Winterberry Fire: A Silver Foxes of Westminster Novella (Winterberry Park Book 2)(3)

“Yes, he has quite a talent for it,” Ada agreed. “His natural mother was an actress, after all.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. Everyone, of course, knew James was the son of Mr. Croydon and his deceased mistress, Violetta, but since he’d married Mrs. Croydon, and since she’d taken so much of a shine to James that she’d requested they adopt the boy formally, it was as though the collective memory of everyone who worked for the Croydons and everyone in town had been adjusted to assume James had always held the position he now did.

Tim shuffled awkwardly, and Ada didn’t know how to recover from the misstep. “Uh,” she started. She wanted to tell Tim that she thought he was wonderful, that she’d never met another man like him, and that if he wanted her, she was his. But nothing came out.

“The weather is very nice for February,” he said at last.

“Yes,” Ada smiled, bristling with awkwardness. “It’s warmer than usual. And it’s been sunny.”

“Spring will be here before you know it,” Tim said.

Their stilted conversation was cut suddenly short by the deep sound of Mr. Noakes, the butler, clearing his throat behind Ada. The sound nearly made Ada jump out of her skin. She jerked to press her back flat against the doorpost as Mr. Noakes glowered his way into the conversation.

“Mr. Turnbridge,” he said, sending a disapproving scowl Ada’s way. “Can I help you?”

“I just came to see about Master James and why he wasn’t at the school today,” Tim said.

Mr. Noakes pulled himself up to his full height. “Master James is not enrolled at your school, sir.”

“Yes, I know,” Tim said, handling himself in front of the imposing butler far better than Ada ever could. “But we’ve started rehearsals for a new concert, and I know Mr. and Mrs. Croydon like him to participate.”

“The Croydons have departed for London,” Mr. Noakes said, then, without hesitation, went on to add, “And the staff is far too busy with their duties for idle chatter in the middle of the day.” He sent a look Ada’s way that turned her knees and stomach to jelly.

“Yes, sir,” Tim said. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Now that my curiosity has been satisfied, I’ll return to my school.”

Tim sent Ada a warm look, smiled, then touched the brim of his hat. He nodded to Mr. Noakes, then turned to go.

Mr. Noakes narrowed his eyes at Ada. She didn’t need him to tell her to get back to work. The command was clear without a sound. She whipped away from the door and scurried back into the house before she could land herself in more trouble.



Mary Mull ducked her head back around the corner into the morning parlor as Mr. Noakes chased Ada into the house. It served that upstart chit right to be scolded the way she had been. Ada had started out as nothing more than a kitchen maid, but now she was an upstairs maid—one who gave herself airs and acted as though she was better than the lot of them. Well, she had a thing or two to learn.

“Did he leave?” Martha asked as she walked back into the parlor to continue cleaning windows.

“Mr. Turnbridge?” Mary asked.

“Yeah, himself.”

“He’s gone.” Mary retrieved her rag from the bucket of hot water, vinegar, and lemon juice. She wrung it out, then joined Martha at the window. “There he goes.” She nodded to him striding down the lane through the glass.”

“What a tosser,” Martha laughed.

Mary hummed. “He does look good walking away, though.” She would never let Ada know, but she considered Mr. Timothy Turnbridge to be quite the looker. He was slimmer than her Wat, less muscular, but she liked the sway of his hips. She would be willing to bet he could do wonders with those hips too.

An idea struck her, spreading a grin across her face from ear to ear.

“Our miss priss likes Mr. Schoolteacher, doesn’t she?” she said, her voice sly.

“You know she does,” Martha snorted. “Though I don’t see why.”

Mary watched until Mr. Turnbridge had disappeared around the corner. “I think our Ada needs to be taken down a notch, don’t you?”

“Always,” Martha laughed.

“And I know just the way to do it,” Mary went on.

“How?” Martha turned away from the window and her work, mischief sparking in her eyes.

Mary paused, grinning at her sister. “I’m going to make good and sure that Ada and the schoolteacher never get together.”

Martha’s face lit with glee. “How are you going to do that?”

“Cleverly,” Mary answered.

They both turned to the parlor’s doorway as Tad, one of the younger footmen, walked in. He headed for the pile of curtains.

“And I’ve just discovered another wedge to drive between them,” Mary said. She handed Martha her rag and swayed across the room to Tad. “So, Taddy-boy, have you heard about the Valentine’s Day dance coming up next week?”

Tad blinked and straightened from gathering curtains. He was tall, as most footmen were, and handsome enough, but instead of that light of intelligence that Mr. Turnbridge had, Tad was like a house with nobody home.

“Dance?” He blinked. “There’s a dance?”