Lady: Impossible (16 page)

He raises his chin. ‘Isn’t it? Why even look me up then?’

And just like that, the conversation becomes an argument.
 

‘I was curious
,
if you must know.’

‘Curious about what?’

‘I was trying to work out where I’ve seen you before.’

‘You
haven’t
seen me before.’

‘I can’t be sure of that. And the fact is you’re not very forthcoming with details about yourself. It’s not really fair, is it? You get to hear everything that’s going on with me, including all this bleeding matchmaker nonsense, but I hardly know anything about you! I’m supposed to trust you because you’re the butler, but I don’t know you, Blair. Who are you exactly?’

My question is met with a scowl. ‘You’re not supposed to know me. I’m the butler, not your friend.’

‘You’re not listening to what I’m saying. I’m not trying to be your friend. It’s more that I have a right to understand your presence here.’

‘A right?’ It’s the angriest I’ve heard him yet. The two words are more snarl than question, which is fine. Two can play at that game.

‘Yeah, a right. My father told me yesterday that The Savoy gave you a glowing reference over the phone, even talking about how they were sad to see you leave. According to you, you left because working for one household is apparently better than tending to a revolving door of guests. Yet you seem terribly bitter that you’re living in your employer’s attic instead of your own place. I’m not sure what it all adds up to. What happened with your flatmates? Why do you need this job?’

I welcome the ire in his eyes. It means he might be pissed off enough to explain himself.

‘You got your father to call The Savoy?’

‘Did you expect him not to check the references of an employee living in his house?’ I lean forward a little, hoping to project an air of command. ‘He also gave me the authority to inspect the attic, by the way.’

My attempt at intimidation doesn’t have the desired effect. Blair merely crosses his arms and glares right back at me. ‘With all due respect, Lady Emilia, Her Ladyship is paying me out of her own pocket.’

‘It’s still his house.’ I narrow my eyes, practically spitting back at him. ‘And she wouldn’t be “Her Ladyship” without him.’

His response is swift – a scowl twisting his fine features into a mask of rage. ‘Fine. Inspect the attic. I have nothing to hide. I don’t understand, though, how such an inspection can build the trust you’re seeking.’

‘How am I to attain it then? Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’

‘It’s none of your business.’ He promptly turns away from me. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have dishes to wash.’

As he storms off, descending the stairs two at a time, I race after him. ‘I didn’t excuse you!’

He whips around when he reaches the end of the staircase. I almost run into him, barely stopping my momentum in time. Gasping, I almost fall backward, and he makes no attempt to reach out and steady me.

Instead, he glowers at me, his voice positively acerbic. ‘I thought you had an inspection to carry out. Don’t tell me you need me to be present?’

It takes me another second or two to fully regain my footing, his failure to help making me irrationally angrier. ‘You don’t want to be there? Fine. I’ll let you know if I find anything interesting.’

‘Yes, you do that.’

Grunting in frustration, I turn on my heel and stomp up the stairs. I’m hell bent on finding out something
about this enigma of a man. I even mentioned having seen him before, and he still offered no insight into the matter.
 

I shouldn’t have even bothered talking to him. He’s as impossible as… well, as I am.

The servants’ quarters are accessible from a different staircase, so I have to stride down to the end of the second-floor corridor and make my way up. It’s pure aggravation driving me to do what I had previously refused to do on principle. Blair has invaded my life, so why shouldn’t I find out why he’s here? I’m tired of the endless questions. I want answers.

There are two doors on the landing, one for the men’s dormitory and one for the women’s. I take the left door and rush into that corridor, switching on the light so I can see where I’m going.
 

It turns out that not much has changed since the last time I saw this place. All the doors to the small rooms are open, four on each side of the corridor, and it’s not until I reach the end of the creaky passageway that I find the room that is clearly Blair’s.
 

At the threshold I pause before entering, only now caring that for all intents and purposes I really am stepping into his personal space. I could leave and vent my anger in another way – do the sensible thing – but I’m spurred on by the curiosity of what might be here.
 

