Chapter One
Runa took a deep breath and rapped lightly on the bedroom door, the same way she had done every Monday since she was twelve and had started work for the Rumlow family. There was no answer to her knock, not even a muffled grunt to tell her to return later, so she opened the door slowly and stepped inside. One look at the unmade bed told her that it was unoccupied, so she let out a breath that was not quite a sigh of relief before stepping into the room and heading towards the bed so she could strip it and take the linens down for washing.
She was bent over the bed and in the process of bundling all the linens together when she heard the door shut quietly behind her. She paused only a moment, closing her eyes and cursing her luck, before resuming her work.
“Well well well… Little Runa in my bedroom.” The rich, masculine voice came out as something akin to a purr. There was power in that voice, Runa knew. It always made her stomach do a little flip and put a slight tremor in her bones to hear him speak. From dread or eager anticipation, she was never able to tell. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Runa forced herself to sound cheery and businesslike, even if she felt anything but. “It’s Monday morning, Mister Brock. Wash day. I’m here for the bed linens, just like every other week.”
She could hear the tread of his feet, slightly muffled on the carpeted floor, as he approached her. “So proper. Nothing but business.” He tsked. “Working day and night… I remember when you used to be fun.”
Her cheeks blazed crimson at that, but she focused on the task at hand and finished bundling up the rest of the linens before taking them into her arms and standing. “That was a long time ago, Mister Brock.”
“Not all that long. Only… What, five years?” She turned around and faced him. He was tall and well built, and very handsome. Almost devastatingly handsome, at least according to the novels she snuck from the library and read in her limited leisure time. She tried not to notice his perfectly barbered black hair, strong jawline, and swarthy skin, but they were attributes that were difficult for her to ignore.
She recalled her friend Iris’ words, and was able to use them to banish memories and attraction to him, at least temporarily. He’s more of a frog than a prince.
Runa managed to smile once more, her well-practiced professional smile, one that she saved for the Master, the Mistress, their son Brock, and any guests who came to the house that she had to interact with. “Five years is plenty of time for a person to change, Mister Brock.”
He grinned at her. “Particularly when chastised by my father. But you’ll be twenty-one this year. Things will change then.”
Runa’s smile slipped slightly in her confusion, and Brock’s grin only stretched wider, before he stepped aside, giving her a clear path to the door. “Thank you, Mister Brock.” She said quietly, before moving past him, still carrying the bundled-up linens. She paused at the door to open it, and jumped slightly when she felt his hand on her bottom, the sensation somewhat muffled by her petticoats, but it was enough to make her jump slightly, and heat to burn in her cheeks. “Mister Brock, that is highly inappropriate.” She managed as she finally managed to wrench the door open.
He laughed behind her. “Until later, little Runa.”
She hurried down the hall and down the back steps, taking his linens to the wash room with the rest, before fetching clean linens and remaking the beds in all the rooms, relieved that Brock was no longer in his. Then she went back downstairs and started in on the thankless chore of doing the Rumlow family’s washing. She hated laundry day with a passion, only because Missus Rumlow would dock her pay and order her to have nothing more than leftover bread and water for supper if she made a single mistake. And there were so blasted many things to remember when doing the wash. Missus Rumlow was a peacock and dressed in fine gowns in many colors, gowns in which the dye wasn’t fixed. Not like the sturdy fabrics that Runa and the other household servants wore. Runa had to remember which colors needed soda water or vinegar to keep them from running, which fabrics couldn’t stand up to hard scrubbing. She always did the linens first, because those were easy, although cumbersome.
Once everything was washed and hung up to dry, she headed back into the house, all but collapsing into her seat at the small kitchen table where the servants (all four of them) took their meals. Iris Pendragon, the cook, who was only eight years older than Runa, smiled when Runa let out an exhausted sigh.
“Busy morning?” She asked as she put the finishing touches on the dishes Runa would soon be carrying to the dining room for the Rumlows’ lunch.
“Of course. It’s Monday. Laundry day.” Runa grimaced at that.
“I don’t know how you manage that mountain every week, or how one family can produce that much laundry.” Irish shook her head. “Up for another cooking lesson tonight?”
“If duties permit.” Runa agreed with a slight smile. Iris had been teaching her to cook for years as best she could around their work schedules. Missus Rumlow was aware of the arrangement, and had agreed that the lessons could continue as long as neither of their work suffered, and they were not wasteful.
