The Balfour Series: Books 1 - 4 Read online

  “Elias Compton, sir.” The young man shuffled forward, his hat in his hands. Through her peripheral vision, Emmeline noted Honor’s brow furrow. His eyes narrowed before he glanced at his sheet and nodded slowly but Emmeline’s attention was fixed mostly on the handsome man before them. He was not as young as she had initially thought, given his dramatic entrance.

  Seven and twenty? Eight and twenty? She guessed silently.

  His hair was a deep ebony, too long for a waiter, but kept neatly back in a tie. The structure of his face was fine boned, almost regal, and if Emmeline had seen him in another setting, she might have mistaken him for royalty.

  Albeit not with those worn shoes.

  Her amber eyes moved along the threadbare clothing and along the broad chest back to his face. He wore a poor man’s clothes, just as the other hopefuls, yet there was something about the way he spoke and presented himself which did not echo lowly breeding.

  Abruptly, he, too, lifted his head and met Emmeline’s curious gaze as if he could feel her eyes upon him. Heat rose on Emmeline’s cheeks and she quickly looked away, her pulse quickening at being caught boldly gawking at the stranger.

  “I see your name here, Mr. Compton. Tell us, why should I entertain the idea of granting you an interview when you have already displayed a propensity for tardiness?” Honor demanded. There was an edge to his voice which Emmeline had not heard before.

  He is attempting to assert his authority, Emmeline reasoned.

  “I implore you, Mr.…?” Elias peered at Honor questioningly.

  “You will answer my question firstly and perhaps then I will offer you my name,” Honor replied with uncharacteristic sharpness. Emmeline cringed at his tone. She desperately wished to speak up on behalf of Mr. Compton, whomever he was, but she knew it was not her place.

  They already wish I were not here, she reminded herself. You need not interject yourself in the middle of proceedings which have nothing to do with you.

  “Sir, I am a man of great ethic both in employment and in my personal nature. I shall always put this hotel above my own needs and be at the service of the guests and the Balfour family whenever I am needed.”

  There was a plaintiveness about him, his eyes growing wider with each word he spoke and as he continued his monologue, Emmeline felt her gaze again fixing on his passionate face.

  “I have traveled a great distance with the last pence in my pockets to be here when there are many other inns which would have had me given my vast experience as a waiter. I beg of you, do not turn me away or I will have nowhere to go. I will not disappoint you again. I swear it.”

  Emmeline heard a sigh and she looked about to see that she was not alone in her swooning. The chambermaids each stared at him with adoring eyes, the combination of his endearing demeanor and dashing looks too much to ignore.

  If Emmeline did not know better, she might have guessed that Antoinette was also moved by his speech but any hint of warmth quickly vanished from the housekeeper’s eyes when she noticed Emmeline’s gaze upon her.

  “We will not permit another mistake,” Honor told him sternly and Emmeline’s body sagged with relief as though her own position rested on the maître d’s words.

  “You will need not permit one,” Elias assured him. “I will not make another mistake. I swear it.”

  “Step into line. The interview has not yet started,” Honor ordered him but he did not lose the strange expression on his face.

  The young man did as he was told and stepped beside a tall boy on the end, his shoulders squared as he waited for instructions. Antoinette turned her attention back to the women and Emmeline realized she was wringing her hands, her long fingers twirling over the string of pearls along her neck.

  I should not be here, she thought suddenly, her body unnaturally warm. Discretely, she moved toward the doorway but not without casting one last glance over her shoulder at Elias Compton. To her utter shock, he was staring boldly, unblinkingly, at her.

  He must learn to show more decorum if he wishes to succeed here, she thought, her breaths suddenly escaping in short rasps. She scurried out of the kitchen and up the short flight of stairs into the dining room which still hosted breakfast diners.

  “Are you ill?” A voice in her ear asked and Emmeline squealed in shock. She spun to face her brother who was just as surprised by her reaction.

  “My word, Xavier! You cannot sneak upon me like that!”