The light illuminates the small room in a soft yellow glow, revealing very little at all. Boxes of different sizes are stacked haphazardly at the foot of the bed. A pair of jeans is draped over one, and a rucksack pokes out of another. While there’s a chest of drawers in the room, it doesn’t look like Blair has fully unpacked yet. It’s evident that his priority is work, though. Several suit jackets hang on the row of hooks on the wall, in much the same way they would have done years ago.
 

The bed itself is extremely neat, having been made to a high standard, though its blue paisley linen seems out of place, emasculating even, in Blair’s quarters. I take another step forward and this time notice the floorboards are devoid of any clutter or dust. All the mess really does seem confined to the boxes.

It’s true that my father had no qualms about me inspecting this place, but I wonder if he’d actually praise me for how rashly I went about initiating this intrusion. The thing is, now that I’m here, I know there’s a limit to what I’m willing to do. I will not rifle through Blair’s belongings. There are no clues in plain sight – no photographs, no bills, no personal effects at all – and that’s something I’m going to have to accept.

I switch off the light and trudge back down to the second floor, feeling thoroughly ashamed of how hot-headed I’ve been. Not sure that I should hide in my room, I remain at the top of the main staircase, hoping Blair will come by and just know from the look on my face that I’m sorry. I’m still irritated that I don’t know anything about him, but this kind of behaviour isn’t me. It’s crazy, stalker-like behaviour.
 

I’m not sure how much time passes before I hear footsteps coming from below, but when I do hear them, I don’t try to flee. There’s no running away now.
 

He rounds the corner, sees me, and freezes momentarily. Grabbing onto the bannister, he looks down at his feet as if suffering from an attack of vertigo. There are a dozen steps between us. It feels like too much and too little distance at the same time.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ I say.

He exhales and looks up. ‘You don’t mean to do a lot of things.’

He must know I’m sorry. I didn’t think it possible for someone to be able to read me so easily after knowing me for such a short period of time, but he did tell me the other day that I’m a cinch to read.
 

‘True.’

He holds something up in his hand. ‘You left your phone on the dining room table, by the way.’

‘Thank you.’ I extend my hand, expecting him to come up, but it quickly becomes clear that he’s not willing to do that. ‘Don’t tell me I have to
literally
meet you halfway.’

I’m resigned, not angry now, and the feeling is apparently mutual.

‘Ah, we couldn’t have that now, could we?’

I smile ruefully. ‘I sense sarcasm.’

‘Yes, m’lady.’

He walks up to where I am and hands me my phone, and though I expect him to leave me be, he surprises me by sitting down right next to me. He’s so close we’re practically touching. The wool of his suit brushes against my bare arm and my skin responds to its prickles. I could lean into him right now, rest my head on his shoulder, and run my fingers over his cheek.
 

He turns to face me. ‘You didn’t find anything, did you?’

‘You are too close to me right now.’ Reluctant to actually push him away, I lean against the wall as much as I can, placing the phone at my feet.

‘I don’t know why you’re frightened. You’re the only one who can make a move.’

I give him a sidelong look. ‘Now is not the time to be smug. I’m moody, remember?’

‘Yes, I’ve noticed.’

He really is too close. I can smell his aftershave, and another scent too. Lemon, I think. It could be from the fish and chips, or perhaps it’s artificial, from the washing-up liquid.

‘So, this is how we operate? Embarrassment, argument then truce. Over and over?’

‘You’ll be distracted from Thursday onwards. We’ll be okay after that.’

It might be my imagination, but there’s disappointment to his tone.

‘Thursday?’

He uses my own words against me. ‘Come on now. Don’t act dumb. Tilton & Bree.’

‘Ah yes.’ I pause, thinking about the men Polly has supposedly lined up for me. ‘Me dating will fix everything.’
 

Blair suddenly becomes interested in his waistcoat buttons, fiddling idly with them. ‘Yes, no need to pay me any attention.’

‘You sound upset.’

‘I’m not.’

I relax a little, not putting so much pressure on the wall. ‘If you’re going to play with your buttons, at least do up the bottom one.’

