Page 50 of Wicked By Design

Cilly watched, secretly delighted as Damian absently put away four slices of bread and cheese, simply by not noticing she kept putting a fresh one on his plate as he finished the last.

Replete and feeling far more able to manage the journey home, Cilly was sipping her tea when the door burst open.

“There she is, my l-lady,” Nichols said, beaming beatifically at Cilly as she swayed gently from side to side. “Love her like my own daughter, I do. There’s no one better in the world. Such a lovely lady, too good for the likes of—” Nichols gave a loud hiccough and Cilly surged to her feet.

“Nichols, you are—you are foxed!” she said, torn between laughter and shock.

Nichols shook her head. “Idonthinkso,” she slurred unsteadily. “Apple juice.”

“Apple juice,” Cilly repeated doubtfully.

“The lanlor’ said… apple juice. Delicious, it were.” Nichols swayed backward and caught at the doorjamb to steady herself.

“I believe what Nichols is trying to say is that the landlord served her apple drink. It sounds innocuous, I’m afraid, but it’s not apple juice, but what they call rough cider in these parts, lethal stuff,” Damian said, eyeing the woman with amusement.

“Oh, poor Nichols!” Cilly sprang to her feet. She turned to Damian, indignant on her maid’s behalf. “I insist you speak to them and tell them how reprehensible it is to serve respectable ladies strong drink under the name of apple drink, as if that explains anything!”

Damian looked sceptical. “My dear, Nichols is a grown woman, I find it hard to believe she could not tell the difference between juice and cider, but I very much doubt the landlord did it on purpose. He would have assumed she knew what it was.”

“If the landlord told her it was apple juice, she would have no reason not to believe him,” Cilly insisted hotly.

“Never trust a man, my pet,” Nichols said, wagging a finger at her. “’specially one with cheekbones like that.” Her wagging finger pointed at Damian accusingly.

“It’s outrageous,” Cilly said in a harsh whisper. “You must speak to him at once.”

“Lovely man,” Nichols chimed in dreamily. “Lovely apple juice. He said I had eyes like damsons. I liked that. What are damsons?”

Cilly frowned at her. “A kind of plum.”

“I like damsons,” Nichols said with a sigh, leaning heavily against the doorjamb. “Think I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit.”

Then, like a theatre curtain, she fell, slowly and with dignity, sliding down to the floor where she marked the end of the performance with a soft snore.

“Oh, good heavens!” Cilly exclaimed in exasperation. She turned to look at Damian. “Now, what do we do?”

Damian shrugged. “Let her sleep it off, I suppose.”

Cilly threw up her hands.

The Cock and Pippin Pub, East Sussex, 17thSeptember 1816

To be truthful, Damian was relieved to have something to do. So, he had a stern word with the landlord, who was appalled, having, as Damian suspected, assumed Nichols knew what she was drinking.

“When she called for another, I warned her it had a kick, but she waved me off. I might’ve argued a mite, but she scared me, truth be told,” the fellow admitted ruefully.

This, Damian could well believe, having been on the receiving end of some of the less than friendly looks Nichols had sent his way that suggested she would cut off his manly parts if he put a foot wrong with her mistress.

“Mind you, she’s a fine, handsome woman. I beg you will send her my apologies, like. P’rhaps she’d like a lie down in one of our bedchambers for a bit. My sister, Nell, will look after her. Till she feels better, like.”

“An excellent notion, Mr Teskar. Thank you. Perhaps you might provide some strong coffee too, and perhaps some toast, to soak up the cider?”

Mr Teskar nodded gravely. “Aye, least I can do, my lord. I’ll see to it, never fret.”

Once Nichols had been escorted to a bedchamber under the watchful gaze of Miss Teskar, Damian returned to Celia.

Her gratitude and approval at his arrangements made him feel oddly pleased with himself and some of the gloom that had felt like it might smother him just hours ago lifted a little.

Though he’d done it for the best, poor Cilly had endured a horridly difficult day thanks to him, and she’d not once complained or blamed him. Perhaps he could mitigate the awfulness a little, as they could not return home for a while yet.