Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 9

  Would Molly speak? He didn’t want to think she’d make a scene in the prince’s presence. After all, who was she? He’d asked himself that question before and concluded that she was a charming, modest farmer’s daughter. But this mysterious family matter to which she’d alluded could spell trouble, and his job including keeping trouble away from the Earl of Washburn. Far away.

  She held out her tray of puff pastries and petit fours before the Duke of Newcastle and the colony’s attorney general. After the gentlemen had helped themselves to her offerings, she backed away and moved on to where Dr. Henry Acland, the prince’s physician, was speaking to Mrs. Dundas.

  Peter relaxed only slightly. He forbade himself to stare at her but stayed aware of her position. He smiled and spoke to the men who wandered his way. Most of them left him alone and clustered around the aristocracy. Molly and the other maids served the light refreshments and then left the drawing room. The butler continued to make the rounds with a tray of glasses. Milton, the footman, collected the empties. Peter imagined himself in the green-and-gold livery of Government House, standing next to Milton and serving wine to the royal guests—a plausible vision. Around him, the elite of the island continued their attempts to impress the visitors.

  The pomp and confusion surrounding the prince was not to Peter’s liking. He preferred the peacefulness of the last two days. But he couldn’t live that way, not and earn a living. In fact, few opportunities would come his way to make the money he now earned. He recognized that and was thankful, though it meant living among men who disdained him. He had no illusions of being able to climb out of his class. But he wouldn’t mind that in the least if he could live away from this hubbub, in a quiet place where class didn’t matter.

  His thoughts veered back to Molly. The room seemed less inviting since she’d left, the chatter more inane. He’d been foolish to think she could wish the earl harm. She’d only wanted a look at him, and she’d had her chance. He hoped she was content now. If only he had a chance to talk to her again, maybe she would tell him what her burning interest was in the earl.

  That evening Molly donned a fresh cap—starched by the laundress at Government House to a stiffness she could never have provided at home. She had done well that afternoon and at the previous day’s luncheon, or so Mr. Reynold and Mrs. Bolton had judged. She was among the eight servants chosen to serve dinner to the royal party that evening.

  Her nerves rioted and her stomach fluttered as she scurried about the dining room, helping to put the finishing touches on the long table. Mr. Reynold and the other more experienced staff—those who regularly served Governor Dundas and his wife—would take care of the prince and the higher-ranking guests. Molly would serve those at the lower end of the table and receive extra wages for her trouble.

  She was surprised to the see that, while the eight servants accompanying the aristocracy on the tour ate below stairs with the Government House servants this evening, Peter Stark ate with the other guests in the grand dining room. True, he sat at the far end of the table from the Prince of Wales and the Dundases, but he was among the chosen—the British guests and the highest of the local officials. His “employment” for the earl must be higher than that of a butler, which was the highest house servant. He must be a steward at the very least. That, or Mr. Dundas had taken a particular liking to him over the course of the week. Perhaps that was it. He’d invited his new riding companion as a friend. Molly liked that idea—that Peter was charming and astute enough to make friends with the lieutenant governor.

  The meal began with a soup course. Dundas presided, with his wife sitting to his left and the Prince of Wales in the seat of honor to his right.

  Molly watched Joseph, the footman who had been assigned with her to the six guests at the lower end of the table. Dipping out hot soup still frightened her—what if she scalded a guest? Joseph held the tureen while Molly scooped out the onion soup and placed individual dishes before the diners. When they reached Peter, his warm gaze met hers, completely unnerving her. With difficulty she kept her hands steady, though she could feel her face going scarlet.

  She managed to serve all the diners at her end of the table without spilling a drop and then took up a waiting post against the wall behind Peter, where he could not see her. She stood a few steps from where the butler had told her to stand during the meal, but she knew she couldn’t remain calm if Peter, with those rich, dark eyes, continually gazed at her.

  A few minutes into the meal, she took a pitcher of ice water and refilled the glasses of those drinking water, Peter among them. Most of the guests were drinking wine, but Peter had only the crystal water glass before him. It pleased her to know that even though he lived among the rich and decadent, he did not indulge in strong drink—even when the government paid for it.

  She glanced down the table to keep track of Mr. Reynold. He was pouring more wine for the Duke of Newcastle, who had turned out to be the bearded older man. Next to the prince, Newcastle held the highest rank of any man in the party, and Mr. Dundas treated him with great deference. Molly had learned that afternoon that the duke served as Queen Victoria’s colonial secretary. His impressions of the colonies were perhaps even more important than those of the prince.

  Suddenly Molly realized that the guest of honor was looking down the length of the table. She caught her breath. The Prince of Wales was staring at her.

  Chapter Eight

  At last the dinner was over. Molly was free to leave the dining room when Mrs. Dundas quitted the room. Since she was the only woman seated at the meal that evening, the governor’s wife withdrew alone while the men had their brandy and cigars.

  Other people, including the wives and daughters of several of the local gentry, had been invited to come to the evening entertainment, but only Mr. Reynold, a couple of footmen, and one ladies’ maid were needed for that. The military band accompanying the prince on his tour would play several selections, and Mrs. MacReady, an American artiste, would recite for the gathering. Molly wished she could stay and hear the lady’s recitation, but without an invitation, she could not.

