?”

He’d returned to his station, a chair just inside the door, but hadn’t yet sat down again. Margaret had always been happy that the duchess allowed her footmen to sit while on duty. It was so ridiculous to insist they stand for hours, doing nothing but waiting for someone to knock on the door. “The north, my lady,” James said without elaborating further.

“Oh. You don’t have an accent. You speak very well, in fact,” she commented.

He looked startled, even worried for a moment, but then quickly schooled his face into impassivity. “Thank you, my lady. I’ve been told I’m a good mimic. I pick up accents quickly.”

“I see,” she nodded. That made sense. “What a wonderful talent.”

“Yes, my lady.”

~*~

Jamie watched Lady Margaret slowly float up the stairs, her filmy sprigged white muslin gown flowing around her. Why didn’t he have his sketchbook when he needed it? On the other hand, he didn’t know if he would be allowed to have a sketchbook while on front door duty. He’d have to ask.

But my word, she was even more beautiful up close than he’d realized.

Mr. Holton had pointed the young lady out as he and Mary had been given a tour of the house and informed of all the rules and expectations. Holton had informed them that Lady Margaret was the duchess’s charge for the season and a guest in the house. She was to be treated with the utmost respect, they’d been told, as if she were a duchess herself, which made sense since she wasn’t too far off, being the sister to one.

Seeing Lady Margaret in passing through a doorway and having her stand directly in front of him couldn’t have been more different from sketching with a pencil to using a paint brush to create a portrait. Seeing her at a distance she could have been dull, one-dimensional, but in person, face-to-face, she was vibrant, beautiful, soft and—what really surprised Jamie—kind.

A duke’s sister didn’t usually notice footmen, and they certainly didn’t speak to them asking their names. Whoever heard of such a thing? Perhaps, the sister of a baron or a baronet might recognize a servant, but a lady of her stature? It wasn’t to be expected. And yet she had been there, standing in front of him, smiling at him, making his heart pound and his skin prickle with awareness at her closeness.

He just couldn’t get her image out of his mind.

She was…ethereal. Angelic. Soft, gentle, and oh-so lovely. She was like a waif or what Jamie had always imagined the fae folk might look like—slender and delicate with big blue eyes and rich, mahogany-colored hair. Just imagining her, Jamie began to feel warm and aware of parts of his anatomy he’d tried his best to forget.

And so he should! He was a servant in this house, nothing more. He had no right even thinking about Lady Margaret, let alone imagining her anywhere near his bedchamber. He nearly groaned as the image flashed in his mind’s eye—Margaret stretched seductively on his bed with nothing but a sheet covering her…

No! He wouldn’t, couldn’t go there.

He quickly imagined the duchess in the room with him and Lady Margaret. Oh, yes, that was much better. His ardor cooled immediately. That look of shock and disgust in the duchess’s eyes would be enough to keep a man celibate for a good long time.

Much better, Jamie thought. No more imagining Lady Margaret anywhere but in the drawing room.

He shook his head in disgust at himself. He wasn’t normally the kind to think with his nether parts. Well, it wouldn’t happen again. He was a footman, and he would maintain a proper distance and do his best to keep his thoughts about its occupants correct as well.