The aroma of the delicious ten-course banquet the cook had prepared for the guests upstairs still lingered in the air. As did the heat generated by the coal stove, which still burned at a low temperature. It was waiting for the scullery maid to stoke it up again in the early hours of the morning so she and the cook could prepare a lavish breakfast buffet, while those upstairs still lingered in their beds.
Nellie halted her dance and looked at her appreciative audience. ‘And if they danced together like that at their engagement party, can you imagine what their wedding night is going to be like?’ She lifted her nose higher in the air and puffed out her chest, in imitation of Mr Lockhart’s manly countenance. ‘I suppose we better get to it, Lady Cecily. After all, we do have a future generation of toffs to sire,’ she said in a deep voice.
The plump cook laughed louder and wiped away her tears with the bottom of her apron, while several footmen smirked their approval at Nellie’s risqué performance. Nellie knew Mr Lockhart’s straight posture was not so rigid and comical, but her exaggerated stance got a good laugh from the servants, so who cared if it was accurate or not? The servants were obviously enjoying seeing them upstairs being ridiculed.
Adopting a look of disgust, Nellie continued in a high, squeaky voice, ‘Yes, I suppose we must. It’s just unfortunate we have to touch each other while we do it. All that horrible kissing and such like, it’s so common, don’t you think?’ She shuddered and pursed her lips in disgust.
The laughter increased in volume, spurring Nellie on. The cook had stopped wiping away her tears of laughter and was letting them course down her round, apple-red cheeks. The tiny scullery maid was gripping her sides, bent double with laughter, and the footmen’s smirks had turned to ribald laughter. Only the handsome footman Nellie had earlier spotted in the ballroom wasn’t joining in. His was the one disapproving face among the laughing servants. It looked as if he was a far too serious type of man for Nellie and flirting with him was now off the cards. Oh, well, too bad, but she was determined to enjoy herself anyway.
She deepened her voice and flared her nostrils as if she could smell something unpleasant. ‘Yes, it is unfortunate that breeding is the one job we can’t leave to the servants, but I’m afraid we have no choice.’ She waved her arms around as if she was removing her clothing, looked down, frowned theatrically, then looked up at her appreciative audience. ‘Oh, I am sorry, my dear. It looks like I will have to leave this task to a servant after all. It seems the only thing that’s stiff tonight is my upper lip.’
The cook screeched with laughter, then her laughter died. Her eyes bulged. Her face turned red.
‘Oh, Nellie, Nellie, no,’ the scullery maid gasped, before covering her mouth, turning around and randomly rearranging the copper pots on the shelves beside the stove. The room had become deathly silent. As one the other servants turned their backs on Nellie and busied themselves with imaginary tasks in the neat and spotlessly clean kitchen.
Slowly, Nellie looked over her shoulder. An indrawn breath caught in her throat. Mirroring the scullery maid, her hand shot up to cover her mouth. He was standing behind her. The man she had just been ridiculing. He was staring straight at her. And there was no trace of laughter in those coal black eyes.
Heat flooded to her cheeks. He continued to glare at her, not saying a word.
Her heart pounded loud and fast. She was finding it impossible to breathe. A nervous fluttering erupted in her stomach. And this impossible situation wasn’t helped by the fact that up close Mr Lockhart was even more handsome than he had been when she had looked down at him from her hiding place above the ballroom. An aura of masculine strength surrounded him that she hadn’t previously noticed. It wasn’t just his height, or the breadth of his shoulders. It was some intangible quality that was pure, raw manhood. She seriously doubted such a powerful, vital man would ever have any performance problems and, looking up at his stunningly handsome face and his strong, vigorous body, she couldn’t imagine any woman objecting to having him in her bed.
But that only made her own performance more embarrassing.
She gulped down her discomfort and felt herself grow smaller as his dark eyes continued to bore into her. And small is what she wanted to become. So small she could disappear through a crack in the floor and not have to deal with this mortifying situation or the wrath of this powerful man.
As she waited for him to admonish her, her gaze was drawn to his mouth. Watching him from up on the balcony, she had been too far away to see those full lips, lips that gave his stern face a sensual look that was a stark contrast to those hard eyes, although right now those lips were clamped tight together in disapproval. Her gaze moved back up to his eyes and she braced herself for the expected tirade of anger.
Her behaviour was appalling. How could she be so rude, so disrespectful to one of her superiors?
One of her superiors?
What was she thinking? And why was she letting this man make her feel small? He was not superior to her. He had more money than her, yes, but that was all. Money didn’t make you superior, it just made you richer. She was not his,