  “Sneak upon you?” he echoed, laughing. “You looked precisely in my direction when you entered. I smiled at you and you returned my smile. Are you unwell? Your face is the color of fresh strawberries and you are acting beetle-headed.”

  Knowing that her brother was witnessing her embarrassment only made her blush deeper and she turned her face away. Soft blonde curls tickled her cheeks, falling gently down her neck and along the threads of her shawl.

  “I am well. It is quite hot in here, is it not?” she replied, looking about for a fan. Of course, it was December and there was no need for such an instrument.

  “Perhaps you are merely excited,” Xavier teased, peering down at her with intelligent green eyes.

  “Excited?” she repeated. “About what?”

  Xavier leered and laughed again, shaking his own blonde mane with glee.

  “You need not be coy with me, Emmy. I am your only brother. I know what happens in this hotel as well as you do.”

  Emmeline stared at him blankly, trying to reconcile what he could possibly mean.

  “For the gala tomorrow?” she offered although she could not fathom why Xavier would consider that an exciting prospect. Parties were hardly affairs to be celebrated as a Balfour. She would spend her evening dancing with her father’s associates and having trite conversations with women who cared more about the latest fashions than they did their own offspring.

  Xavier’s smile faded slightly and he cocked his head to the side.

  “You truly do not know?” he asked and the manner in which he posed the question caused shivers of concern through Emmeline’s delicate form.

  “Xavy, please, do not keep me in suspense,” she murmured. “What is it?”

  She hoped it was not something for which she would be required to prepare a great deal.

  I do loathe surprises. What has Father done now?

  Xavier sighed and chuckled.

  “You need not be so worried, my dear. It is good news indeed.”

  She waited as he grinned broadly and reached for her gloved hand, leaning in closely to whisper loudly.

  “Tomorrow night, at the ball, Walter will ask for your hand in marriage before all of Luton.”

  Emmeline reeled back in shock, her fingers slipping out of her brother’s grasp.

  “What?” she choked. “Whatever do you mean?”

  It was Xavier’s turn to appear confused and his beaming grin disappeared.

  “You do not seem happy,” he commented. “I thought you would be more joyful about the news.”

  “Joyful?” she repeated. “How can I be joyful when I do not even know the man I am to marry except that he is…”

  She trailed off and looked about, lest someone overhear her disparaging remarks about Walter Greene.

  “He and Father have discussed it several times over the past months,” Xavier explained, his eyes darkening. “I assumed Mr. Greene had spoken to you also.”

  Emmeline’s mouth gaped open but nary a noise emitted.

  “Emmy? Do say something.”

  But what was there to say? She had always known that one day, she would be betrothed to a man whom met her father’s approval, but Walter Greene? The idea caused her to shudder.

  “I-I must speak to Father,” she whispered, turning blindly toward the lobby.

  “Do not tell him I told you!” Xavier yelled out after her, causing the guests to scowl at his rudeness but Emmeline was far too distracted to apologize for her boisterous brother.

  I do not wish to marry Mr. Greene or anyone else for that matt
er, she thought desperately, making her way toward her father’s office next to the concierge desk. But most certainly not Mr. Greene. How can Father do this to me?

  There was only one way to know and that was to confront Charlton Balfour before the engagement occurred.

  “Miss Balfour, he is not to be disturbed,” Matthew informed her from the counter as she swept through toward his office. “However, your mother is in her quarters.”

  Emmeline paused and looked to the boy at the desk, her mind whirling as she considered ignoring him and bursting through to confront her father about the arrangement he had made.

  Of course Mother is in her quarters. She is always in her quarters.

  “Thank you, Matthew,” she muttered, turning away from the office to take the center stairs up to her mother’s chambers.

  If I cannot see Father, perhaps I can plead with Mother, if only to gain myself time in the matter.

  It was a ridiculous idea, but given her state of mind, Emmeline could think of nothing else to do but sit by and be idle, something which she did not handle well.

