Comfort and Joy Read Online Free Page B

shocked to see him.
    “Mr. Rycroft, we’d given you up for dead!” exclaimed Dolly, the ruddy-faced housekeeper.
    “Did you contact the police?”
    “Yes, sir. And we contacted Mr. Martin, who did so as well, sir.” Round and stout as a stump, the housekeeper referred to Martin Rycroft, Charles’s cousin and second in command at the publishing house.
    “Well done. Have the police reported their findings as yet?” Charles asked drolly. The Boston authorities were used to young men from well-heeled families disappearing for days at a time. The sowing wild oats with wanton women, gambling, and whatever other mischief available was almost expected of them and deemed quite acceptable.
    “No, sir. Though they’ve questioned us all several times.” Dolly regarded his clothes in silent horror. Instinctively, he pulled at the hem of the flannel shirt to straighten it as he would one of his tailor-made jackets. “What’s happened to you, sir? If I may ask,” she added quickly.
    “I met with an unfortunate accident and this brave young woman saved me.”
    All eyes flew to the petite woman at his side who blushed and angled her chin a degree higher. She was humming, so softly he could barely hear, but it was a definite hum—and a familiar tune. A Christmas carol, he thought.
    “This is Maeve.” Charles rested a hand on Maeve’s shoulder and, to his surprise, felt her trembling. He’d assumed a woman who took home a man she believed to be a bummer must be a woman who feared nothing. Apparently not.
    In an awkward attempt to ease Maeve’s anxiety, Charles patted her shoulder as he spoke to his curious household help. “Maeve will be staying on the sixth floor temporarily.”
    Maeve nodded and bobbed a clumsy curtsey simultaneously. Plainly, she did not know how to acknowledge his vague introduction. But to introduce her as his wife would be a disservice to the Irish beauty in the end. They would not be married long.
    Charles pretended not to notice her uncertainty.
    Dolly had yet to remove her startled gaze from his shirt
    “You will afford Maeve every courtesy and provide her with anything she desires. I will show her upstairs personally.”
    Stuart, who served as both Charles’s valet and butler, pressed his lips together in silent evidence of his disapproval. “Yes sir.”
    Charles did not miss the exchange of alarmed glances between Stuart and Dolly. They obviously thought he’d lost his mind during his absence. And of course, he had. Indisputably.
    “Come with me, Maeve,” Charles ordered. “I shall require a bath and fresh suit,” he called over his shoulder to Stuart as he marched ahead of Maeve up the stairs.
    The sixth floor consisted of two guest suites, known as the rose room and the blue room. Charles led Maeve to the rose room, a spacious bedchamber complete with marble fireplace and an adjoining sitting room. Thick Oriental carpets were spread over the polished wood floors and heavy claret velvet drapes framed the floor-to-ceiling windows.
    As she inspected her splendid rooms, Maeve’s eyes felt as big as the cream cabbage roses in the floral-patterned wallpaper. She could barely conceal her awe.
    Even the Deakins house where she was in service had no room that could compare to this one. The flat she shared with her dear father and Shea could be placed twice over in these rooms. She felt an overpowering urge to spread her arms and spin — or do a jig of joy. But she knew instinctively that such a spontaneous display of delight might unduly disturb Charles.
    Instead, humming softly, Maeve ran her hand over the rosewood armoire, feeling the smooth, cool wood beneath her fingertips. Beneath the watchful eye of her taciturn husband, she gingerly tested the large, cream-satin-canopied four-poster bed.
    She’d never dreamed of living in such luxury. Her dreams had always been simple. Maeve wished only for a loving husband, several babes hanging about her skirts and a full pot of stew every