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ands in front of her, doing her best Mrs. Dedrick imitation. “Household staff must adjust.” Then she broke into a wide grin, reaching out to take Sapphire’s hand. “Come on—it will be fun. And Miss Lawrence is coming,” she whispered in Sapphire’s ear.
Sapphire didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to be humiliated by serving Blake his baked duck with truffle sauce. But perhaps she was looking at this all wrong. She hadn’t asked to be dragged all the way to Boston, torn from the arms of her loved ones, and she didn’t ask to become the lowliest servant in his mansion, either. Perhaps he was the one who should be embarrassed to have her offer the soup tureen. Besides, it would give her another chance to see that shameful Miss Lawrence.
Sapphire looked to Mrs. Porter, who was busy straining grease from the truffle sauce.
“Go.” She shooed with her hand, only mildly annoyed. “She likes doing this, you know, Mrs. Dedrick—showing me she’s first in command. Taking my girls right from under my nose. What are you standing there for, silly miss? Go! Dress in a proper serving uniform. But mind you, you behave yourself and don’t spill gravy into the master’s lap or you’ll be back in here scraping scraps off the floor!”
Myra grabbed Sapphire’s hand and the two young women raced for the door that led to the rear hallway and the servants’ stairs. “We’ll have to hurry,” Myra insisted, taking the steps two at a time.
Half an hour later, Sapphire was at Myra’s side, back in the kitchen. Dressed in Felicity’s starched cotton black dress that was a tad long and a fresh white apron and small mobcap with a tiny black bow, Sapphire held a silver serving tray out for Myra, who was placing tall, slender glasses on it.
“I thought we were only serving dinner,” Sapphire whispered nervously. The stiff gown itched at all the seams, and she feared that she would trip on the skirt while she was carrying the heavy tray and send the glasses of lemonade flying.
“First, refreshments on the veranda,” Myra explained. “Then dinner. Then the men adjourn to Mr. Thixton’s office on the first floor and the ladies go into the keeping room for a nip of sherry, or the veranda, if it’s a warm night like this. Mrs. Sheraton will be the one who decides. She always does.”
Sapphire nodded, trying not to fidget and wishing she had shoes that fit properly. If she wasn’t careful, she’d step right out of these ragged boats.
“There we are,” Myra announced. “Now you carry and I’ll serve.” She turned to head for the kitchen door where Mrs. Dedrick stood waiting for them, tapping her foot, her keys jangling.
“Miss Clockah, make haste,” she ordered sternly.
“Ready?” Myra whispered, looking Sapphire in the face.
Sapphire swallowed. “Ready.”
“Coming, Mrs. Dedrick,” Myra sang.
Sapphire followed her out the door and down the hall, watching the round silver tray as it tilted slightly one way and then the other with each step she took. “I can’t do this, Myra,” she whispered loudly.
“Yes, you can.” She slowed her pace. “Eyes up. Never look at the tray.”
Sapphire lifted her chin and concentrated on keeping her shoes on.
“Look straight ahead. Mouth soft. Neither a smile nor a frown. And, oh,” she added quickly, “never make eye contact. Even if a guest speaks to you.”
Sapphire nodded. “I know. I’m invisible. And if Mr. Thixton speaks to me?”
“Oh, he won’t. He never does,” she assured her.
At the door of the keeping room, Myra halted. “Are you ready?”
Sapphire could hear voices that were so familiar she felt a twinge of homesickness. She heard men and women talking in their funny New England accents, and an occasional laugh. The room was filled with dancing lamplight and strains of music drifted from the end of the veranda where the hired musicians played. A party. Oh, how she missed parties! And Aunt Lucia. And Angelique. This was all wrong. Why couldn’t Blake see that she should be the one dancing…the one having all the fun.
Myra led the way through the keeping room, and just as she stepped out onto the veranda, Blake passed her coming into the house. He barely glanced at Sapphire, who had stepped aside to allow him to pass, but when he realized who it was, he looked behind him to be sure no one was near and backed her away from the door so no one could see them in the keeping room.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, his tone angry but hushed.
Sapphire, as ordered by Myra, kept her gaze fixed ahead of her, the tray of glasses balanced in her hands. “Serving lemonade to your guests, I believe, Mr. Thixton,” she said haughtily.
“Damn it, Sapphire.”
“It’s Molly here, remember. And I’m just following your housekeeper’s orders, sir.”
He took a step closer, but she refused to allow him to intimidate her. She stood rigidly the way Myra had tutored, attempting to ignore the scent of his freshly bathed skin, trying to pretend he was not strikingly handsome in his starched white shirt and black frock coat.
“This is ludicrous!”
“I have no idea what you speak of, I assure you, Mr. Thixton.”