  I must do something. Hopefully Mother is coherent enough to help me through this.

  As Matthew had dictated, Anne Balfour sat at her vanity, brushing her blonde tresses. It was not difficult to see where her children had inherited their comely appearance. Even at five and forty, Anne was a lovely woman, not a strand of white amongst her golden crown. Small wrinkles had begun to show themselves at the corners of her luminous green eyes, but Anne was still very much the beauty she had always been.

  “Your mother was the comeliest lass in all of Luton,” Charlton often told the children when they were young. “I was the only one who could afford her dowry.”

  How long has it been since he has spun that yarn to us? Emmeline thought wistfully. It had been a long while since Charlton had spoken well of his wife at all, to Emmeline’s recollection.

  It has been a long while for many things in this household, Emmeline thought with some bitterness.

  “Mother, may I enter?” she asked quietly from the salon. Anne waved a heavily ringed hand without speaking and Emmeline stepped in to join her in the bedchamber, sliding the doors between the sitting room closed for privacy.

  “Before you speak a word, Emmeline, I am in no mood for theatrics today, am I clear?”

  Emmeline supressed a sharp retort, knowing that it would not benefit her to protest.

  When is she ever in the mood for theatrics? If Mother had her way, she would never leave her quarters. We barely see her as it is.

  Once, Anne had graced the halls with her luxurious gowns and charming smiles, wooing the guests with her easy disposition and witty banter. Gradually, however, she had let the hotel slip away as she turned to seek solace for whatever was plaguing her soul in the bottom of a sherry decanter.

  If Emmeline were to consider when things had gone awry with her mother, she could never quite find the precise moment in time. It seemed that one day she was a vibrant, sparkling woman, and the next an inconsolable drunk.

  Charlton had barely seemed to notice, simply replacing his wife with Emmeline for the purposes of acting as hostess of the hotel. Emmeline had been young enough not to realize she had taken her mother’s place, not until it was too late and she was the new face of the Balfour Hotel. Sometimes, Emmeline wondered if her mother resented her and if her animus was the cause of Anne’s misery.

  “Mother, I must speak to you about my engagement,” Emmeline told her breathlessly, sliding down to crouch at Anne’s side. “I knew nothing of it!”

  “Your engagement?” Anne asked nonchalantly, dropping the silver-handled brush against the toilet. She did not meet her daughter’s eyes and Emmeline was filled with a new sense of foreboding. The smell of alcohol wafted toward Emmeline and she sank back onto her haunches before trying again to reason with her mother.

  “Mother, I understand I must be married, but to Walter Greene?” she insisted. “Surely there are better matches?”

  “I do not interject myself in business matters, Emmeline,” Anne told her, still averting her eyes as she dusted her face with powder. “You must learn to do the same, particularly if you wish for the guests to like you. Smile and accept.”

  As if to accentuate her point, Anne beamed at herself eerily in the mirror as though she was greeting guests.

  “I…Mother, this is not a business matter,” Emmeline cried, frustration mounting inside her. “This is my marriage.”

  Finally, Anne pivoted her head and peered at her. The older woman’s mouth became a fine line of disapproval.

  “Is there a difference?” Her mother asked dully. Emmeline scoffed indignantly.

  “Sincerely, Mother? Of course there is!”

  “Emmeline, be sensible for once in your life. You are a woman now and you must act accordingly.” Anne all but threw her hands up in exasperation.

  “Mother, you are not speaking sense. I am discussing my engagement and you are talking about the hotel.”

  Anne snorted unbecomingly and shook her head in disgust.

  “I blame your father,” she muttered. “He spoiled you. You and Xavier. Indulged your every whim and now look at you!”

  It was not yet nine o’clock in the morning and Emmeline knew her mother was ape-drunk already.

  Ballocks, she thought, although she did not dare speak such vile cant aloud. She will be useless to help my cause.

  “You should rest, Mother,” Emmeline sighed, rising to her feet. “I will speak with Father.”

