Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

C hastity watched as Dalton made a beeline for her, a determined look on his handsome face. She pondered what would cause such a look. Was he going to ask her to dance? Good grief, should she? Would it embarrass him later when he found out her true position?

A high-pitched sound came from the direction of the refreshment table, and she looked that way. "Oh, no. How did they…"

Rebecca, whose eyes were glued to Dalton, had elicited a screeching giggle of delight. Her eyes flicked between Dalton and Chastity once before she turned back to the table, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Oh no…

Chastity watched Dalton approach, his eyes roaming her face as he stopped before her. "I take it you saw that the Harringtons are here. Did they receive a last-minute invitation?"

"No, they did not. At least I don't think so." She glanced at the Harringtons and back. "Rebecca seems to be in a fine mood."

He rolled his eyes. "I have no doubt, considering she's spreading rumors about you."

Chastity gasped, a hand to her chest. "What sort of rumors?"

He shook his head and sighed. "She insists you're a maid in this house. Is there anything more preposterous?"

Chastity paled. She glanced at Rebecca, who wore a satisfied smirk. She lifted her glass of punch and gave Chastity a slight nod, as if to say, you're welcome .

"Chastity, are you all right?"

She slowly met Dalton's gaze, eyes wide. Had her heart started beating again yet? She had to say something .

But wait, didn't this solve everything? If Dalton knew, then she might as well let the rest of the horses out of the barn. Chastity took a deep breath. "I am a maid." With that she brushed past him, left the drawing room, and headed straight for the kitchen.

When she entered, Mrs. Fraser was just handing Abigail a tray of food for the refreshment table. "Miss Eastwick. What are you doing here?" the cook asked.

She ignored her and looked Abigail in the eyes. "Do you have a spare uniform?"

Abigail gasped. "What? Why?"

"Because I should be serving, not taking part in Mrs. Pettigrew's Christmas ball."

"Oh, I don't know…" Abigail hedged.

"Mrs. Pettigrew has her reasons for employing you in the capacity she has," Mrs. Fraser said. "Now get back up there and enjoy yourself."

Chastity looked at the floor. "I can't."

"And why not?" Mrs. Fraser snapped.

"Because… I told Dalton I'm a maid. He said Rebecca told him, and she said she found out from Mr. Prosser."

Abigail and Mrs. Fraser exchanged the same look of surprise before the latter rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip. "Did she now? Well, there's a barrel of pickles! Sour ones."

"Oh, Miss Eastwick," Abigail said. "But just because Mr. Simpson knows, doesn't mean ye need to charge back up there wearing a maid's uniform. Ye've never worn one, so there's no sense starting now."

For the first time since telling Dalton, Chastity's heart ached. In fact, this was more than an ache. Her heart was breaking. "I… I can't go back in there. I just can't." She sank onto a stool near the worktable. "Dalton will never speak to me again."

"Then he's a darn fool," Mrs. Fraser snapped.

Mr. Tugs entered the kitchen with an empty punch bowl. "We need…" He stopped up short. "Why, Miss Eastwick, what are you doing down here?"

"She told Dalton she's a maid," Abigail volunteered.

Mr. Tugs gasped. "You did what?!"

Chastity looked at the three. "But it's the truth. Why are you all upset?"

The three clammed up as Mr. Tugs set the punch bowl on the worktable.

Chastity's eyes narrowed. "What is it you're not telling me?"

Mrs. Fraser looked at Mr. Tugs, who looked at Abigail. "Mrs. Pettigrew has been so… happy since your arrival," Mr. Tugs said. "More like her old self. We don't care if she makes you wear a maid's uniform or not. You've brought joy back into this house, Miss Eastwick…"

"Stop calling me that. If I'm a servant here, I'm just Chastity." She slid off the stool and gave the three a heartfelt look. "I'm glad I make Mrs. Pettigrew happy. But I cannot continue to let people believe I'm a guest in this house when I'm an employee." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Maid or not."

"We understand," Abigail said. "But please don't ruin the ball by being stubborn."

Chastity heaved a sigh. "It's too late, Abigail. Dalton knows, and worse, Rebecca Harrington does. It will be all over Denver by morning."

Mr. Tugs, Mrs. Fraser, and Abigail exchanged the same worried look. "Do ye think ye ought to tell Mrs. Pettigrew?" Abigail asked.

"I'm sure Rebecca has taken care of that already," Chastity said with a roll of her eyes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to my room. If anyone asks, I've got a headache." She rubbed one temple with her fingers. It was true, her head would be splitting soon. But again, she supposed Rebecca, as awful as she was, had just done her a favor. Now all she had to do was go upstairs, cry her eyes out and hope that in the morning things would be fine. Unfortunately, her broken heart said otherwise.

Dalton waited for Chastity to return, but after twenty minutes, decided to go looking for her.

"Shall I put you on my dance card?"

He shut his eyes and counted to ten.

"Dalty?"

He turned around and glared at Rebecca. "You're really something, you know that?"

