The Davenports(21)

With the only sound the rustling of the wind through the trees, Amy-Rose’s mind wandered again to her encounter with John in the kitchen. Her skin tingled at the memory of his body so close to hers, the way his cologne made her head spin. Balsam and bergamot, and a hint something else that was uniquely John. He’d spent the past several months away at university. At first, the house seemed so empty without him. Helen was completely lost, but Amy-Rose welcomed the distance. It lessened the sting of how invisible she felt around him.

They were no longer children who played in the gardens or told stories around a roaring fire. Still, she never forgot the day he told her she was the prettiest girl he knew after Tommy teased her to tears over the freckles that dotted her nose. Like dirt. John had taken the bar of soap from her hand and pulled her away from the basin. The warmth of his hand and his smile had made her forget the sting of her chapped hands and the shame that burned her face. He’d said it matter-of-factly. She’d realized then that she would never see him the same way again. His simple observation spurred the most unshakeable beginnings of a crush, though she’d been too young to know what to call it then.

She knew what to call it now. Trouble.

But then he’d bounded into the kitchen and asked her to sew on a button.

Now she was confused. Could he just have been flirting? Doubt grew by the minute. She held a blouse to her chest and tried to remember the way his voice moved through her. She pictured what their life could be like together, after he’d graduated school and was ready to take over his father’s company. She would likely be there to celebrate. But not as the maid.

She would be a brand-new version of herself. Her salon would be up and running. Her business successful, and she his perfect match. He was the heir to the Davenport family business and fortune. He needed a well-bred lady at his side, one who could host dinner parties, dress in the latest fashions, and eventually raise the next heir.

“Is that me?” she whispered into the dim afternoon. Is that what I want? Amy-Rose thought of her notebook of dreams and everything she held dear. Helen’s words came back to her. Livy knows what she wants, and she’s not one to settle. Amy-Rose felt the words surge through her and heat her blood. Obviously, neither should we.

A sudden tap on her shoulder made her jump. She spun quickly, losing her balance. John steadied her with a hand at her elbow. The playful tilt to his mouth captured Amy-Rose’s attention a beat too long. Oh, and that dimple!

Amy-Rose glanced over her shoulder. Her throat felt tight and dry. The heat blooming in her cheeks began to spread as she noticed the top buttons of his shirt were undone. His skin was smooth and dark and her fingers ached to trace the line of his jaw. She remembered the warmth of his body when he stood next to her in the kitchen, making her shiver.

“Cold?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow.

“No—yes.”

John’s smile widened. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Of course not.” Her words held more conviction than she felt. Amy-Rose forced herself to look up from the damp blouse in her hands and stare into his eyes. She watched them begin to smolder.

“Thank you again for your help the other night. You not only saved my shirt, but my ears from a lecture I’m sure I deserved about being prepared and presentable.”

“I was glad to help. Did you enjoy the party?” she asked. Amy-Rose had never attended one of the lavish events thrown by the Tremaines. And as a maid, she had only watched from the sidelines of the Davenports’ dances, blending in and out of the shadows like a good and reliable servant.

“Yes, it was nice seeing some of my friends. Strange too. Away from here, I choose everything, big and small. From what I wear,” he said, gesturing to the coveralls and bleached shirt with rolled-up shirtsleeves, “to bigger things, like . . . managing my time or where I live. Then as soon as I turned down the drive, all of that”—he snapped his fingers—“disappeared. And what goes with it? My confidence, brought on by this . . . illusion of being self-sufficient.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t an illusion,” she said. Amy-Rose couldn’t help how differently she felt coming back here to Freeport after selling her hair treatments at the small general stores on the South Side. How quickly the boldness of her business attitude dissipated when she donned an apron and picked up a dishcloth. Maybe the two of them weren’t so different. “There must have been something about it you enjoyed. The music?”

John laughed and Amy-Rose had to suppress a sigh. “Yes, the music and dancing were fun.” He looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

Amy-Rose finished folding the blouse and dropped it into the basket. “I was imagining it, that’s all. The glamour. I’ve been to the dance halls with Tommy and Hetty, but nothing fancy. The dancing alone . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“It’s not so hard. The gentleman will lead.”

“I don’t—” Her words faded at his outstretched hand. Her own were hidden between the folds of her skirt. She knew they were dry and chafed from the washing.

“May I have this dance, Miss Shepherd?” he said, placing his other hand over his chest. Amy-Rose couldn’t help the smile slowly spreading across her face.

She stared at his open palm—an invitation to step into a make-believe world where they would be two people meeting at a dance. One where she was not a maid and he wasn’t the son of her employer. It was just pretend. Her fingers tingled until her skin made contact with his. He gently placed a hand at the curve of her waist and began counting. She knew the steps. She’d danced with the girls when they were learning, watched them practice with their instructors, and stood against the wall at the many dances held at Freeport Manor. Today, she held John instead of a tray behind a banquette.