Page 4 of His Unforgettable Bride (Bride Ships: New Voyages #4)

Four

Do not forget, that early impressions

are deep and lasting.

H ow long until Everly resembled home? Perhaps never.

After Juliet lost her job with the Firths a week ago, she spent one night in a quiet, empty church and left before dawn. Then, when a reasonable hour arrived, she visited Mrs. Moresby, who invited her into her home. Juliet explained the situation at the Firths’, telling her every detail about her firing.

Not only did Mrs. Morseby believe her, but she also agreed to help her find a new job and allowed her to stay in her home for nearly a week. Juliet would never forget her kindness.

Friends Mrs. Moresby had met while traveling from England to Victoria had recently written, asking for help locating a servant to assist in their home and future tearoom. Their current part-time employee had taken ill and didn’t intend to return. Mrs. Moresby had immediately written to the sisters about Juliet. They’d sent word back, agreeing to hire Juliet for some unbeknownst reason, even after learning about her firing for possible theft and lack of an endorsement.

Why? Juliet was stumped, for certain. Could she picture pouring tea to society folks? Not even for a whisper of a second. But nobody else was lining up to give her a job, either.

After leaving the wharf minutes ago, she paused her ascent up a hill and ripped off her drenched headscarf, hoping her hair would dry faster in the afternoon breeze. It couldn’t get much wetter. Even her flour sack stuffed with belongings was dripping. What a miserable way to meet her new employers—soaked to the bone. “Ugh,” Juliet said to nobody but herself.

When a whistle screeched from a steamboat in the harbor, she peered over her shoulder. The town was nestled on a cleared hill that sloped gently toward the water at the Fraser River Delta’s fork. Whitewashed houses mixed with shops on Everly’s Main Street at the foot of the hill. A fishmonger along the shore hawked his wares, his voice echoing.

Against the backdrop of mountains to the north, the town sat on the mainland of British Columbia across the Strait of Georgia from Vancouver Island, a seven-hour steamboat ride. The northern range, with its rocky peaks and massive forests, was a magnificent sight, especially from the hilltop where she now stood.

She spun around and continued toward her destination, taking her merry time. The town had not yet built wooden walkways in the neighborhood. The higher she climbed, the fancier the houses. A hefty breeze rippled the puddles. A vast grassy park stood to her left, and evergreens hemmed the town on three sides and the mighty Fraser River behind her.

Her sodden shoes squeaked with each step. Her stockings stuck to her legs, and her cold skin had shriveled and sprouted gooseflesh. She stopped walking and yanked up her skirts to wring out all the moisture she could summon as she tried to recall Mrs. Morseby’s specific instructions.

Didn’t she say the respectable sisters resided across from Queen’s Park in a pink-and-green two-story house with a copper roof on Birch Street? Also, the dwelling had a lattice and a turret, whatever that was.

Her gaze swept across the road and over the surrounding houses, halting abruptly at two women staring at her from the front steps of a property that matched Mrs. Morseby’s description.

Snakes alive. She dropped her skirts. Had they watched her hike her garment above her knees? Well, of course, they had.

Juliet’s stomach sank.

Both appeared to be middle-aged based on the lack of youthfulness on their faces. The shorter sister wore more white ruffles than should be allowed and an enormous flouncy hat. Long of limb, the other one held a closed umbrella. Her oatmeal-beige dress was fancy yet simple at the same time.

Although Juliet had learned to stand up to a gang of no-good hoodlums in England, high-class ladies made her quake. Now she risked losing her job before stepping foot in their house, and she couldn’t let that happen. No, ma’am.

Focused on the house, she strode forward. Buildings offered no judgment. Two chimneys stuck up on each end. The remainder of the home included four upstairs windows, three down, an imposing door left of center, and wrought iron railings beside the steps. Shrubs trimmed the front and large side lawns, probably keeping the neighbors from snooping too much.

Juliet, her resolve firm, didn’t stop until she stood near the bottom of the stairs, below the two women. She straightened her shoulders and offered a tight smile. “I’m Juliet Dash. Mrs. Moresby sent me. I’m here for a one-month trial or something along those lines.”

