The Ace: His undercover Maid

He had her figured out

*Ace*

I don't usually awaken in a foul mood, but this morning I've definitely gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.

I actually enjoy Louisa Parker's company, and under different circumstances, we'd be friends. But I'm more than ready for the game we play to come to an end, especially after Marguerite walked in on us last night.

When I delivered Louisa to her residence, I very nearly went inside with her, pounded my fist on the door to her husband's bedchamber, and yelled, "I'm having a bloody affair with your wife. Pay some attention, man!" But it's my very lack of paying attention that brought her to me to begin with.

No, my upset isn't because it's taking so long to assist Louisa in obtaining the divorce she craves. My ill humor is the result of the shock on Marguerite's face.

I didn't see her this morning when I left my bedchamber. However, I had been tempted to peer into all the other rooms to see if she was about, because I could have sworn that I caught a faint wisp of violets when I stepped into the hallway.

Sitting at my desk now, I consider calling for her and confessing that it hasn't been as it appeared. But I can't risk anyone else knowing. Nor can I risk her testifying because of happenstance and wielding the truth in a courtroom.

I hear the heavier footsteps coming down the hall, and I know it isn't her delivering my morning tray, and I'm hit with both relief and disappointment.

Tom strides in, sets the wooden tray on the corner of the desk, raises the sterling pitcher, and carefully pours the black coffee into the cup. With a flourish, he then lifts the silver dome covering the plate to reveal a poached egg atop a buttered muffin. A bowl of fruit rests nearby as does a small platter of bacon and ham. A scone and the honeypot. A thin crystal vase holding a single violet also sits on the tray.

When Tom has everything arranged to his satisfaction, he steps back. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Yes, Tom, actually." I don't miss the flash of concern in the young servant's eyes, and I realize the words have come out a tad more curtly than I intended.

I've learned early on that the servants apparently live to please me, which is something I've never anticipated. While I'm not of the High packs, the fullness of my coffers is no secret, and prestige is to be found in serving a man who can pay as well as I do, along with shame in being let go.

I attempt to make my tone more conciliatory. "In the future, when you have a pressing engagement and are unavailable to bring a tray to my bedchamber when I have a guest, please see the task handed off to another male servant and not one of the maids."

Tom looks as though he's been bludgeoned. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It wasn't an important matter, to be honest. It was just that Daisy was so keen to do it... she'd offered, and Cook had told her no, sent her to bed, but she was waiting on the stairs... and so eager to take it up, could tell I was anxious to get back to David Copperfield. I didn't see how there'd be any harm in making her happy. It won't happen again, sir."

I hold up a finger. "Wait. You were not indisposed?"

"No, sir, not in the least. But she was there." He says.

"Wanting to take on the chore. Rather than being done with her duties for the day." I ponder.

Tom's brow furrows and he seems lost. "It does seem a bit odd... now that I think about it. Especially as she'd complained of a megrim earlier, was in the kitchen sipping tea because of it."

I tap my fingers on my desktop. Why would a maid who begins her day before the sun comes up not relish an opportunity to retire as soon as possible?

Perhaps she simply wants to make a good impression. Yet still, I find it peculiar, especially as she has to be aware of the supposed reason behind the Luna's visit.

Is she merely curious? Or does she have an interest in naughtiness? Is she not as innocent as I've determined? Or could her reason for being here have something to do with my she-wolves? "I shan't report to Perkins what occurred last night but do keep this conversation strictly between us."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He says, bowing lightly.

I pick up my cup of coffee. "Oh, and when you return downstairs, let Perkins know I need a word."

"Yes, sir." He says.

I've never known the servant to make such a hasty exit. By the time my butler arrives, I've finished my breakfast and I'm standing by the window, gazing out on the gardens, drinking another cup of black coffee.

"You needed me, sir?" Perkins asks.

I turn from the window. "How is it that you came to hire Daisy?"

"Have you found her unsatisfactory?" He asks.

"No, but I'm curious." I admit.

He clears his throat. "Well, sir, one of the maids, Annie, had given notice but coincidentally, and to my good fortune, she had a cousin looking for employment and she arrived the following day for an interview."

"You didn't go through an agency to hire her?" I ask.

"I didn't see the point. She had a first-rate letter of reference from the Alpha of Bellingham." He says.

"What sort of letter of reference?" I ask.

Perkins looks taken aback as though I've asked him something everyone knows, like the color of the sun. "Regarding the duties she performed in his residence and how she excelled at them."

When I spoke with her, I came away with the understanding that the position in my household was the first she'd ever held. Had she misled me? Had I misunderstood? Or had she lied to Perkins? "How long had she worked in his household?"

"Two years." He says.

‘My aunt gave me an ultimatum: marry or move out. I chose to move out. I needed a position quickly and, well, some household is always in need of a servant.’

I suppose the ultimatum could have come two years ago. But during that time, wouldn't she have become more servant-like? Had her words to me been a lie, conjured on the spur of the moment because I'd asked a question Perkins hadn't? "Bellingham has a spinster sister, does he not?"

"I've no earthly idea." He admits.

"Not important." However, I would ask King as he would know for certain, he might even be able to confirm if she'd raised an orphaned niece. If Bellingham is her uncle, had she coerced a false letter of reference out of him? For what purpose? Why did she want to work here? "But she came with a letter of reference."

My butler seems slightly nervous for once. "Indeed. I was quite impressed with the praise showered upon her."

"Did you ask why she gave up her position in the household of an Alpha to work in one of a rapscallion? Or had she been let go?" I enquire.

"She left willingly, out of boredom apparently. The Alpha has so much staff that she seldom was occupied with chores as she was quite efficient at completing them. She was searching for a position that offered more of a challenge." He explains.

My brow furrows. "How is cleaning bedchambers more of a challenge? What did she do at Bellingham's? Sweep steps?"

"Scullery maid. Apparently, she has designs on rising to the level of head housekeeper, so she wants to learn all positions." He says.

I can certainly envision Marguerite as being ambitious, yet still something doesn't quite add up. Inconsistencies abound, in her story, in her. "Have you found her to be quite efficient?"

"I have, sir. As well as being rather industrious. She never complains. She's always offering to take on other duties. Tidying about in here, for example."

I thought I'd detected a slight rearrangement of my appointment diary. But why would she care about my schedule? An unsettling yet welcome notion begins to take hold. Is it possible that Louisa Parker's husband has indeed noticed her absence in the evenings and has hired Marguerite to gather proof of his wife's infidelity? Or perhaps it's Luna. Bowles's spouse who has become suspicious.

Was Marguerite anxious to bring up the tray last night because she needed to see exactly who was in my bedchamber? Is she an inquiry agent, here under false pretenses to gather evidence? I can certainly envision her in that role more easily than I can as a servant. "Very good, then, Perkins. Carry on."

I'm halfway to facing the window when I spin back around. "Perkins."

My butler halts near the doorway. "Sir."

"From now on, have Daisy deliver the trays to my bedchamber when I have company." I tell him.

Perkins gives a brisk nod. "As you wish."

Turning back to the window, I feel a great deal of satisfaction. One of my she-wolves will soon be on her way to a divorce if I'm correct about Marguerite, if she is, in fact, as I suspect, a private investigator hired by a distrustful husband to get at the truth regarding his wife's absences.

Perhaps she isn't quite as easy to read as I thought. I have to admire her for possibly being incredibly conniving, but then, so am I.

And if I'm wrong, where's the harm? She's hiding something. I'll wager all I possess on that. I'm quite looking forward to discovering the truth of her. I'm known for being willing to do anything to win a game. I intend to be victorious at this one as well.