eye-service as a man-pleaser, but in
simplicity of heart as a Christian.
—Samuel and Sarah Adams,The Complete Servant
Chapter 32
Dr. Drummond took his leave, quite satisfied with Lewis’s recovery, and Nathaniel walked him out. On his way back through the hall, Hudson called him into his office to discuss the latest repair estimates and the progress of the new tenant cottages. Before Nathaniel knew it, it was time to dress for dinner.
When he entered the dining room at seven, he noticed that Helen wore a pretty blue evening gown he didn’t recall seeing before.
“You look lovely,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “Yes, I do.” She gave a saucy grin. “Thank you for noticing.”
As they began the first course, Helen asked, “How did it go with Mr. Tompkins?”
“Fine.”
“You explained the situation?”
She referred to Lewis and the “duel,” he knew. Aware of the listening ears of Arnold and the footmen, he decided to wait and tell her the real reason for the man’s visit another time.
“He went away satisfied, yes.”
“Good.” Helen expelled a relieved breath, and their conversation moved on to other pleasantries in no danger of being repeated in the servants’ hall.
It wasn’t until later that night, when Nathaniel returned to his room, that he recalled the newspaper in the pocket of the coat he’d worn earlier that day. Expecting nothing more than an article about Mr. Tompkins’s success with the Poet Pirate, or some piece of gossip about Sterling Benton, he pulled it out and unfolded it by the light of a candle lamp.
As he read the words, surprise, relief, and concern washed over him in waves. But at the thought of telling Margaret, his stomach soured. He was tempted to put it off until the next day, or the next. Instead, he forced his feet along the corridor and up the back stairs.
Nathaniel felt self-conscious, as he always did, standing in the attic passageway. Thankfully, his dog had kindly shown him which room was hers weeks before. He would not like to have to go knocking on every maid’s room to find her.
Had she really been a maid, he would have summoned her downstairs, but he was not overly concerned with preserving the good name of “Nora Garret.” Glancing around and seeing no one, he quietly knocked on Margaret’s door.
“Who’s there?” came Margaret’s wary whisper.
“It’s Nathaniel. I am sorry to disturb you, but I have news....”
The latch clicked, and the door opened several inches, revealing the figure and face of Margaret Macy in her nightclothes. His heart banged, his lips parted. Of course he knew it was her, but somehow speaking with her as Nora had been easier. Now here she stood, in nightdress and wrapper, golden blond hair uncovered, coiling down one shoulder in a long plait, highlights of white gold flickering by the light of the bedside candle. No frumpy cap, no dark wig and drawn-on brows, no apron. Just her. He relished the sight.
She looked down at herself, self-conscious. “I’m sorry, but I was just going to bed.”
“That’s all right. It’s only a surprise to see you like this.”
She ducked her head, nervously twirling the end of her plait.
He could not help himself. He reached forward and caught her hand, gently capturing the blond plait inches from her collarbone.
“I had almost forgotten how fair your hair is.”
Liar, he silently admonished. He wished he might untie the ribbon, unwind the plait, and run his fingers through the silky weight of it. He swallowed.
Down the passage a door slammed, and both of them jumped.
“Perhaps you ought to step inside a moment,” she whispered.
He hesitated, but being so near to her, common sense and propriety fled. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and stood there staring at her like an idiot.
