Saffron kept her lips sealed. There was no point in telling the maid that any eggs she could afford went right onto theirbreakfast plates. She could not fathom wasting good food on beauty.
Then Lily disappeared, and Saffron dried and put up her hair at the small dressing table. She was about to begin the tortuous process of putting her still-damp garments back on when the maid returned, her arms full of fabric.
“Oh, no,” Lily said, dumping her load on the bed and gathering the old clothes out of her hands. “You canna wear those. Mrs. Banting told me to bring you these.”
The fabrics were lovely, and she knew she should refuse, but the thought of stepping back into her sodden clothing was too much to bear. Instead, she allowed Lily to hand her the most beautiful underthings she’d ever worn. First a chemise and drawers of sheer silk and knitted wool stockings for the cold. Then the maid pulled back the covers on the bed, but Saffron stopped her with a wave. She was too anxious to sleep, especially when Angelica and Rosemary had yet to arrive.
Lily smoothed the bedspread. “As you wish, madam.” Then she brought over Saffron’s old corset with an apology. “Would not want you to use one that was not properly fit, and the lady who owned this gown was a fair bit taller than you. This was the only gown we could find.”
Saffron could not argue, although she hoped the clothes had not belonged to one of Leo’s light ladies. She wasn’t sure how she would feel about him looking at her the same way he would a woman he had bedded. It was difficult enough maintaining her composure around him after what they’d shared in the cottage without imagining him intertwined with the previous owner of her dress.
A snowy-white petticoat came next, and a blouse instead of a corset cover. Then Lily spread out a bodice and skirt on the bed for her to admire. The emerald-and-cream day dress was made of silk taffeta and velvet, with a low, square neckline, anopen skirt, and dropped waist trimmed with a wide, cream, silk ribbon.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered as Lily helped her into it. “I haven’t worn something this beautiful in my entire life.”
To finish the ensemble, Lily presented her with a pair of emerald gloves, only slightly too large, and a pair of pale-green slippers. Her toes bumped up against the tips, but it was better than walking around in stockinged feet.
When she was finally dressed, she stared at herself in the mirror, breathless. Proper attire was a kind of shield, invisible to most, but jarringly obvious when done cheaply. She had spent so long patching her old gowns until they were so thin as to be transparent that wearing proper, sturdy clothing filled her with a renewed sense of purpose.
I can do this. First, Ravenmore, then Basil.
“Much better,” Lily said, her hands on her hips. “I will have your garments cleaned and returned to you, but if you’ll be asking me, I think these suit you more.”
Saffron dismissed Lily with thanks, then without a plan for what to do next, walked over to the window by the small writing desk and looked outside.
The storm had passed, leaving behind a rose-tinted sky as the first rays of the sun peeked over the tops of the trees. If she squinted through the scratched and dirty glass, she could make out the dotted shapes of staff working on the grounds, busy at their tasks, despite the remaining trickle of rain. How many people did an estate the size of Briarwood Manor employ?
She checked the ornate clock on the mantel, surprised that it was early morning. She did not know how long she had been on horseback. Had it been minutes or hours? The time spent in the cottage had passed with tremendous speed. She paced her room in a knot of worry. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined the worst-case scenario of Angelica and Rosemary beset uponby brigands or highwaymen. Or, even worse, braving the storm themselves and falling victim to a flood or landslide.
What she needed was work. Something to keep her busy. But she had no garments to repair, or letters to write.
Remembering the incident in the entryway, she searched the room for a bell and found it in the corner. She grasped the heavy, braided cord, pulling it down in a quick motion. It wasn’t long before there was a soft knock at her door.
“Enter,” Saffron said.
A young maid with brown, plaited hair and a spattering of freckles opened the door. “Would you like a hot meal, madam? It’s a few hours still before we’ll be serving in the main parlor.”
“No, thank you. Please tell Mrs. Banting I would like to speak to her.”
The maid bowed and departed, closing the door with a soft whisper, in defiance of Lily’s previous claims.
Left alone again, Saffron took a seat at the small desk and tried to calm her jittering nerves by organizing the contents of the drawers.
Twelve jars of ink. Fifteen sheets of vellum. Three fountain pens.
What if Angelica had set out after her? Would Leo’s coachman even find her?
One bag of setting powder. Two wax seals.
There was nothing left to sort, but her mind refused to settle. Aunt Rosemary was sensitive to the cold. Would she take ill after being exposed for so long?
A gentle rapping at her door startled her. The housekeeper opened it when bidden, her hands tucked behind her back. “Terribly sorry to bother you, madam. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes,” Saffron said, standing so fast that she rattled the table. This was her chance to begin her investigation. “I was hoping tospeak with Ravenmore. Do you know if the painter has arrived yet?”
Mrs. Banting frowned. “I apologize, madam. There is no one with that name on the guest list.”
Well, it had been worth an attempt. “Perhaps you might show me to the paintings for the auction? I find I am restless.”
