The Ace: His undercover Maid

A third degree

*Ace*

The following morning, with a heavy sigh, I glance at the reports spread out over my desk, the reports I've been studying for the past hour, striving to determine if I should invest in any of the companies asking for an assist. My neck and shoulders ache. I know better than to spend so long in one position. I need an interruption. Perhaps a walk in the park will do.

Reaching back, I yank on the bellpull and then begin rubbing my neck as I wait for my butler to appear. A few minutes later, Perkins enters the room.

"You rang for me, sir?" He says.

"I could set my watch by your punctuality, Perkins." I tell him.

He gives a small bow. "I'll take that as a compliment, sir."

"As well you should. Have some tea brought in." I say.

His brow furrows, Perkins glances around before leveling his dark stare on me. "Are we expecting company?"

"No, why?" I ask.

"You don't drink tea, sir. You have gone so far as to threaten to have me dismissed should I ever have it served to you." He says, sounding confused.

I sigh. "Unless I request it. Now I'm requesting it. Have that new girl, Daisy, bring it in."

Normally at this point, Perkins would issue a quick, ‘Yes, sir,’ and dash off to tend to whatever business I require of him. Now he opens his mouth, closes it, blinks. An odd movement of his jaw follows, and I could have sworn I heard teeth grinding. "Is there a problem?"

"She is rather innocent, sir." He mumbles.

"However, she knows how to pour tea, does she not?" I ask.

"Yes, sir, but perhaps..." He glances around again at the room devoid of visitors. "...a male servant should bring it up?"

Ah, he's worried about the young she-wolf’s reputation in light of my own. There are times when my willingness to help a she-wolf escape her tyrannical husband's clutches does place me in a bad light. As my servants are sometimes called upon to serve as witnesses, I let them believe the worst of me so they can tell the truth as they see it, rather than have them risk perjury. "Have you ever known me to take advantage of a female staff member?"

"No, sir, but neither have I ever heard you call for one by name." He admits.

I release a long, drawn-out sigh. I pay this man good wages, more than some earn working for the nobility, and I shouldn't have to put up with my actions being questioned. Nevertheless, I have to admire Perkins for his protectiveness toward the staff. "The door shall remain open, and you can stand guard at the threshold to ensure I'm on my best behavior, if you like. My head is aching, and I thought perhaps some tea might help."

He gives a short bow. "Very good, sir. I'll include a dash of cook's powder that is known to relieve one's head pains."

Then he's gone, and I refrain from getting up and pouring myself a scotch. I don't know why I want to see the chit again. For some ungodly reason, I can't stop thinking about her. It isn't her pretty features that occupy my thoughts, but her mannerisms.

She seemed to be taking in the tableaux of the room, to have been studying me and my guest. Every servant I've ever known, including the few in my father's residence, has gone about their business without appearing to care about anyone else's. She cares. I've been able to detect the questions fairly running through her mind. Who is the she-wolf? Why is she here? What is she to me? I wonder if I should advise her to never play a game at a card table.

In the distance, I hear the soft tinkling of porcelain dishes. Even as my heart gives a hard thud against my ribs, I open my ledger, grab my pen, and hope to give the impression that I haven't been anxiously awaiting her arrival. To ensure she understands I recognize her as a servant and not someone to be wooed, I will not stand.

Then she walks into the library, no Perkins in her wake, thank goodness. I don't need my butler to serve as my guard or her chaperone. I am fully capable of controlling my desires. It isn't as though I yearn for her. She's merely aroused my curiosity. Although knowing what curiosity does to the cat, calling for her could prove to be a regrettable mistake.

"Where would you like the tea, sir?" She asks.

"On the same table you used last night, but I'll have a cup at my desk here." I tell her.

She gives a small bob. "Very good, sir."

She sets down the tray and looks over at me. I wish I'd pulled back the draperies so the sunlight filters over her, and I could see her more clearly, but I concentrate better when no distractions hover at the edge of my vision. I work diligently to avoid anything that interferes with my focus. She's a distraction I don't seem to mind.

"How do you take your tea, sir?" She asks.

"Prepare it however you enjoy it." I say, as I have no idea whatsoever.

Her eyes widen slightly, not in alarm, but in surprise before she goes about doing as I've asked. I watch as milk and sugar… dear goddess, was that five lumps? are added to the brew in the cup. She stirs gently, and I have the impression she's humming a little ditty in her head. She seems at peace, content, and yet an alertness about her remains as though she's constantly gauging her surroundings, is aware of everything around her, and could probably even tell me how many ledgers are spread before me, as well as their contents.

After lifting the saucer upon which the teacup balances, she glides over and sets both on the corner of my desk. "Anything else, sir?"

