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Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

D enver, Colorado December 1882

Chastity Eastwick blew a lock of her chestnut brown hair out of her face. She should have fixed her hair before she left the train station, but she was cold and didn't want to stay in the elements any longer than she had to. She had one chance for survival, and Mrs. Adelia Pettigrew was it.

She looked at the towering mansion before her and gulped. "A maid. How humiliating." But work was work, no matter how she looked at it. When her father's solicitor, Mr. Beels, told her of the famous matchmaker and how she found a husband for his niece but a week ago, Chastity started asking questions. Come to find out Mrs. Pettigrew was widowed, rich, and in need of some new housemaids. Mr. Beels said he'd write Mrs. Pettigrew and give Chastity a good reference. Now here she was, standing on the other side of a fancy iron gate and with any luck, with a job waiting for her. If not, she was in big trouble.

She went through the gate and tried not to think of the circumstances that gripped her family not a year ago. First, Papa had confessed to gambling much of their money away, and Mother didn't take the news well. She took sick a few months later and never recovered. When she died, Papa wasn't far behind and died of the same illness that took Mother.

Chastity blew out a breath as she stood before the front door and reached for the large brass knocker. "Oh my." She peered at it. The knocker resembled the face of a scruffy old gold miner! Chastity shook her head, shrugged, and knocked.

Not a moment later, the door opened. "Yes?"

Chastity gaped at the elegant dark-haired woman standing before her. She gulped again. "Um, I'm here to see Mrs. Pettigrew."

The woman smiled. "That would be me." She grabbed Chastity by the arm and pulled her inside. "Tugs! I've taken care of the door!" She smiled at Chastity. "Now, let me look at you." Mrs. Pettigrew walked a circle around her. "My, my, aren't you a pretty thing? Miss Eastwick, I take it?"

Chastity nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Hmm," Mrs. Pettigrew mused as she walked around her again. "Brown hair with a hint of red, big brown eyes, nice figure. Yes, I think you'll do."

Chastity watched the woman circle her. Mrs. Pettigrew had beautiful blue eyes, a lovely complexion, and was very statuesque. Chastity took a moment to take in the opulent grand foyer she found herself in. Paintings adorned the walls, one of which looked a lot like the door knocker. "Is that…?"

"My dear departed Xavier," Mrs. Pettigrew cut in and heaved a sigh. "What a wonderful man. But," she said as she turned away. "He is no more."

Chastity arched an eyebrow at the woman's odd accent. Was it supposed to be French? She let herself be distracted by the marble floors, the fancy furniture and grand staircase. She knew the famous matchmaker was rich, but she had no idea she was this rich!

"Do follow me into the drawing room, ma chérie ." Mrs. Pettigrew glided through a set of half-opened pocket doors. They led into a huge drawing room that was just as splendid as the grand foyer. Mrs. Pettigrew lowered herself onto a plush sofa and nodded at a wing chair.

Chastity sat. "Y-you have a lovely home."

Mrs. Pettigrew looked around as if inspecting their surroundings. "Yes, I do, don't I?" She smiled at Chastity. "Now to business. What made you decide to want to join my staff?"

She swallowed hard. Why was she so nervous? The woman seemed nice enough. Chastity fiddled with a loose thread at the end of one sleeve. "Well, I've lost my parents recently and…"

"Oh, that's right. George said you'd fallen on some hard times."

"George?"

"Mr. Beels."

"Oh, yes. Papa's solicitor." She clasped her hands in her lap and tried not to wring them.

"And you lost your mother too, did you not?"

Chastity nodded. "How much did Mr. Beels tell you, that is, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all, ma chérie . Mr. Beels said in his letter that you and your family had fallen on hard times, your parents died, you had to sell your house to pay your father's debt, and now here you are." She smiled and gestured to the room. "Have you ever worked before, dear?"

Chastity swallowed hard. "Not exactly, but I do know how to run a household."

"Of course you do." She looked Chastity over. "Your family was what, middle class?"

Chastity's cheeks heated. "Lower middle-class I would say."

"But you have manners, can run a household, and dare I say had at least one servant in your employ?" Mrs. Pettigrew smiled again before leaving the sofa and crossing the room to a bell pull. She gave it a yank and a little white-haired man that looked to be in his seventies shuffled into the room.

"You rang?"

"Tea, Tugs." She retook her seat on the sofa as Tugs—he had to be the butler—shuffled right back out.

"Now, back to business," Mrs. Pettigrew said. "I must tell you that I run, shall we say, an unconventional household. I have clients that visit me, matches to make, and I host the occasional party. Though ever since my dear Xavier passed, I haven't done much. However, I'd like to have a small ball a few days before Christmas Eve. Friends, a few neighbors, nothing too grand." She sighed again. "Nothing's the same without Xavier, so I haven't the energy to entertain all of Denver's elite."

Tugs shuffled back into the room with a tea tray and set it on a low table before Mrs. Pettigrew. "Thank you, Tugs. I'll pour."

He gave her a slight bow, his back cracking, and left.

Chastity watched him go then smiled at Mrs. Pettigrew as she filled two teacups and handed her one. "Thank you."

"Do help yourself to cream and sugar, ma chérie ."

Chastity did, then sat ramrod straight and waited for whatever Mrs. Pettigrew might say next. Except she never got the chance.

"Mrs. Pettigrew!"

Chastity looked up in time to see a young maid with bright red hair and a face full of freckles hurry into the room. Her green eyes were wide, and she looked to be out of breath.

