The duke’s head swiftly dipped, lips lightly brushing hers before he drew back, strode to the door and flung it open.
Flora fell into the room, steadied herself, bobbed a curtsey and winked at him.
The duke hoisted a brow and turned to Evelyn. “Mrs Swift, I believe your presence is required upstairs.”
“Did I interrupt sommit, Mrs Swift?”
“Not at all,” Evelyn contested as she hid her blushes and scurried up the stairs quite at sixes and sevens. “I don’t know what you mean. And you’ve no need to call me Mrs Sw–”
“I haves to,” Flora revealed breathlessly, skirts hiked to knee, “otherwise Coppers gives me a strict talking-to and punishes me with those firm hands of his.”
“Oh, Flora.” She hugged her arm as they darted down the corridor. “I’m so sorry.”
“Water off a duck’s arse and besides…it gets me all lusty.”
Flummoxed, Evelyn halted, opened her mouth, closed it, and then continued hurrying on. “I placed the potion in my wardrobe,” she explained, yanking the bedchamber door wide and crossing to the cavernous item of furniture.
“Course yer did.”
“Well, there’s so much space. This wardrobe would serve an entire family at Hop Gardens.”
The interior revealed three dresses, five empty shelves and a green bottle.
Flora dashed to the side table and poured a glass of wine for Artemisia’s syrup to be added…then quaffed it in one and poured another. “Just testin’ it fer yer sister,” she said with a grin.
Smirking, Evelyn added the potion before the second glass could likewise disappear.
A raked wheeze came from the adjoining bedchamber and Evelyn bustled through the between sitting room, swirling the malodourous concoction.
She sat on the bed…and sank a good ten inches into its softness. “Drink, Artemisia,” she coaxed, tenderly cradling her sister’s head as the mixture was gulped.
“T-thank you,” Artemisia rasped, falling back against the pillows, face flush. “I was reading a Gothic novel and have discovered I mustn’t laugh too much as…” She drew a long breath. “It makes me cough.”
“Perhaps a more educative book is called for,” chastised Evelyn with her sternest gaze. “In the duke’s library, I noticed a dense volume entirely dedicated to the cultivation of potatoes.”
Artemisia pinched her lips shut but her eyes scrunched in laughter as a sniggering Flora also flumped on the end of the bed.
Evelyn kicked off her shoes and tucked her toes beneath the coverlet. “But seriously, Flora, ’tis all my fault that you had to leave Hop Gardens and end up here as pretend maid. I’m so sorry. And I have no idea what our futures hold now.”
“Don’t you worry yer belfry. We’ll cross them breeches when we comes to ‘em.” She pulled at the wrinkles on her stockings. “Coppers took me back there this morning, wouldn’t let me go on me own, the nitterwit. Lucy’s taken me room and she rescued some of m’stuff that I didn’t have time to pack.”
“Have you missed it?” Guilt weighed that she’d taken Flora from her home, possessions and friends.
Flora gawked. “Course I haven’t bleedin’ missed it, you goosecap. I much prefer the butler’s…” Her eyes swivelled to an inquisitive-looking Artemisia. “…the warm bed here.Andwe’re allowed baths twice a week, the uniform’s free and the grub’s toothsome…if a bit foreign.” She creased her nose. “It’s just the early mornings I can’t get used to. And the ironing. And the snooty housekeeper. And all the fetching and carrying. ’Tis much easier to lie still and let artists paint…er, me best bits.”
“And did you really ask the duke for…” Evelyn halted as her sister leaned forward to rest her chin on a clenched fist.
“For a what?” Artemisia queried, eyes wide and breath husky but without its previous wheeze.
Flora twiddled a curl and attempted the virtuous smile of an angel – a fallen one. “Well, yes. I asked him for…a rise. Just to see what kind of a master he was. Only a shilling, mind.”
“And?” Evelyn winched a brow.
“He said he never gives maids a rise.”
Artemisia snickered and pulled the coverlet tight. “No wonder, Flora,” she said with a distinct twinkle to her eye. “That’s the butler’s responsibility, is it not?”
Chapter 22