The lady in beige had sharp, bright eyes, more green than blue. Although willowy in build, she had a staunchness about her, perhaps due to her arrow-straight posture and raised chin. Her hair, the color of weak tea, was gathered and trapped in a crocheted netting at her nape. “Allow me to introduce my younger sister and myself. This is Livy Sherwood, and I’m Tabitha Pierce. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“I apologize for looking like a wet cat, but I got caught in the rain.”

Livy offered a genuine, welcoming grin, descended the steps, and closed the gap between them. Everything about her appeared as soft as a pillow—fleshy chin, plump rosy cheeks, and whatever hid beneath her shapeless dress. Her red nose signaled a cold. Pearls trimmed her monstrous hat, covering all evidence of hair, and her greenish eyes were as inviting as her smile.

“We were going to the park since the rain stopped.” Standing before Juliet, Livy tilted her head as she examined her. “Let me get a good look at you instead. You have beautifully high cheekbones, a fine figure, and the starkest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Umm…thank you.” Over the years, boys and men had praised her looks, but she didn’t put much stock in compliments. Sometimes, hearing flowery words was nice, but all too often, the compliments came with a motive or a price.

With her lips pursed, Tabitha clasped her hands behind her back. “I’m afraid I must mention the inappropriateness of you wringing out your skirts in the street moments ago, Miss Dash.”

Juliet had no excuse for her careless actions and would never conjure up such a thing. But now the ladies likely deemed her a wild hoyden. She truly wasn’t, not anymore. “My behavior wasn’t ladylike. I know that, and I’m probably not what you expected.”

Sure as shooting, they’d fire her. Now that they’d met her, they’d see she didn’t belong in a tearoom. “Do you want me to leave?”

Livy reached for Juliet’s wrist, her fingers warm. “Of course not. Isn’t that correct, Tabitha?”

“It is.” Her tone and facial expression were frank and unconvincing.

Livy’s oversized hat bounced as she nodded. Any minute, the breeze might pitch it across the lawn. “When Mrs. Moresby wrote, she explained your unique circumstances.”

Unique? That was one word for it. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tabitha’s face somehow grew even tighter than before. “A young lady in our care does not chase wherever her impulses lead her. Is that understood?”

“Yes, and I’ll do my best to stop doing that, starting now.” Except Juliet’s whims sprinted every which way far too often.

A raindrop plopped onto Juliet, quickly followed by more, cooling her suddenly warm face.

“Let’s assemble inside, shall we?” Livy turned and led the way, hurrying up the broad steps and opening the door wide.

Tabitha entered the house ahead of her sister, but Juliet remained rooted where she stood.

“Hippity hop, Miss Dash,” Livy called from the doorway. “Otherwise, my lovely hat may slump in this weather. I was convinced the sun wanted to shine, but alas, I was mistaken.”

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 say dad-blamed . But the word still slipped out now and again anyway.

“And Juliet?” Livy asked, fluffing her hair with her hand.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“One of our goals in opening the tearoom is to bring culture to the community. We expect you to help us in that effort. Therefore, you’ll need to mind your p’s and q’s.”

Her what? That was all well and good, except Juliet was the last person to convert folks into well-mannered, classy citizens.

Why had Mrs. Morseby sent her here?

Oh, right, because there were no other options.

Juliet held back an exasperated sigh.

Grandfather had tried to raise her right, but the years had faded some of his teachings. Others she’d shoved to the side because circumstances had forced her to do things she wasn’t proud of. However, she’d learned additional niceties at the Firths’ house.

Yet she didn’t know proper conversation with well-to-do folks or when to curtsy, if ever. Nobody had taught her to pour tea or greet a gentleman caller. She had other know-how, but her street smarts couldn’t help her now. “I’ll try my best.”

Tabitha smoothed the bedspread with her flat hand before straightening. “That is all we ask for, Juliet. If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to Icala briefly.”

Who was he? Juliet nodded as Tabitha left the room.

Livy moved to the bed and sat, creaking the springs and disturbing the spread Tabitha had straightened seconds ago. “Now that I’ve mentioned our goals for the tearoom, I’m wondering about yours, Juliet. What are they?”

“Mine?” She tightened her grip on the flour bag.

“Yes.”

“Goals?”

“Yes, indeedy.”

Never had anyone asked her that question, not even herself. Her friend Daisy had opened a sewing shop, and Willow farmed—both worthy ambitions. Sage favored her position as a lady’s maid. “I guess I want a roof over my head and to feel safe.”

