When she had worked side by side with her father, she had never thought of what might happen in the future if Papa was no longer in the world. The past five months had been a sobering reality. The moment she reached her majority, she was heading home to Stirling, hopefully with a guild membership to facilitate her future. However, if the guild refused her, Audrey would find another path to practicing the healing arts without them. Herbalism, perhaps. Or midwifery.
That was neither here nor there at the moment. She had yet a month of mourning, then several more months before she reached her majority and could finally bid farewell to Lord Stirling’s empty household. London was not releasing her from its noisome grip—not yet.
Audrey was not sure if she should be happy or irritated by the downpour outside, which was delaying the peeress’s arrival to collect her.
Her gaze fell on the gilded birdcage, where little Flapper frantically flapped a solitary wing, the other immobilized so that the bone could mend. She could just imagine what Lady Astley would say when she arrived.
“What is that in the cage, pray tell, Miss Gideon?”
“This is … my pet … starling, Flapper, your ladyship.”
Even in her mental musings, the frosty gaze of her disapproving hostess intimidated Audrey.
“Your … pet? Do you believe a starling is an appropriate pet for a young lady of theton, Miss Gideon?”
Audrey had to think how she would respond to such a question.
“Lord Stirling … had a servant capture it for me as a gift, your ladyship.”
Audrey shook her head. That was an outright lie, and certain to lead to more trouble. She could not disrespect her guardian by telling such a flagrant falsehood. Perhaps she should attempt the truth?
“What is that winged creature, pray tell, Miss Gideon?”
“This is … my patient … Flapper, your ladyship.”
The noblewoman’s brows shot up in horror. “Your … patient?”
Audrey groaned, her stomach roiling as she accepted the truth would be far worse. What the deuce was she to do when the lady’s carriage drew up in front of the townhouse?
“Sweet heavens, this will be a disaster,” she whispered below her breath, causing the servant in attendance to glance in her direction. Flapper chirruped, his free wing fluttering as if in sympathy for her plight.
Springing to her feet, Audrey paced the hall. Gilded mirrors reflected a little of the gloomy daylight from the fan windows above the door, and the narrow windows on either side. The starched footman on duty politely ignored her. Audrey had attempted to form relationships with the household, but had discovered that the liveried men and uniformed women belowstairs were even more committed to appropriate behavior than the nobility, if it were possible. They saw her as a guest of their lord, and the earl hired the most proper of servants.
After a few moments, the footman departed the entry to see to some household matter, leaving Audrey to the muted sound of her slippers smacking the polished marble as she walked from end to end.
She had spent half the night trying to think up a way to avoid this stay with Lady Astley without risking her reputation.
Tap, tap, tap.
Reaching the far end of the hall, she turned to walk back to her trunk.
Perhaps she could claim it was a gift from her papa, a reminder of their time together. Audrey winced. She would lie about her beloved father to appease a humorless old harpy?
She should state with confidence that the starling was her pet and Lord Stirling had assured her it was acceptable to take the bird with her.
Tap, tap, tap.
Egad, she was going to be disingenuous. If she had been quicker of wit, perhaps she could have raised the subject with the earl the evening prior. Then she could have declared some sort of truth, instead of fabricating Canterbury tales this morning.
Flapper was her patient. Scrupulous care was necessary to ensure the wing mended correctly, or the little bird would be permanently grounded. She had no choice but to plant her feet and refuse to budge. Audrey did not doubt her ability to protect her helpless feathered patient—but how much uncomfortable discourse would she have to prevail through before Lady Astley relented?
Tap, tap, tap.
The thing was … she did not wish this to turn into a grand debate. Flapper needed her fastidious treatment if he was to recover his flight. It was that simple. But Lady Astley would not withdraw her objections, that was certain.
Thunk.
Audrey halted in surprise to look at the front door as the wooden panel strained against its hinges, followed by a loud cracking sound from out in the street and a muffled exclamation. Hurrying over, she peered through the foggy glass, wiping it clear to see if someone was out there. Perhaps Lady Astley’s coachman?—