"Yes. Is it Margaret, Marguerite, or Margarette?" She goes still, so visibly still, that I'm not certain she even breathes.

"I beg your pardon?" She asks.

Interesting. The words come out crisp and demanding. The courteous, obliging servant has disappeared and before me now stands a she-wolf who doesn't like to be questioned. No, it's more than that. She wouldn't tolerate being questioned. "I doubt very much that your mother named you Daisy. Marguerite means daisy, and so I'm curious as to which version of the name she gave you."

Pressing her lips together, she studies me through narrowed eyes before giving a little nod. "Marguerite. She was from the wine land. My mother. She was the only one to call me Daisy, although recently I've begun using the moniker as a way to remember her."

"Was?" I ask.

A couple of quick, jerky nods. "She died when I was younger. As did my father. I was an orphan, raised by my father's spinster sister."

"My condolences on your loss." I say softly.

She lifts a slender shoulder as though to shrug off my words. "It's been twenty years now. I've grown accustomed to their absence."

I give her a small smile. "We may adapt to their absence, but that doesn't mean we don't still miss them."

"Your tone implies you speak from experience. Are you an orphan?" She asks.

"Not completely. But I did lose my mother when I was at a tender age." Still too young to have prevented the tragedy that befell her.

"I'm sorry." She says, sounding like she means it.

I don't know how to respond. I don't usually tell people about my mother because I always feel a modicum of guilt that I wasn't able to save her. In spite of my youth, I should have been able to do something. Before I fall down that dark hole of regret, I reach for the cup, take a sip of the concoction, and return the china to the saucer. "Oh, dear Goddess, that's dreadful."

Her delicate brow furrows. "Too much sugar or milk?"

"It's the tea. I've never fancied the bloody stuff." I admit.

"Then why did you ask that I bring it to you?" She asks.

"It's been a while since I've had any, and I thought to see if it's as appalling as I remember. It's more so." Why am I explaining myself? One doesn't justify one's actions to servants. And do I have to sound so blasted chagrined?

"Oh, I see." She takes a single step back, and I decide she really does see. It isn't the tea I wanted but her presence.

I sigh. "I'll also admit to finding you intriguing. Your diction is more suited to upstairs than down. You strike me as being too independent to take orders. You're accustomed to giving them."

"What makes you think that?" She asks.

"I'm not sure. You bring to mind a mine that is played out, but the owner is trying to sell it by insisting it is still of value." I shake my head. "No, that's not quite right. You're more like something of value striving to appear that it isn't. Which makes no sense. Yet still, I'd invest in you in a heartbeat."

She looks at me, tilting her head slightly. "I can't decide if I've been complimented or insulted."

"There." I wink at her. "A servant wouldn't be so bold as to respond to what I said. Would have simply asked if I required anything else. Last night... you know your liquors. Most maids don't."

"How many maids have you had pour you a drink?" She asks.

I release a quick burst of laughter. "None."

"Therefore, you may be judging me by what you think a servant does rather than what one actually does." She points out.

"I grew up with servants." I say.

"As did I."

I raise a brow. "That does not surprise me. Why seek employment as one?"

She glances around the room.

"I'll know if you're lying." I warn.

Her gaze comes back to me and nearly skewers me. "Will you?"

I give one brisk nod. "You don't have a face for playing cards. Your expressions are far too easy to read."

Her sigh of surrender would have lifted a kite and sent it soaring among the clouds. "My aunt gave me an ultimatum… marry or move out. I chose to move out. I needed a position quickly, and, well, some households are always in need of a servant."

"You could work as a governess. I would think that occupation would better suit you." I say.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't believe you know me well enough to know what suits me." She lets out a slight huff.

I'd like to. But even as I have the thought, I squash it. She's employed in my household, and I'm not going to be like the man who raised me and cross those boundaries. I also have my scandalous reputation to contend with, which, until this moment, I'd never considered a burden, but it wouldn't appeal to a she-wolf like her and would only serve to do what the gossip rags promised: bring her to ruination. While she might have the right of it and I don't know what suits her, I do understand fully and completely that she is undeserving of a downfall, especially one at my hands. "You may take the tea."

"The inquisition is over?" She asks.

I grin broadly. Damned, if I don't like her. "A servant would never speak in such a condescending tone of voice to the master of the household."

"Seems I have a lot to learn." She takes the saucer with its cup and gives a quick bob of a curtsy. "Good day, sir."

She deposits the china on the tray, picks it up, and begins strolling from the room.

"Good day, Marguerite," I call out.

She stops, holds still for a heartbeat, two, before carrying on. I wonder what retort had been on the tip of her tongue. Probably go to the devil.