Page 5 of Maid for the Marquess

In truth, I’d been so flustered by the dark-eyed gentleman in the drawing room that I had been fairly racing away like a horse galloping down a track. Only, instead of winning a purse, all I managed to do was make a mess of myself. Mrs. Wells would be quite vexed if I were to return to the kitchens in such a state.

I glanced up from the rapidly spreading wetness on my gown and made another discovery. Lydia’s cheek was reddened, and now that some of my distraction had dissipated, I realized the whites of her eyes were pink, her nose a similar shade.

As if she had been weeping.

“What’s happened to you?” I asked, although I needn’t have.

I knew the answer.

“Mrs. Wells,” Lydia said.

Impotent fury rose within me.

“I’ll speak with my father,” I blurted, knowing I couldn’t and yet wanting to aid her in some way.

“No, please.” Lydia shook her head, dashing at a lone tear on her cheek with the back of her hand. “You mustn’t. I fear doing so will only make both our predicaments worse.”

“Why did she strike you this time?” I asked.

“I stole a honey cake,” my friend admitted, frowning. “So, you see? It was deserved. I knew it was a risk that she would see.”

Like me, she had been far too burdened with tasks this morning and afternoon to consume any of the scant food allotted to us. Perhaps this evening, we would have some spare bits of roast to tuck into our weary bellies if enough remained after my father’s houseguests had supped. More likely than not, we would go to bed after naught but thin porridge and bread. We’d been given such meager fare lately in order to prepare for the guests. They were not allowed to be hungry, but we did not matter.

“I was similarly tempted,” I told Lydia, new guilt seeping through me for the sin I had nearly committed.

I deserved the punishment I next received.

The sound of footfalls on the stair below had us both stiffening our spines and resuming our duties. There would be more opportunity to speak later, when the house was asleep for the night. No need to further incite the wrath of Mrs. Wells. As I hurried down the steps, clutching the soiled cloths and my now-empty water pail, however, it wasn’t the housekeeper or my father who lingered most prominently in my thoughts.

It was the stranger with the broad shoulders and the casual air of command, the only gentleman in the drawing room who had seen me.

Until he’d looked away, knowing I was beneath him.

CHAPTER 3

ALEXANDER

Afull moon was high over Barnett’s unkempt gardens, illuminating the shrubbery. I inhaled deeply and exhaled, appreciative of the fresh air after spending the day trapped in a room stinking of smoke, spilled wine, pomade, and soot. Play had finished for the evening, affording me the opportunity to escape from Barnett’s dubious hospitality.

Surrounding me was more evidence of his estate’s ruinous decline, from box hedges in wont of a sound trim and towering syringa, to clumps of Sweet William and lavender overrun with weeds. It was a tangled mass on once carefully cultivated soil.

The crunch of gravel alerted me to Edward’s presence before I turned, grateful for the companionship of my trusted steward after a day fraught with tension. For some reason, the servant girl Barnett had reprimanded rose in my mind before I banished the thought.

“How much did you lose today?” Edward inquired quietly.

No one else had ventured to the gardens at this late hour. Likely, most of the other houseguests had already fallen into bed with bellies full of wine. But discretion was wise. I had no desire for word of my true intentions to reach the baron.

“Enough to make Barnett think I’m an easy mark.”

A breeze ruffled the boughs of the trees overhead as clouds passed before the moon, blanketing us in shadow. I turned my attention toward the darkened shrubbery, an odd restlessness settling over me. I was closer than ever to obtaining what I wanted, and yet, I felt no satisfaction. There was only a hollow sense of disgust for it all—the baron, the greed, the vices. Was I the only man in that room who had taken note of the true fear in the maid’s voice when she had apologized to Barnett for taking too long to clean the threadbare carpets?

I told myself it didn’t signify, that she didn’t signify. And yet it rang hollow.

“Was he using the marked cards?” Edward asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I looked away from the ruined gardens, trying to keep my mind settled upon the task at hand. “Yes. And I saw where he places them when we are finished for the day. There is a hidden drawer in the table. I lingered in the hallway watching him, and he was so busy congratulating himself over his winnings that he didn’t notice my presence. We will have to slip in once the house is abed and switch them for tomorrow.”

We would linger here in the gardens until it was safe to accomplish the substitution. Given the dearth of domestics, we likely wouldn’t have long to wait.