  “You bloody fool!” Anne howled. “Have you not heard a word I just spoke?”

  Emmeline stared at her mother with pity. She knew she should have never bothered Anne with such matters. Anne did not know one day from the next. It was foolish of Emmeline to have come.

  “Of course I heard you, Mother. You rest,” she murmured, turning away. Abruptly, Anne began to laugh.

  “You may speak to your father, Emmeline but his answer will be the same as the one I just gave you. Your marriage is business, girl. They are one in the same. He is marrying you to Walter Greene because it is what is best for the hotel.”

  Emmeline blinked several times, the truth of Anne’s words stinging her like a dagger penetrating her heart.

  She is not confused. I am.

  “You are nothing more than a commodity for the hotel, Emmeline, a notation on the accompts. You will marry whomever your father deems fit.”

  The words sickened Emmeline, not because they were laced with the bitter venom of an unstable woman, but because she knew them to be a fact.

  It was the only reason that her father would have kept the betrothal from her.

  He does not care about my opinion on the matter, nor my happiness. It is irrelevant. I am irrelevant.

  2

  Elias wiped away the sweat forming on his brow and kept his eyes trained on Honor Wesley as he knew the maître d’ watched him with as much intensity.

  You very nearly ruined it, he chided himself for the umpteenth time since arriving at the hotel. Again, he was forced to remember that he was still there, on the property.

  “Elias,” Honor barked. “What do you do in this situation?”

  Elias shifted his eyes toward the table and looked about for anything that appeared to be amiss.

  “I would fetch another fork and ensure the guest is comfortable,” Elias replied quickly.

  “You do not speak to the guest unless he speaks to you first,” Honor told the new waiters, neither commending nor disapproving of Elias’ suggestion. “You are to be seen and not heard.”

  Through the corner of his eye, he noted that the other waiters hung off Honor’s words but Elias was less concerned with learning restaurant etiquette than he was about knowing the employees.

  The chambermaids had disappeared with Antoinette leaving the men inside the now-vacant dining room to train for lunch and dinner services. Elias was eager to move freely throughout the building, but he knew he had already called far
too much attention to himself by arriving late.

  “Elias, you will tend to the room bells with Joshua.” Honor’s voice brought him back again and Elias nodded instinctively.

  “As you wish, Mr. Wesley.”

  “Come along,” a sandy haired boy whispered, nudging his arm. “You are fortunate getting such service on your first day.”

  “Am I?” Elias asked pleasantly, following Joshua toward the kitchen, he noticed everything around them as they walked, his mind processing the surroundings as though he might find a clue to what he was seeking among the artfully decorated dining room.

  “I am Joshua Milner. I was born here at The Balfour,” the blonde boy explained, his voice light and happy. “My mother and father worked here until they passed and my grandfather too.”

  Elias looked at the boy, gauging his age to be no more than nineteen.

  “You seem pleased about that,” Elias commented. Joshua paused and stared at him with wide eyes.

  “You must know this is the best hotel in which to work. You said yourself that you traveled from Peterborough to be here.”

  “You heard that?” Elias asked, slightly uncomfortable.

  “Everyone heard that,” Joshua laughed. “I daresay that Miss Balfour had tears in her eyes.”

  “Miss Balfour? The owner’s daughter?” Elias asked as they continued into the kitchen.

  “Yes. She was there for your impassioned speech also.”

  Elias was instantly reminded of the finely dressed woman who had stood in the shadows and his heart leaped unexpectedly.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “I saw her there.”

  “She is very kind,” Joshua told him confidentially, lowering his voice. “She treats us as though we are more than just servants.”

  Elias stopped at a long rectangular table and Joshua nodded to him to sit, pointing up at the wall. A series of bells hung, forty in total, each connected to a number.

  “When a bell tolls, we must run to the respective room to attend to the guest. Never can this table be left unoccupied. God forbid the Duke of Workenshire be without his cigarettes for more than a moment.”