Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

C hastity entered the kitchen with a shiver, but it wasn't from the cold. The moment Dalton's lips touched the back of her hand, an unexpected tingle went up her spine. Men had kissed her hand before, but she'd never reacted like this. No one had ever really caught her eye, and she was always so busy helping her mother run the house and hotel, she didn't have time for things like parties and dances.

She thought of the little hotel and newspaper her family owned. It was a shame they lost them, the house too. If only Father hadn't taken to gambling after Mr. Morton died. It made her wonder how much business sense Papa really had. Did Mr. Morton run everything, and Papa simply did as he was told? It was a possibility, and she shuddered to think of all the years things might have been run that way. Did that mean Mr. Morton had worked himself into an early grave? Was Papa partially responsible for his doing so?

"There you are," Mrs. Fraser barked as she entered the kitchen. She inspected the basket. "These look fine. Now run upstairs and change for dinner."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me," the cook barked back.

"Will I be serving?"

Mrs. Fraser gave her a blank stare. "Of course not, you silly girl. Now go change."

Chastity gaped at her. What was going on? She wasn't having dinner with Mrs. Pettigrew, was she? Yesterday she was allowed to eat dinner in her room. Tonight, she figured she'd be dining with the rest of the servants.

"Go on!"

She jumped at the words and hurried out of the kitchen. Upstairs she changed into yet another dress that had been put out for her. Abigail appeared just in time to help her, and even restyled her hair. "Do you dine with Mrs. Pettigrew?" She asked the maid.

"Sometimes. Tonight, you've been invited to join her table."

Chastity watched Abigail put the finishing touches on her hair. "Do you and the rest of the servants dine in the kitchen? I couldn't help but notice the long table."

"Yes, usually before Mrs. Pettigrew and her guests do." Abigail stepped back to examine her handiwork. "There, you're as pretty as a picture."

Chastity sighed. "I'm the new maid. I'm not supposed to be pretty." She studied her reflection. She wore a light blue gown of brocade trimmed in lace. Abigail had brought her a pearl necklace and matching pearl earrings to wear. She was about to ask Abigail if she ever had to dress to dine with their employer, but the maid had slipped from the room. "Great." Chastity rose from her chair at the vanity and headed for the door. In the hall, she heard voices coming from the grand foyer downstairs. She approached the landing and noticed a couple of young men, along with a few older women and one older man. Were any of them the parents of the younger men?

"There she is," Mrs. Pettigrew said. "Do come down, ma chérie . Meet our guests."

There came a knock at the door as all eyes became fixed on her. Chastity swallowed hard. What was going on? Who were these people? And why was she about to dine with them when she was the new maid?!

Mr. Tugs opened the door, and Dalton stepped inside, along with a gust of wind. "By heaven it's cold outside." He slipped out of his coat, took off his hat and handed them to Mr. Tugs.

Chastity realized she'd stopped in the middle of the staircase and was staring at him. Thank goodness, a familiar face. Had he known about the dinner?

"Come along, Miss Eastwick," Mrs. Pettigrew urged. "Don't dawdle on the stairs."

She plastered on a smile and tried not to watch Dalton as he joined the others.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mrs. Pettigrew," he apologized. "I wasn't aware of your invitation until I got home this afternoon."

"As it should be," Mrs. Pettigrew said. "It's nice to be surprised, don't you think?" She smiled at him. "I'm so glad you could join us. You, of course, know the Thompsons, the Fergusons, and Mr. Bradshaw?"

"Of course, we're well acquainted." Chastity watched Dalton shake the older men's hands as she continued her descent. The younger men were watching her, one of them, more so than the others as his eyes raked over her in a hungry manner.

"And of course you know Chadwick, Forest, and Joseph." She motioned to the three young men that were inching their way toward the bottom of the stairs.

Dalton glanced their way, his long legs carrying him to the stairs more quickly than the others. "Of course." He reached the stairs first and held out a hand to Chastity. "It's good to see you again, Miss Eastwick."

She smiled at him and took the hand he offered. "And so soon, too," she said in a low voice.

He smiled back, kissed her hand, and didn't so much as glance at the other gentlemen.

"Well, now that we're all here, why don't we retreat into the drawing room until it's time for dinner?" Mrs. Pettigrew led the way, her guests following like ducklings following their mother.

Dalton offered Chastity his arm. "Shall we?"

She didn't hesitate. The other men were making her nervous. The one that looked her over earlier wore a frown of displeasure.

Dalton led her to the same wing chair she'd occupied earlier that day and took the one next to it. "How was your afternoon?"

She stared at him a moment. He saw her in the herb garden not an hour ago. He must have got home, found the invitation to dinner, changed and come right over. She absently wondered if he had a valet, then reasoned that of course he did.

"There's a rumor going around that you're putting on a Christmas ball, Mrs. Pettigrew," one of the older women said. She smiled at Mrs. Pettigrew then looked at Chastity. "And you have a houseguest?"