“That goes without saying, of course. Polly says that Missus Rumlow is on the warpath today. Mister Rumlow is having her plan Mister Brock’s wedding, it seems.”
Runa sat up straight, shocked. “They’re finally marrying him off? But… Shouldn’t his fiancée’s family be doing the planning?”
“From what Polly gathered, the girl has no female relatives to help her, so it’s down to Missus Rumlow.”
“Do we know who it is?” Runa asked, racking her brain to try and remember if there had been any young ladies visiting the house recently, or if there had been any gossip about Brock with a particular woman.
“No clue. Polly says they only said ‘the girl’ when they were talking about her. Whoever it is, Missus Rumlow does not approve in the slightest.”
That was when the butler, Titus Blake, entered the kitchen. He was carrying a stack of newspapers, which they would go through to see if there was anything they wanted to read before they were reused somehow or disposed of. He sighed, having overheared Iris.
“Miss Pendragon, if you are going to gossip could you please do it a little more quietly?” He set the papers on the table by where Runa was sitting. “We don’t need the Rumlows overhearing you. Despite your skill behind a stove, gossip about the family might lead to you being terminated.”
“They would never!” Runa protested. “Iris is too good of a cook for them to let her go over a little bit of gossip. And besides, this gossip affects us! We need to know if Mister Brock will be bringing his bride here, or if he’ll be setting up a new household.” She hoped he would be setting up a new household. A new household, with new servants, so she did not have to deal with him and his flirtations so frequently.
“Or if it turns out to be someone we can’t stand.” Iris agreed as Runa reached to pull the papers closer, flipping through them. She stared at one paper, before pulling it from the small stack.
“The Matrimonial Times? Where did this come from?” Runa wondered aloud.
“Probably delivered to the wrong house.” Titus reasoned. “Missus Rumlow gave it to me to dispose of.” He moved to look down at the paper, Iris hurrying over to look at it as well. She plucked the newspaper right out of Runa’s hands, looking it over.
“Well then it was misdelivered a while ago, it’s over a week old. Oh! Listen to this one! ‘Texas Rancher, thirty-one, seeking Christian woman to marry. Women between ages nineteen to twenty-five preferred. Must be able and willing to cook and clean for entire ranch. Interested parties please respond to Bluestone Ranch, Amaranto Springs, Texas.’” Iris shook her head. “This man isn’t looking for a wife, he just wants a cook and a housekeeper.”
“There is nothing about himself there.” Runa frowned. “I feel sorry for whoever answers that advertisement. But at least he is seeking correspondence first.”
“You should look through the paper, Runa. Think about answering an ad.” Titus suggested. Runa gaped at him.
“What? You think I should answer that ad?”
“Not that one.” Titus hastened, “But… Find an ad you like, and try answering that one. You’ve been working for the Rumlows since you were twelve.”
“They took me in after Uncle Lars died. They pay me a very good wage, with room and board.” Runa countered.
Titus sighed. “Runa, there is nothing wrong with life in service, but that is not what your parents wanted for you.” He would know, as he had been employed by her family before coming to work for the Rumlows. “They wanted you to have a family of your own.”
“And you’re not going to find that if you spend all your time working in this house.” Iris added. “Take the paper and read over the ads.” She urged, offering the paper to Runa, who took it somewhat uncertainly.
“I’ll think about it.” Runa promised, looking down at the paper before looking up at Titus. Iris was her closest friend, but Titus had been a constant in her life. He had worked for her father since before he had married, and when Runa’s parents had died her uncle had hired him on and promoted him to the position of butler so that Runa would have another familiar person around her. The night of the fire that took her uncle’s life, Titus had been the one to carry her out of the burning building. He had injured himself trying to go back for her uncle and his friend, but he hadn’t been able to save them. The Rumlows had hired him on as their butler a year afterwards when their butler was ready to retire, and Runa had been absolutely elated to learn that he would be working with her. Now, years later, she valued his opinion and advice over anyone else’s. “Do you really think this is what I should do?”
He smiled at her. “I do.” His smile faded, and he became business like as he saw the clock. “I’ll go call the family to lunch. Runa, begin bringing the serving platters to the dining room in ten minutes.”
Runa smiled slightly, “Yes, Mister Blake.” She said, back to business. “I’ll just take a moment to put this paper in my room.”
“Be quick. We don’t want the meal to be late.” He warned.
“Yes, sir.”