Page 9 of One Day for a Valet

Polly nodded. “Is there anything else you need?”

Sofia pressed the letter to Polly’s palm and gave the woman’s hand a gentle squeeze between her own. “No. Thank you, Polly. You’ve been very kind. I will see you in the morning.”

Tucking the note into her apron pocket, Polly bid her goodnight.

Thirty minutes later, Sofia was settled in her bed, book in hand, when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she called. When no one entered, she pulled herself out from beneath the cosy counterpane and opened the door. Empty, dark hallway stretched in both directions. She looked down. Another book and another note. This time, Flora and Fauna of the Italian Rainforest.

My dearest governess-with-whom-I-have-no-particular-attachment,

I can only assume that my previous non-gift was not to your liking. That, or perhaps you object to my poorly executed marriage proposal. Please note that I’ve never before seen fit to offer for a woman, so I had no idea that the thought of being bound forever to my charming company would cause such a visceral response. It is with a heartfelt apology that I send this “I’m-sorry-for-proposing-marriage-to-you” gift. I will continue to bring presents to your door until such time as you see fit to forgive and befriend me.

Your most repentant servant,

Christopher P Keene

PS Should you decide to reply to this post, I will pass by your door in one hour and would likely notice if a letter was peeking from beneath.

Sofia sighed as she settled onto the bed. She should leave both books outside her door as a response, but the whimsical fairy tales in her native tongue called out to her heart, and even the dry botany text conjured thoughts of home. She would keep them and make no response at all. An hour later, she listened to his footsteps pause outside her door for the briefest moment before continuing down the hall. Then she fell into a dreamless sleep.

Sofia slept like the dead and woke to a cold, grey pre-dawn sky. After dressing and considering her itinerary for the day, she opened the door … and nearly ran headlong into a massive potted pear tree heavy with fruit. Nestled within the branches was a note. Sofia spread her fingers across her lips to suppress a laugh and opened the folded parchment.

Dearest non-friend,

Having failed abysmally to gain your favour through literary offerings, I have adjusted my strategy to appeal to your stomach instead. With no proper sweets close at hand, I procured this fruit tree with the notion that more is always better. Why settle for one delicious pear when you could claim guardianship of an entire tree? Should our head gardener, Davies, assemble a formal inquest as to the whereabouts of his prized specimen, it would be best to plead ignorance. He can be a tad prickly about his greenhouse inhabitants.

Your English mouse,

Christopher P Keene

Sofia stared at the tree, which was sagging under the weight of succulent pears, and tried to think rationally. That endeavour grew more uncomfortable by the moment as servants began to mill about in their early morning tasks casting curious looks in the direction of her orphaned tree. One laborious inch at a time, she dragged the unwieldy beast into her room, situating it close to the window. Then she heaved a sigh, picked a pear, and took a bite. Her mouth flooded with tangy sweetness.

Sofia’s itinerary clearly needed adjusting now. A fifteen-foot potted pear tree could not reside in her room. Despite the inconvenience of having to seek out Mr Keene this morning—and her unease at the attention his unorthodox gift had garnered—she couldn’t help but feel flattered by the effort required to plan and carry out the botanical heist. She threw the pear core into the waste bin, licked the sticky residue from her fingertips, and headed for the kitchens.

Mr Keene sat amongst a handful of men, enthusiastically breaking his fast. When one of the gardeners greeted her by name, his head jerked up and a warm smile transformed the determined expression on his face.

“Good morning to you, Miss Lioni. I trust you slept well?” He pushed away his half-eaten meal and stood to cross the room.

“Take it back,” Sofia whispered as he drew near.

“Take what back?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Oh. You mean the tree?” He did a very poor impersonation of a chastened lad for all of a heartbeat before his dimples rejoined the conversation.

“Yes, the blasted tree!” she yelled under her breath, enunciating each word. “Besides it being completely improper to gift me with an enormous, beautiful variety of dwarf pear—which does not even belong to you, I will add—they require the company of a second tree in order to pollinate. It must go back. Now.”

Keene’s smile only grew. “You think my gift was beautiful.”

“Santo cielo! No, you ninnyhammer. I said the tree is beautiful, and it would have been beautiful even if it had remained in the glasshouse from which you stole it. And to which you are going to return it. Without delay.” She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

His expression grew contemplative. “I didn’t realise they required a matched pair.” With a thoughtful hmm from the back of his throat, he scratched his fingertips through his thick hair, which was in want of a trim. Ironic, given his profession. “I see. Rest assured I will rectify the situation immediately. My heartfelt apologies, though I would argue the gift was quite proper. What could be more impersonal than a plant? Gentlemen give ladies flowers all the time.”

“I’m not a lady, I’m a governess. And that is not a bouquet of flowers,” Sofia spat.

“Touché. Come now, I promised to set things right with the tree and apologised for my rash proposal. The next one will be far better thought out.”

The response churning in her mind fell dead on the spot and her jaw snapped closed. They stood there, toe to toe, his smile none the dimmer for the threat of physical harm doubtless sparkling in her eyes.