Page 11 of Maid for the Marquess

“And what of the girl?” he asked. “What are your plans?”

The housekeeper had come and removed her from the room once play began again. I recalled her face. The delicate beauty. The painfully thin form under the too-big gown. The terror in her eyes.

“Part of me wants to leave her here. She is not any of my concern. But…” I trailed off, once again her anxiety pushing against my thoughts. “I assume Mrs. Dougall could find a place for her within the household. Or perhaps a situation with Beckett in London. His new wife is a gentle sort. She would be safe there. Or the village. She could find work there if I vouch for her.”

“I do not think she would make it on her own,” Edward stated quietly. “There is something infinitely…fragile about her.”

“London, then.” I decided. It would be best if she weren’t close. She was distracting in a different sort of way—a displeasing one. I had a feeling that distraction might be my downfall.

MADELEINE

In the storeroom, I attended to my evening duties with only half a mind on the organizing of the goods we had received earlier from the village. They were meager, and I doubted they would be sufficient to accommodate my father’s guests for more than a day or perhaps two at best. But maybe the guests would be leaving soon if their sport was at an end.

The thought made a chill sweep over me just as the familiar footsteps of Mrs. Wells cut through the stillness of the air.

The housekeeper stopped at the threshold to the small room, her face as unreadable as a mask. “Lord Barnett requires you in the drawing room again, girl.”

This summons was no different from the last. However, a few hours before, I hadn’t any notion of what awaited me. Now, I did. My breath caught.

Instinctively, I knew that the game was over. My fate had been decided whilst I had been tending to the flour and sugar.

“Of course, Mrs. Wells.” I curtsied.

Her eyes narrowed. “You will return to completing your evening tasks after his lordship has finished with you.”

“Yes, Mrs. Wells.”

She nodded and then moved aside, allowing me to pass.

I buried my gloved hands into my well-worn gown, gripping my skirts tightly as I passed through the halls to the servants’ stairs. My stomach roiled with each step that took me closer to the drawing room.

What if the men who had assembled were still gathered round the table? What if the Marquess of Wheaton remained? How would I face them? More importantly, how would I face him?

I was spared from further worry when I reached the drawing room and found it empty, save my father. He was seated alone at a table strewn with cards and markers, his thinning gray hair mussed as if he had been passing a hand through it relentlessly. His gaze was lowered, pinned upon the cards in disbelief. Tobacco smoke and sour wine heavily tinged the air.

“Mrs. Wells said you had need of me, my lord,” I managed, trepidation making my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.

Mere hours before, I had been brought here roughly before an audience of strange men, presented as a sacrificial lamb. I feared I already knew the outcome of the game.

“You,” he said harshly, his lip curling in a sneer. “Why are you lingering at the threshold? Come in, curse you.”

I did his bidding, offering him a curtsy. “What may I do for you, your lordship?”

“Sit,” he commanded.

I folded myself into a chair at the opposite end of the table, intentionally keeping myself beyond his reach. Although he had spoken few words, I could hear the telltale slur in his words. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot. By now, I was more than familiar with the signs of dissipation. The deeper he fell into his cups, the angrier he became. And I had no wish to bear the brunt of his rage this night.

I settled my gloved hands in my lap and waited, offering up a silent prayer that I would be spared.

“Such a slovenly baggage,” he sneered. “You’ve been nothing but a burden to me all your life, girl.”

My father was a hateful, unhappy man. But I was numbed to his vitriol.

“Forgive me. It was never my intention to burden you.”

He slammed his fist down on the table with so much force that I winced. “Such unbridled cheek. Show some humility.”

I bowed my head, staring at my entwined hands, trying to keep them from trembling. “Yes, your lordship.”