  “You may go home now,” Mrs. Bolton told her and the other serving maids when they reached the kitchen. “Be back early.”

  Molly hung up her apron and turned toward the door. She had better hurry home and get as much sleep as she could before dawn. Tomorrow would be another long and tiring day.

  “Oh, Molly.”

  She stiffened at the sound of her name on Mrs. Bolton’s lips. Had she unwittingly made a mistake?

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “We do need one maid on hand to lay away the ladies’ wraps as they arrive and show them the powder room. I had planned for Roberts to have that task, but she fell ill and I sent her home.”

  Molly hesitated. She was tired, but this extra work would mean more pay, which would help the family. And perhaps she would get to hear the recitation after all. “I…could stay.”

  “Very good. If your parents won’t object.”

  Though she had no way to let her parents know of the change in plans, Molly accepted the assignment with a curtsy and a thankful heart.

  “Your apron,” Mrs. Bolton said sharply.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Molly leaped to get it.

  “Oh, here, put on a fresh one. It looks as though you smeared a bit of gravy on that one as you removed the dishes.”

  Molly took the clean apron and tied it on. Somehow she felt incompetent because she’d soiled the first one, and yet, wasn’t that what aprons were for?

  “There. You look presentable now. Go out to the hall and do as Mr. Reynold instructs you. Mrs. Dundas’s lady’s maid will also be in the party, but she will attend as a guest and to attend to her mistress’s needs. If any of the other ladies ask for assistance or stand looking about the hall as though lost, ask if you may help them.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “While they are in the drawing room, you may sit on the bench in the great hall if no guests are within si
ght.” Mrs. Bolton detailed which powder rooms the ladies were to use and to which bedroom a visiting lady could retire if she felt ill or had some other reason to need a moment’s privacy. Wash water, clean handkerchiefs, and a sewing box waited there in case of a minor crisis.

  Molly bobbed another quick curtsy and hurried out the door. At that moment, the grand hall was empty. She paused only for an instant to view it in the splendor of the light falling from the crystal chandelier. The decorations of flowers, ribbon streamers, and bunting made the room more awe-inspiring than usual. If she never entered another fine house again in her lifetime, Molly would remember the beautiful rooms of this mansion.

  The air of the dining room became hazy blue with smoke, and Peter feared he would choke and disturb the distinguished party with coughing. He rose and slipped around toward the door as unobtrusively as he could. A short walk in the garden would clear his lungs. When the men joined Mrs. Dundas and her later-arriving guests in the drawing room, the others would have finished smoking.

  He’d watched Molly throughout the meal but had been careful not to embarrass her by staring. He’d taken note of the fact that the beautiful maid had captured the prince’s attention as well as his own. While Prince Albert Edward hadn’t said anything about Molly, it was obvious that he was taken with her appearance and grace.

  As he gained the fresher atmosphere of the great hall, Peter noticed Molly coming from the kitchen. He paused, uncertain whether to speak to her. He didn’t wish to upset her again, but his longing to know more about her propelled him toward her.

  “Good evening, Molly.”

  She jumped and backed off several steps. “I—good evening, sir. I hope you enjoyed your dinner.” She didn’t quite meet his gaze and stood clutching handfuls of her white apron.

  “Thank you. I did. You performed your duties extremely well.”

  “Thank you, sir. It was my first time serving a formal dinner.”

  “I’d never have known it. Um…”

  Her gaze flickered to him and away.

  “I wondered if any of your family will attend the levee tomorrow.”

  She relaxed a bit, blinked, and managed to look at him. “My father and grandfather are invited. Grandpa is quite anxious to come, but Papa is recovering from a broken leg, and he may not be able.”

  “Oh, dear. I hope he’s healing well. A pity if he has to miss this occasion.”

  Her eyes were huge as she nodded. “It depends on how he’s feeling, and whether he can get into his Sunday suit. Still, I’m not sure he should. And besides that, he and Grandpa don’t have—” She stopped abruptly.

  “What is it?” Peter asked softly.

  Molly gulped and glanced about. A footman came out of the drawing room and took up a post near the front door.

  “It’s not something I should tell you, I’m sure, sir,” she whispered, “but…well, after seeing the way you gentlemen dress, I doubt they have suitable clothing for the occasion. I hear a man can’t come if he hasn’t a top hat.”

  Peter almost laughed aloud, but her sober expression helped him contain his mirth. “Molly, there are two things I’d like to tell you.”

  She eyed him uncertainly, and he noticed how her thick, feathery eyelashes shielded her gaze. Some of the ladies in the queen’s court would puff up with envy if they could view this young woman’s lashes and complexion.

  He went on before she could object. “First of all, I am not what most people would call a ‘gentleman,’ regardless of the way Mr. and Mrs. Dundas have treated me this week. I’m a commoner, and one of the commonest sort at that.”

  A trace of a smile formed on her lips. “You certainly don’t act like one, sir.”

