The Bartlett townhouse buzzed with the excitement of Christmas preparations. Pine boughs covered the stair rails and mantles and brought a fresh scent to the air. Every surface shone. In the midst of it all, the duchess directed the preparations from her chair until little William Phillip Peartree indicated his hunger. Amelia immediately picked up the future duke and took him to the nursery, leaving Robert and Jeanne in charge of completing the decorations.
Jeanne kept herself busy wrapping gifts for the children. The duke and duchess had begun the tradition of giving them books each Christmas as a way of encouraging them to read during the time when the school didn’t meet. This year, each child would receive a book written by the duchess — or rather, by J. P. Worthington, her pen name. She’d written a children’s story using vocabulary she knew they could read and understand and then her husband had drawn the illustrations. The author had signed the books, including a personal note for each child.
Across the room, Robert directed the footmen engaged in rearranging the furniture in the large sitting room. After a traditional Christmas meal, the children would gather there for singing and gifts. The chairs had been pushed back so the children could sit on the floor. Robert had removed his jacket and actually assisted with the moving of the chairs and sofas, giving the silhouette of a man accustomed to hard physical labor.
Two things occurred to Jeanne as she watched. One, Robert, despite his seemingly haughty demeanor, wasn’t afraid of hard work. Instead of simply telling the footmen what needed to be done and watching as they did it, he pitched in. Perhaps he wasn’t as uppity as she’d thought.
Second, the man was strong. Lifting and moving furniture proved no hardship for him. She tried to imagine what those muscles looked like under his linen shirt and immediately shut the thought away.
Once, long ago, she’d seen her father without his shirt as he worked in the fields near their home. It had been a hot summer day, and Jeanne had accompanied her mother to take lunch to Michael and the other workers. She remembered seeing her father, stripped to the waist as he guided the plow behind the oxen. Sweat had beaded his face and chest, and his broad shoulders had glistened in the sunlight. Maman had paused, and Jeanne had looked up to ask why they’d stopped.
The expression on her mother’s face had been one she’d never forget. The hardship of being a farmer’s wife, the loneliness of being a foreigner in a strange land, the sorrow of being disowned by her father — they’d all faded away, replaced by a soft smile, and Jeanne had caught a glimpse of the beautiful young noblewoman her mother must have been. Her expression reflected love, as well as appreciation for the virile figure of her husband.
It was the same sort of figure Mr. Townley presented right now.
“Miss Brown?” Sarah asked.
Jeanne blinked, bringing herself back to the present. “Yes?”
“Are you ill? Do you need some help?”
“Oh, no. I’m almost finished—” Looking down at her hands, she realized she’d tied a knot around one of her fingers. She cast a sheepish grin at the girl. “I just seem to be a bit clumsy today.”
“It’s probably from watching all these men moving the furniture. I know I could spend the day staring at them,” another maid teased.
Jeanne straightened and turned away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The maid’s grin disappeared. “Sorry, Miss Brown. Shall I put the rest of these gifts next to the duchess’ chair?”
Jeanne started to apologize but thought better of it. Better to be seen as a cold, unfeeling woman than to admit an interest in one of the strong, good-looking men in the household. Especially Rob— er, Mr. Townley.
“Yes, that would be fine, Laura. Thank you.”
The girl took the wrapped packages and set them neatly in a large basket next to the padded chair where the duchess planned to read aloud to the children. “Will there be anything else?”
“Er, no. I believe we’re ready. The duchess would like to look things over before the children come tomorrow night, but we’ve finished with everything she’s asked us to do.”
The maid nodded. Apparently Laura hadn’t been offended by Jeanne’s harsh tone. “I’m off to bed, then. Good night, Miss Brown.”
“Good night.” Jeanne watched the young girl leave. Laura had come to work in the house shortly after the duke and duchess had arrived in London. She was a good worker, but didn’t intend to stay. She was more than happy to sign on as temporary help because she had plans to marry a young man in the spring. Jeanne supposed the girl was able to stay cheerful because she knew her job would be done eventually and she could put the long hours of drudgery behind her.
What would it be like to not have a daily routine like she had? To have a family of her own to care for and love? She loved the Peartrees, but they were her employers. A part of her envied them their happiness.
What would it be like to have a family of my own, a home where I could decide what to put where, and a husband who will give me children?
Taking one last glance around the room, she noticed a candle out of place above the mantle. Pushing one of the library ladders over to the correct wall, she mounted the bottom step.
“Miss Brown, please allow me.” Robert appeared behind her, and his nearness sent a warm glow through her.
“Oh, I’m not going very high. I just want to straighten that candle up there.”
“Then I shall hold the ladder steady for you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it and nodded. If not held still, the wheels on the bottom of the ladder could cause it to move. Robert put his foot on the bottom step and held on to the side rails, using his weight to hold the ladder still. She made quick work of straightening the errant candle and came back down.
Stepping backward off the bottom step, her back made contact with Robert’s chest, and she realized he still held on to the ladder. She basked in the circle of his powerful arms. “Er, thank you.”
“It was my pleasure. If the ladder had moved while you were perched on it and you were hurt, I would be devastated.” His warm breath tickled her neck, and a delicious shiver ran through her. The sensation burned in her memory long after they parted ways and she retired for the night.
Blast the man!