She smiled. "Why, thank you."

"That was not a compliment, Miss Harrington. In fact, it was meant as quite the opposite."

She frowned. "You're one to talk, spending all your time with a kitchen maid."

"Kitchen maid, now, is it? All I know is the woman works for Mrs. Pettigrew. And if she's a maid, so what?" He took a step closer and bent to her. "Tell me, have you ever seen her wearing a maid's uniform?"

"You don't believe me," she said with another frown. "Even after Mrs. Pettigrew's own servants told me."

"Mr. Prosser," he corrected.

"Who found out from the other servants," she shot back.

He got closer and he caught the sultry look in her eyes. "I will ask Mrs. Pettigrew." Yes, Chastity already said she was a maid, but then why had he never seen her working as one?

"You do that, Dalty," Rebecca said sweetly then sauntered off.

Dalton took a deep breath. He wanted to boot the little witch out the front door. But he also wanted to get down to the bottom of this. He spied Mrs. Pettigrew speaking to Mr. Tugs, and both looked his way. Hmmm, did they know Rebecca had spoken to him?

He skirted around the dance area where half a dozen couples were dancing and marched up to Mrs. Pettigrew. "May I have a word?"

"Of course, mon cher ."

"In private?"

Mrs. Pettigrew gave Mr. Tugs a single nod. The old man shuffled off without a word. "Why don't we use the library?"

"Fine." He scanned the room for Rebecca. She stood near the Christmas tree and was speaking to her mother and Mrs. Ferguson. As soon as he was done with Mrs. Pettigrew, he'd see the Harringtons were escorted off the premises.

Neither he nor Mrs. Pettigrew said a word as they made their way to the library, which was fine with him. He was trying to calm the questions racing through his mind. What sort of trouble was Chastity in? Could he help? If she was a maid, why was she not performing the duties of one? What brought her here? Was she seeking a husband? His mind clung to his last question as they entered the library.

"Now, Mr. Simpson, what would you like to speak to me about?" Mrs. Pettigrew asked. "Did you wish to tell me that you've finally gotten rid of those goats of yours?"

He heaved a sigh. "I'm afraid not. Though I am still working on it."

"Good to know." She sat in a leather wing chair. "Speak."

He lowered himself into her chair's twin and drummed his fingers on the arm a few times. "Rebecca Harrington and her parents showed up. Did you invite them?"

She arched an eyebrow at him and sat back. "I did not."

"Yet you have tolerated their presence?"

"I have for a time, but rest assured, I will make it clear they were not sent an invitation."

"Rebecca had one."

She arched her other eyebrow. "Does she now? How interesting. Though I notice the Bradshaws couldn't make it. I assume she pilfered it from them." She lowered her head ever so slightly and looked at him. "But this isn't about the Harringtons."

He steepled his fingers before him. "No, it is not. This is about Chastity. She works for you, does she?"

"She does."

He took a deep breath. "In what capacity?"

Mrs. Pettigrew took a deep breath. "I had an opening for a maid, but Chastity is so much more." She stood and paced. "Chastity has brought life back into this house." Mrs. Pettigrew turned to him. "As have you. To see the two of you together, the way you move in such blissful harmony, the exchange of looks, the dance of attraction…"

Dalton stood. "I beg your pardon?"

She smiled at him. "You cannot deny that you find her attractive?"

He stared at her slack jawed a moment. "I don't deny it."

Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. "And she finds you attractive as well. I can see it in her eyes. But she doesn't think she's good enough for you."

Dalton's heart clenched. "Is she in trouble?"

"You already know her trouble. She has lost her parents, yes, but what you might not know is that her father gambled away their money, leaving poor Miss Eastwick with little choice but to find employment to support herself."

"She had to sell everything?" he asked, to clarify his suspicions.

"Yes." Mrs. Pettigrew sat again. "She's a fine companion and secretary if you will." She looked him in the eyes. "As I said. I hired a maid and got so much more. And so have you."

Dalton's breath caught. She was right, of course. "Yes. I have."

Mrs. Pettigrew sat back in her chair. "So, the question now is. What are you going to do about it?" She smiled at him, then glanced at the mistletoe hanging in the doorway.

Dalton smiled. "Plenty. But first, may I rid your ball of some unwanted guests?"

She gave him a regal nod. "I'd say yes, but I believe Mr. Tugs has already taken care of it."

Dalton's eyebrows shot up as he tried to picture the old butler rounding up the Harringtons and booting them out the door.

Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. "I instructed Tugs to serve the Harringtons some of Mrs. Fraser's special cookies. An item given to unwanted guests. She always bakes a batch whenever I entertain."

"What?"

"They'll be cured of inviting themselves here ever again," she assured.

Dalton laughed. "Do I want to know what's in these cookies?"

"You do not. Suffice to say, that in about an hour, the three will have a sudden urge to find the nearest commode."

Dalton looked at her in shock a moment before he burst into laughter. "You clever, ruthless woman!"

Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. "No, simply practical."