  He chuckled. “Ah, if you could see me at home, in my mother’s little cottage, you would not think me very illustrious then. But second, and perhaps more important”—he lowered his voice—“I’d be honored to scour up a top hat for your grandfather to wear to the levee.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t let you do that.” She drew back in alarm.

  “And why not?” Peter glanced at the footman, but he appeared to be fascinated by the lamp on the table near the door. “My duties will keep me inside during the levee, and the top hat I’ve been given for when I must attend state occasions with the earl shall remain solitary and morose in my chamber.”

  She quaked, and a little laugh escaped her lips. “Ah, your hat is very sensitive, sir.”

  “Yes, and very sociable.” Peter warmed to the lighthearted topic, glad he’d been able to chase away her nervousness and engage her in banter as he would a friend. “As a matter of fact, I expect my hat shall feel terribly neglected if forced to miss the levee. I’d be honored if your grandfather—or your father, for that matter—would give that hat a little outing.”

  “I’m sure I shouldn’t accept, sir.”

  “You’ve no good reason not to. I assure you, my offer is made with the purest of motives. I’d only like to help you and your family—and my hat, of course.”

  Her shy smile revealed a dimple he hadn’t noticed before. “All right. For Grandpa. Papa wouldn’t mind so much, but Grandpa is determined to see the Earl of Washburn face-to-face, and the earl wouldn’t think much of him if he came without a proper hat.”

  “Oh, the earl may not be such a stickler as you imagine, but yes, your grandfather must be properly dressed when they meet, if only to give him confidence. I’ve learned that when one must take on a duty that’s a little frightening—such as speaking to a person he fears may turn him away—why, the proper clothes can make all the difference, both in the speaker’s courage to speak and in the listener’s attitude.”

  “Very astute, sir. Er…do you think the earl would turn him away? Or have him tossed out?”

  “Not if he behaves like a gentleman.”

  “I’m sure he will, especially if carrying a gentleman’s hat.”

  Peter nodded. “How shall I get it to you?”

  “Well, I…” She looked about again, and slight apprehension crept back into her eyes. “You mustn’t take it to the kitchen. If the cook or Mrs. Bolton got wind of it…”

  “Mrs. Bolton being the dour housekeeper?”

  “Yes, sir—that is—” She halted and winced.

  Peter chuckled. Of course she wouldn’t describe the housekeeper as “dour,” but she was in the awkward position of having agreed with him.

  “I shall look for you in the morning, shall I, and pass it to you discreetly?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. I shall arrive early.”

  The door knocker thudded and the footman swung open the heavy door, revealing a party of two gentlemen and several brilliantly gowned ladies.

  “I must go now,” Molly whispered. “I’m to assist the ladies.”

  She darted off to stand near the footman, ready to serve at the merest suggestion of a need. Peter watched her for a moment. Her jaw had a determined set to it, but that could not mar her striking features. She gathered the ladies’ evening cloaks and carried them off without a flicker of a glance his way. A stir to his right brought him back to the moment. The gentlemen were leaving the dining room.

  Peter hurried across the hall to another door that led out on the back garden. In a moment, he would go station himself behind his master’s chair in the drawing room. But for this one minute, he wanted to look up at the stars peering between the brooding clouds and think about Molly.

  The next fifteen minutes passed in a whirl of bright hoopskirts and repartee among the guests. While Milton collected top hats and walking sticks, Molly accepted the women’s wraps, trying hard to remember which one belonged to each lady. Less than a dozen ladies were among the new arrivals, and she knew a few of them by sight. She carried their cloaks and shawls to the cloakroom and hung them in the order she received them.

  When she returned to the hall after the third batch was hung, Milton had admitted another party of guests. Molly glanced at them and stopped short. Emmet Price and his mother stood just i
nside the front door, along with one of the partners in Emmet’s law firm and his wife.

  Molly set her jaw and stepped forward. “Good evening, Mrs. Price.”

  Emmet’s mother whirled and looked at her at the same moment Emmet discovered her presence.

  “Molly?” His tone reeked of disapproval as he surveyed her black dress and apron.

  She bowed her head. “Good evening, Mr. Price.” Turning back to his mother, she did her best to speak sweetly. “May I take your shawl?”

  “No, thank you. I believe I’ll keep it by me.” Mrs. Price peered at her for a moment, gave a little cough, and turned toward the drawing room door.

  Knowing Emmet still watched her, Molly gave her attention to the other lady. “May I take your cloak, ma’am?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The solicitor helped his wife remove her evening cloak and handed it to Molly. Glad for a reason to escape, Molly hurried away with it. When she returned, Emmet and the rest of his party had left the hall.

  “There’s only four more expected,” Milton told her in low tones. “Once they’re all here, we’re to go in and discreetly stand in the back of the room until the entertainment begins. Watch for a sign from any of the ladies, and be ready to help them if they want it.”

  Molly felt almost invisible as she stood against the wall, scanning the women’s faces. Emmet was seated where he wouldn’t see her unless he craned his neck. Molly did notice his mother turning her sweeping gaze on her once, and she tensed until Mrs. Price’s attention moved on.

  “Hsst. The lady in green,” Milton whispered.

  Molly searched for the woman in question. She was looking toward them and beckoned with one finger when she caught Molly’s eye.