Page 12 of His Unforgettable Bride
By all accounts, it appeared they expected their new servant to waltz through the front door. Juliet had never heard of such a thing. Not once had she crossed the front entrance at the Firths’.
Then the rainfall strengthened, prodding her forward up the stairs and through the door. Inside, she stood rigid on the doormat, dripping wet again and not wanting to dampen the floor more than necessary. But her eyes wandered everywhere as she carefully wiped her shoes.
Two gold-rimmed mirrors stood on either side of the door, and narrow wood planks covered the floor. The large entrance hall led to a staircase that curved midway. Although less grand than the Firth residence, the house still impressed.
Juliet stretched her neck to view the impossibly high ceiling. She caught a whiff of something delicious wafting from the other end of a narrow hallway. Was it a warm, hearty soup? Oh, she hoped so.
Tabitha lowered her umbrella to the stand and sat on a nearby spindly-legged chair before unfastening her side-lacing boots. “We don’t stand on ceremony, Miss Dash. Our staff is small—you and our part-time cook. His wife previously filled the role you’re assuming and recently quit due to her health. They reside elsewhere alongside other natives on the outskirts of town.”
“I see.” Mrs. Moresby had explained Juliet’s role as a maid in the household and a server in the tearoom, which had a grand opening scheduled days before Christmas, weeks away. Furthermore, Mrs. Moresby had informed her that Tabitha’s husband had died during their first year of marriage, leaving her childless but wealthy. Livy had never wed after being jilted at the altar long ago.
Such a thing could break a person’s heart.
Livy removed the long pin from her hat and hung the giant headpiece on the brass wall hook behind her. Sandy-blond, curly hair capped her head. “Why don’t we show you to your room? After you put on something dry, we’ll give you a tour of our home, followed by the carriage house, which we’re converting into the tearoom. May we call you Juliet?”
“Of course, though”—she raised her soggy bag—“all my garments are drenched, including my maid’s uniform.”
Tabitha rose, now wearing mule-brown slippers with a rounded toe. She straightened Livy’s hat on the hook to perfectly center it before facing Juliet. “A uniform isn’t required inside the house. We’ll provide what you need for the tearoom.”
No uniform? That was odd. But Juliet wouldn’t complain. “How generous. Thank you.”
Tabitha perused Juliet from head to foot. “My castoffs will likely fit you. I keep them at the back of the wardrobe in the bedroom where you’ll sleep. You may wear what you please.”
The sisters’ kind behavior didn’t make sense, no matter how she twisted their angle. Why treat her like a cherished guest instead of a possible thief?
“This way, Juliet.” Tabitha moved toward the staircase.
“Yes, ma’am.” At least her bag wasn’t dripping anymore as she followed on the stairs’ carpet that matched red wine. Pretty carved rosettes decorated the rails, and she longed to run her finger over the ridges, yet stopped herself.
At the top, she paused to count six closed doors, three on each side of a wide hallway. Then she hurried after Tabitha and entered the last room on the right, next to a rear staircase. One pace inside the room, she paused again. The Firths’ four attic bedrooms equaled this one in size.
She gazed at two large windows facing the back of the house, each framed with tied-back pale-yellow drapes. Undoubtedly, the view captured the impressive mountains. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of waking to the beautiful picture every morning.
The room was furnished with a half-tester bed, a wooden wardrobe, a washstand, a writing desk, a chair, and a flat sandstone hearth. Framed floral pictures and a long, narrow mirror hung on the same wall. No reason to give her water-logged appearance a once-over.
Surely this fine chamber wasn’t meant for her, and if it was, not just for her. “There must be some mistake. This room can’t be for me.”
“It is for you.” Tabitha gazed around the chamber with critical eyes.
First, the sisters had her strolling through the front door. Now, she was to sleep on the same floor as all the other bedrooms. “But I’m the servant. Why not put me in a dormer room in your attic?”
“Our attic isn’t suited for a bedroom. Besides, we have several unused rooms on this level. Class distinctions are not something Livy and I put much stock in, although we value good manners and proper behavior from everyone, regardless of their station in life. It also makes sense for you to eat your meals with us as well.”
Huh? Juliet had never heard of such a thing. A bedroom to herself was more than she could imagine. But eating in front of the sisters sounded like a nightmare. Undoubtedly, she’d tangle herself in a fit of worries, thinking she’d break her bread wrong, spill too many crumbs, or use the incorrect utensil. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just eat in the kitchen. Alone.”
Tabitha nodded. “If that’s your preference.” Then the prim woman launched into a discourse about the newly developed town—a hodgepodge of military personnel, business folks, lumber mill workers, natives, and people drawn to British Columbia to seek gold. The thriving village served as the primary port of entry to the Fraser River. More and more imports, including livestock, firearms, food, and clothing, occurred daily. Plenty of gold, lumber, fish, and cranberries exited Everly via steamers. Or was it blueberries?
Juliet wondered if she should take notes and if the woman intended to quiz her later about all the facts.
Livy popped through the doorway, dabbing her nose with a wadded handkerchief. “Are your sleeping quarters satisfactory?”
“It’s a dad-blamed palace. And I’m far from a princess.” Even though her grandfather had called her the sweet fairy tale name. She twirled in a full circle to admire the loveliness. “It’s perfect. That’s what it is.”
Tabitha opened the squeaky wardrobe’s doors. “We’re pleased you like it, though the term dad-blamed is considered slang, and proper young ladies never utter slang.”
Mrs. Quinborow had corrected Juliet’s speech a time or two and specifically instructed her not to saydad-blamed. But the word still slipped out now and again anyway.
“And Juliet?” Livy asked, fluffing her hair with her hand.
