Free Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan by Jillian Hart Page B

happen. Heart heavy, she took two steps and spotted someone else in the kitchen. Gil Blackburn. Her breath caught, and she gripped the banister tightly, knowing without words why he was here.
    He'd come to ask Maureen if he could buy out Maebry's contract. Aumaleigh hung her head, hesitating in the middle of the stairs. She already knew how that was going to go.
     

Chapter Six

     
    "The Missus is coming." A dapper butler, sporting gray hair and wearing a perfectly pressed suit, popped into the kitchen doorway, holding the swinging door open with a narrow shoulder. "Just thought you might need warning. She's on a rampage, but you didn't hear it from me."
    "It's the snow." The Montgomery's cook stirred something steaming in a pot, ruddy from the heat. The pleasant woman shook her head, as if in disapproval. "Having to move the party inside is messin' up her plans. A lot of good it'll do to punish us all for it."
    "I agree, but you didn't hear that from me either." Harvey the butler winked, let the door swing shut and left the army of workers in the kitchen to their frenzied tasks.
    Maebry finished scraping one carrot and grabbed for another. Off the peelings went, tumbling onto the counter. The back of her neck ached from the nonstop work—she'd been on carrot duty now for almost an hour—and still had a ways to go. How many carrots did one party need?
    "My arm is about ready to fall off," Missy, the blond kitchen maid standing next to her, commented ruefully, stopping to rub her shoulder. A mini-mountain of denuded potatoes sat beside her. Missy reached for a potato from the sack and immediately started peeling. "This must be a really big party. I just moved here, so I've never seen one of the Montgomery parties."
    "I have." Maebry couldn’t help the note of wistfulness creeping into her words. Probably because she thought of last year's party, when there had been no Gil. Of course, no other man had caught her eye, but the local schoolteacher, Sarah Combs, had been surrounded by all the eligible bachelors in town (and there were many since there was a surplus of men and a shortage of marriage-aged women). "They are lovely. Everyone who is anyone in the county attends."
    "I heard a real string quartet will be playing." Missy sighed as she bowed her head, rotating the potato in her palm as she peeled, knife flashing. "I've never heard of such a thing. I grew up on a Minnesota farm."
    "I grew up on a farm, too." Although she'd eventually gotten used to being surrounded by luxury serving in the McPhee Manor house, before the damaging storm. "When I came to work for Maureen, it was like serving for the Queen of England. That's how fancy it was—"
    She fell silent as the kitchen doors swung open again and a regal, handsome woman sashayed in, draped in a flawless ruby-colored gown. Her blond hair was so light, it shone platinum in the sunlight streaming through the many windows. Her face carried middle-aged hints of a greater beauty she must have had in her prime. Her gaze narrowed as she scanned the room. She zeroed in on Maebry. "You, there. Come with me."
    Maebry gulped, set down her knife, felt Missy's silent sympathy as she stepped away. Her hands were stained orange from the carrot peeling, so she swiped them the best she could on her apron. From years with Maureen, she was afraid to address Mrs. Montgomery, although she wondered what the woman wanted. Surely it was too much to hope she would be sent home, no longer needed.
    "The stable boy and driver are not making adequate progress with the snow shoveling." The fine lady waltzed down the hallway, through an exquisite dining room where a pair of maids were setting out linens and china, and heading in the direction of the front door. Quality and elegance were everywhere—the graceful line of an imported sofa, the arches of the intimately coved ceilings, the glint off the tasteful crystal chandeliers. Mrs. Montgomery frowned at her. "You look sturdy enough, and I can't