“What else?” Livy persisted. “Have you ever considered what you want out of life?”

What did she desire more than anything else? “I don’t mean to speak poorly of myself, but I’m not trained for much more than what I’m doing now. You’ll soon teach me about tearoom duties, according to Mrs. Morseby.” Juliet shrugged and continued to ponder her answer. “I’m a good maid and like doing honest work.”

Livy’s sharp stare had Juliet running her moist hands over her skirt. “I understand your grandfather raised you until his death. May I ask what happened to your parents?”

“They drowned when we crossed the River Irwell to visit my grandfather. I was but two. I don’t recall our boat tipping over, nor the stranger who fished me from the water and hauled me to a church. Grandfather fetched me from there.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Livy stood and stepped closer, her eyes kind. “Have you ever had an older woman’s influence?”

“Only a smidge. Mrs. Moresby treated me nice, and the housekeeper where I worked in Victoria taught me a few polite particulars.”

“Long ago, someone bestowed kindness upon Tabitha and me, though I won’t get into the details.” Livy patted Juliet’s forearm. “Feel free to refuse, but would you enjoy learning how to be more genteel overall, training that would extend beyond the tearoom?”

What exactly was this kind lady proposing? Juliet cranked up her eyebrow. “Why do that for me?”

“Because we can.” Livy chuckled. “Truthfully, the notion just popped into my head, and Tabitha must agree to the plan before we set anything in motion. It’s simply an idea. Some days, I’m full to the brim with them.”

“It’s good you have all that room in your head for such things.”

Livy’s eyes widened.

Juliet clamped her hand over her mouth. Had she just insulted the woman by insinuating that her head was empty? “I’m sorry…I misspoke…I was only trying to compliment you.”

Livy waved a dismissive hand. “Mrs. Moresby said you’d be perfect for us, and I believe she was right.”

Juliet wanted to be perfect for herself, but still…holy Moses.

An unexpected glimmer of hope buzzed inside her, but she told herself to calm down. If the sisters taught her the ins and outs of ladylike behavior, she’d become more respectable, and that sounded awful nice for a change. “I believe it’s to my liking.”

“Very well. After you change, please join us downstairs, and we’ll start the tour.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Livy excused herself, and Juliet quickly dried off with a plush towel. Then she grabbed a plain brown dress with buttons from the waist to the collar from the wardrobe. She tugged it on, draped her wet garments near the fire, and spread her few other meager belongings on the gold-carpeted floor to dry. Even her grandfather’s journal had damp, but not ruined, pages. She bent to kiss the cover, grabbed her hairbrush, and pulled the bristles through her locks.

Already, she adored everything about the room. What if she fell madly in love with the place and then had to leave? How long could she stretch her stay in paradise?

Based on her employment record, not long enough.

Juliet abandoned the hairbrush on the bureau and rushed downstairs. At the front of the house, she entered the empty drawing room, decorated in greens and blues. A noisy grandfather clock interrupted the quiet. Next to a square piano, an empty birdcage dangled from a hook attached to the ceiling.

Juliet stepped closer. Scattered seeds covered the bottom. Someone had carved the words Dearest Peaches onto an attached brass plate above the open door. Though she knew nothing about birdcages, the latch appeared busted. Had the cherished pet escaped?

Later, she’d investigate the home and the bird mystery more thoroughly, but now she needed to meet with the sisters. She briefly poked her head into a library, then a dining room, and finally a sitting room with a bed shoved in the corner. Each one charmed her as much as the next. Yet she failed to locate the sisters.

A glorious aroma led her down the remaining hallway to an expansive, welcoming kitchen with a black-and-white checked floor. Iron hooks held a mix of pots, kettles, and a griddle. A blackened vessel with a burping lid perched on a massive stove built into the wall. The remnants of a squash, a knife, and a wooden spoon claimed space on the sideboard.

She closed her eyes and savored the rich, nutty scent only briefly. The last thing she wanted was for the sisters to think she plodded along. Were they in the carriage house? There was only one way to find out, and she moved toward the rear door and opened it.

The second she did so, a green bird with a yellow head and bright orange beak swooped past her head, whistling as she escaped.

What in tarnation?

But then again, if Juliet lived in a cage, she’d probably try to flee too.

Juliet charged outside in pursuit of Dearest Peaches.