‘The last button of a butler’s waistcoat is always left open. It’s something that started with Prince Albert. He was too fat to fasten the last button, and it became fashionable, eventually becoming a dress standard for butlers.’

‘Tradition, huh?’

Probably self-conscious now, he drops his hands and rests them on his thighs. ‘Some things don’t change.’

‘Yes, well, I’m not sure that Thursday will change anything. I heard what you said about honesty being counterproductive or whatever, but I feel I have to tell you that.’

His response is swift. ‘No, the matchmaker will remind you of your priorities. You’re looking for a rich husband for life, not a penniless butler to fuck. Do you know how much money I have in the bank? Twenty-two pounds. Given, payday is around the corner, but it’s twenty-two pounds nonetheless. There you go, I just told you something about myself.’

‘I’m sorry to hear you’re in a tight spot.’ Twenty-two pounds really is nothing. I spent more than double that on lunch.

‘At least it’ll serve to remind you of who you’re meant to be chasing. Certainly not the likes of me.’

‘Ah.’ I tilt my head in his direction and pretend to be enthused. ‘Thanks for telling me what I’m looking for.’
 

He smirks in return. ‘I am, after all, the
help
.’

‘Right. And sitting inches from me helps, does it?’
 

‘I’m testing you. You’re passing, so far.’

Testing me? How ridiculous. ‘I’ve already thought about kissing you, you know.’

‘But you haven’t.’

He speaks of my restraint as if it’s some kind of victory, a sign of progress, but it doesn’t feel that way to me.
 

I sigh. ‘Deter me with more truths. Tell me something else about yourself. Tell me where I’ve seen you before.’

‘You haven’t seen me before.’

‘Yes, I have. And so has Abby.’

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know what to say. You’re both mistaken.’

‘So twenty-two pounds is all you’ll tell me?’
 

‘That’s a pretty big thing to admit, at least, it is in my book. Does my financial state not move you at all?’

Not wanting to seem indifferent, I shift a little more in his direction so I can face him better. My knee knocks his thigh, and I raise my hands in innocence, a reflex that makes the contact a bigger deal than it is. Blair rolls his eyes at the overreaction, but I’m left wondering if he’s thinking along the same lines as me, imagining what it would be like to have our legs tangled together in bed.

No, maybe that’s just me.

I lower my hands and try to remember what is was I wanted to say. ‘Forgive me, but I don’t think pitying you will help us get along any better. So you’re down on your luck. It happens.’

‘It happens, but you’ll never understand it.’ He doesn’t continue until I look him square in the eye. ‘You have no idea. Austerity for you is only buying one luxury item instead of five.’

I bristle at his pointed words. ‘It’s hardly fair to peg me as out-of-touch just because I have money.’

Blair shakes his head. ‘Sounds like something a Tory would say.’

‘Don’t make this political. Even Labour knows the limits of bringing up class warfare as a subject. It hasn’t energised their base in years.’

‘That may change.’

‘Or it may not.’

‘Well, not if your lot has their way.’

‘Tell your comrades to bloody vote then.’

‘Oh, don’t use the word “comrades”. The first time we met, you mentioned something about the aristocracy not being what it used to be. The thing is, I think you’re all exactly the same. It’s just that society changed and left you behind.’

‘And you think I don’t already know that? Before you jump on that soapbox of yours, it may help to check your audience.’

He’s a little sheepish now, ducking his head and curling his fingers under his palms. ‘Sorry, I thought we were just chatting.’

‘Well, given the subject matter, I can’t exactly tell you to be quiet without sounding like a snob. You very well know that.’ I sigh and lean forward, resting my chin on my hand. ‘Plus, it’s going to sound hypocritical if I say you’re out of line – today, anyway.’

‘Hmm.’

There’s a lull in the conversation, giving me a chance to calm down. In the meantime, Blair shifts so he can lean on the bannister, putting a bit of distance between us. I end up staring at the gap it creates, wishing it would close up of its own accord.

I also wish I had the strength to send Blair back to work. Sadly, I’m enjoying his presence. The bickering and its subtext are more exciting than not being around him at all.

‘Perhaps I should get back to work,’ he says after a minute or so.