Page 55 of The Viscount and the Vixen
He did love his father. Loved Ashe and Edward... and had loved Albert. Missed him still. But a woman? He’d never loved a woman. He’d long ago closed his heart to the possibility of harboring deep feelings for any lady.
“M’lord, m’lady?” a feminine voice asked hesitantly.
Welcoming the interruption to his thoughts, to this discussion, he turned to the young woman clasping her hands in front of her. Her dress was modest, a bit frayed at the cuffs and collar, but she was tidy. Not a single strand of her blond hair was out of place. He shoved back his chair, stood. “Yes?”
“I’m Cullie Smythe. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I heard you were seeking a maid-of-all-work. I’d like to apply for the position, and I was wondering if it would be all right if I come out to the manor this afternoon to see about it.”
“No need to wait,” Locke said, drawing the chair back farther. “Take a seat, MissSmythe. Lady Locksley can interview you now.”
“Now?” his wife asked, her eyes huge and round.
“Why not? We’re here. She’s here.” And her arrival had effectively ended an unwanted conversation. Besides, he was anxious to see how Portia conducted herself, since it was unlikely he’d be present for the other interviews.
“Yes, please sit, MissSmythe,” Portia said.
After assisting the woman, Locke turned his attention to the outdoors, trying to give the impression that he wasn’t the least bit interested in what was going on, when in truth he had enough curiosity to kill a dozen cats. He didn’t know why every single aspect of Portia fascinated him. He wanted to watch her interacting with other people. He wanted to observe her from afar but near enough to listen.
“Have you any experience?” he heard her ask MissSmythe.
“I’ve kept me da’s house for two years now, ever since me mum passed.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Portia reach across the table and place her hand over MissSmythe’s in a comforting gesture that for some unaccountable reason made his chest tighten. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly with genuine sorrow reflected in her voice. “I know it’s very hard to lose your mother. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“If you come to work at Havisham, you will reside there. Do you fear ghosts, MissSmythe?”
“Not as much as I fear going hungry.”
“Is that a possibility?” True concern in Portia’s voice indicated she would be a fair mistress. Locke didn’t want her abusing the servants, but neither did he want her to care so deeply. Everything he learned about her contradicted what he’d originally assumed, and that unsettled him.
“Aye,” MissSmythe said. “I’ve been thinking of going to London in hopes of securing a position, but working at Havisham would allow me to stay closer to home, which would be a godsend, as I’ve no desire to leave, not really.”
“Who would care for your father’s house?”
Again, her concern for something that shouldn’t weigh into her decision at all. It was not their place to worry over why people did what they did.
“My sister,” MissSmythe answered. “She’s old enough now to manage things.”
“Did she style your hair? I like it very much.”
“No, m’lady. I fixed it meself.”
“Would you consider serving as my lady’s maid rather than a maid-of-all-work?”
Locke shifted his attention back to the table. He could see only Portia, but her expression was soft, hopeful, filled with kindness—nowhere near the cold expression she’d exhibited when he’d questioned her that first afternoon. If she had looked at him like she now looked at MissSmythe—he could have resisted her, seen her as a danger to his heart, and easily sent her on her way with a heavier purse.
“Oh, m’lady. I’d be putting on airs to go for a position such as that.”
Portia smiled. “Exactly why I want you in the position, MissSmythe. I appreciate modesty.”
Locke almost scoffed. Portia didn’t have a modest bone in her body, but then he was hit with the startling realization that perhaps she once had, that maybe she had been as eager and innocent as MissSmythe—before her husband had betrayed her love and trust in him. He had an unsettling image of her young and naïve, giving her heart to a scoundrel who didn’t deserve it. For an insane moment, he wished he’d known her then, only long enough for a passing glance. He would have kept his distance, wouldn’t have wanted to be ensnared by her guileless charms. Not that he would have been. Such had never appealed to him, and he almost regretted that.
“I don’t know what to say, m’lady.”
“Say yes.”
“But I don’t know how to be a lady’s maid.”