"What is it, Abbey?" Mrs. Pettigrew asked.

"It's the goats, ma'am. They've gotten into the solarium again. They're eating everything!"

"Oh dear," Mrs. Pettigrew said on a sigh. She smiled at Chastity as she stood. "Do enjoy your tea while I see to this."

Chastity nodded, a half-smile on her face. The woman kept goats?

The maid called Abbey bobbed a curtesy to Chastity, then hurried off, Mrs. Pettigrew following.

Chastity sipped her tea and sighed. She studied her teacup and saucer. They were made of fine bone china. She pondered the maid's accent. Irish , she thought, then fingered the intricate lace of a doily the teapot sat on. After a few moments she stood and wandered about the room.

A huge portrait of Xavier Pettigrew adorned the space above the fireplace mantle. The man was wearing a slouch hat, a worn work shirt, suspenders and a pair of denims. Was that Mr. Pettigrew? But who else could it be?

She took in the elaborate furnishings, the expensive curtains adorning each tall window, and by the time Mrs. Pettigrew returned, was convinced she might not get this job. Was she cut out for this? But what choice did she have? She had to eat and have a roof over her head.

"Still here?" Mrs. Pettigrew asked. "Wonderful! I have a task for you."

Chastity blinked in surprise. Why would she not still be here? "You do?"

"Yes, I want you to take this note to the Simpsons. They're three houses down to the left. Give the note to Mr. Dalton Simpson. It's in regards to his goats."

"Goats, ma'am?"

"Yes, the little dears got out again and have made a mess of my solarium. As much as I love them, I'll not have them eating from my orange tree."

"Oh, um, am I fit for the task? Do I… work for you?"

"Do this little thing and you will," she said with a smile. "Now off with you." Mrs. Pettigrew made a shooing motion with her hands. "Go, go, go."

Chastity bobbed a curtsy and hurried for the front door. The woman did say she ran an unconventional household. But if this was what got her the job, she'd do it.

Chastity went out the front door, down the front walk and stopped. "Oh dear. Left as I face the street?" She bit her lower lip in indecision. "That has to be it." She went through the gate and up the street, counting the houses as she went. When she got to the third house, she marched up the front walk to the door.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and knocked. A plump blonde-haired maid answered. "Can I help you?"

"I've come to deliver a message to a Mr. Dalton Simpson. Is he home?"

The maid looked at the envelope in her hand. "I can give it to him."

"I'm to deliver it personally."

"Oh." She looked out the door to her right. "Did Mrs. Pettigrew send that?"

"She did."

The maid looked skyward and crossed herself. "Follow me."

Chastity's eyes widened with a hint of alarm. Before she could ponder the maid's odd behavior, she was led through a grand foyer that was almost as resplendent as Mrs. Pettigrew's, then down a hall and into large study. "Mr. Simpson. Mrs. Pettigrew has sent another note."

A strikingly handsome young man with piercing blue eyes and thick, wavy black hair stood and came around a massive desk. "Devil take it, the goats got out again, didn't they?"

Chastity held up the small envelope and handed it to him when he approached.

He took it from her and reached for a letter opener on the desk. "What's happened to Abigail?"

"Abigail, sir?" Chastity said.

"Yes, she usually delivers Mrs. Pettigrew's words of angst." He sliced open the envelope, pulled out the letter and unfolded it. "Well, well, looks like I owe Mrs. Pettigrew another orange tree." He blew out a breath and stuffed the note back in the envelope. That done, he paced.

Chastity stood perfectly still as he walked back and forth before her. "Tell her," he began. "No, don't tell her that. Let's see, perhaps you could… no, that's no good either." He spun to her and snapped his fingers. "I've got it!" He went behind the desk, sat, and pulled out paper and pen. He scribbled something down, chuckling as he did so, then folded the paper and put it in an envelope. "Here, you may take this to her, Miss…?"

"Eastwick, sir." She curtsied for good measure.

"Eastwick, yes." He frowned. "Why the devil are you delivering the messages? What happened to Abigail?"

"Mrs. Pettigrew gave the message to me to deliver, sir." Chastity didn't look at him while she said it. She was too embarrassed. She wasn't used to being a servant and addressing men this way. She should be calling him Mr. Simpson. She was going to have to remember her new station in life.

"Abigail is well, isn't she?"

She looked up, caught the concern in his eyes, and smiled. "Yes, very much so."

"Ah, good." He stood and came around the desk once more. "Here you are. Deliver this and assure Mrs. Pettigrew that I shall endeavor to keep the goats in their pen. And do remind her that they are here only temporarily."

"I'll do that, sir." She bobbed another curtsy and made to leave the room.

"Oh, Miss Eastwick," he called after her. "Are you staying with Mrs. Pettigrew?"

Chastity didn't turn around. "Yes." After all, she'd delivered the note, and Mrs. Pettigrew said that if she did, she would have the job.

"Wonderful. I hope to see you around," he said behind her.

Chastity glanced at the maid who stood in the hall, obviously waiting to show her out. "Good day, Mr. Simpson."

"Good day, Miss Eastwick."

She heard him sit again, then followed the maid to the front door. "Thank you."

"No, thank you . Those silly goats!"

Before Chastity could ask about them, the maid ushered her out the door and shut it.

Chastity stared at the door and sighed. "Well, good day to you too." She blew out a breath, turned on her heel, and strode back to Mrs. Pettigrew's mansion to begin her new position as a maid.

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