"This is Miss Eastwick. We are… helping each other out. And yes, she's helping me with my little Christmas gathering. Of course you've all received your invitations?"

"We certainly did," another woman gushed. "Thank you for thinking of us. Now, are you going to introduce us to your guest?"

"Of course!" Mrs. Pettigrew swept across the room to Chastity and Dalton. "May I introduce you to Miss Chastity Eastwick of Philadelphia? Ma chérie , this is Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson and their son Chadwick. Then we have Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and their son Forest. And last but not least, we have Mr. Bradshaw and his son Joseph. All eligible young men, I must add."

Mrs. Ferguson giggled. "Oh, Mrs. Pettigrew. Is there ever a moment when you're not trying to make a match?"

Mrs. Pettigrew gave her a sly smile. "Never."

The women smiled at each other, obviously delighted to be dining with the famous rich widow. Chastity hadn't realized just how famous she was until she began asking Abigail a few things during their time upstairs.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Eastwick," the one called Joseph said. "You obviously already know Mr. Simpson. I noticed he needed no introduction."

"He never does," Mrs. Pettigrew teased. "Do you Mr. Simpson?"

Dalton chuckled. "I do on occasion."

"You never do when Rebecca Harrington is around," the one called Forest laughed. "She's made it clear she's set her cap for you, Simpson."

Dalton shrugged. "As have others. But I'll choose my bride."

Chadwick slapped him on the back. "Smart fellow." He sighed and smiled at Mrs. Pettigrew. "It's no secret that the number of eligible young ladies has dwindled this last year. That leaves gentleman of marriageable age bereft of choices." He glanced at Chastity, and she quickly looked away. She didn't like being put on display and wondered what Mrs. Pettigrew was up to. Surely, she wasn't trying to match her with one of the young gentlemen joining them for dinner? They'd have nothing to do with her the moment they learned the real reason she was here.

"Yes, it is a problem," Dalton agreed. He looked the other young gentlemen in the eyes. "You could always send off for mail-order brides."

The trio looked at him in shock, then burst into laughter. "Good one, Simpson," Joseph said. "But also ridiculous and out of the question. Can you imagine any of us sending off for a mail-order bride?"

"Why, it's preposterous," Mr. Thompson said. "The very idea."

"Is it?" Mrs. Pettigrew said. "And what if the young lady was intelligent, beautiful, and kind?"

"That's all well and good, Mrs. Pettigrew," Mrs. Ferguson said. "But you know our sons would never marry beneath their station. It just isn't done."

"Thank goodness for that," Joseph chortled. He shuddered, and Chastity looked away again.

"What about you, Mr. Simpson?" Mrs. Pettigrew asked. "What if you met a beautiful young lady that was in a lower class, but all the things I mentioned. Would you court her?"

"That depends on how low he's willing to go," Joseph said with a laugh.

Chastity noticed everyone but Mrs. Pettigrew and Dalton were laughing. The matchmaker's eyes were fixed on his, and Chastity saw the small smile forming on his lips. "If she captured my heart, yes, I believe I would."

Joseph started coughing. "What?"

Before Dalton could say anything, Mr. Tugs entered the drawing room. "Dinner is served, madame."

"Ah, come along everyone," Mrs. Pettigrew said and waved at her butler. "Follow Tugs into the dining room."

Dalton stood and offered Chastity his hand. "Shall we?"

She looked at it, caught the disgruntled look Joseph gave them, then the older couples walking arm in arm from the drawing room. This was a precarious situation, and she wasn't sure how to handle herself.

"It's all right," Dalton whispered as he bent to her. "I'll take care of you. Besides, no one here bites. Well, except perhaps Mrs. Ferguson."

She giggled at that and took his hand. "Thank you."

He helped her from the chair, then wrapped her arm around one of his. "Are you nervous?"

"I am," she said honestly.

"Mrs. Pettigrew prides herself on matching people one would never think could be matched."

"She's… she's not going to try to match me, is she?" Chastity heard the panic in her voice.

"Isn't that part of why you're here?" he asked, slowing his pace.

She looked at the floor of the grand foyer and took a deep breath. "I came here to… get a fresh start."

"And Mrs. Pettigrew is helping you do that?"

"She is." That much was the truth, but what was she going to do about the rest of it? She was about to have dinner with some of Denver's elite. Even if she wasn't a maid, she wasn't from a high enough class to rub elbows with the likes of these people. Was that the point of Mrs. Pettigrew's earlier question? To find out if any of the young men here tonight would deign to court someone like her? Good grief, she didn't think anyone from her own class would court a lowly housemaid, let alone the upper classes.

Dalton got them going again. They were the last to enter the dining room. He found Chastity her seat, helped her with her chair, then went to take his own.

Chastity looked at the name card at her table setting and smiled. At least she knew how to act at dinners and gatherings. Her mother had instilled in her proper manners, after all. Still, what would these same people do if, the next time they came to the Pettigrew mansion, she was serving them dinner instead of dining with them?

Chastity tried not to think about it as the meal got underway.