Page 11 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

With Stratford finally gone down to dinner though, Winston could think of filling her own hollow stomach. She had missed luncheon when she’d been urging Lord Stratford to come away from the portrait and sit down to eat. She tossed the wash water out the window and hung the damp length of cloth used to dry Stratford’s face after shaving him, near the fire so it would dry while she was gone downstairs. Then she picked up his largely uneaten luncheon tray, and while she might have considered stealing a bite for herself, she refused to break the rules. She would eat the food she had earned as a servant, with knives and forks and her own glass of milk or whatever would be served to servants, and carried the leftovers out the door with her.

The servants’ hall below was a bustle of activity when she arrived, and she quickly handed the unwanted tray to one of the eager kitchen helpers and stepped back against a wall out of the way. The scent of roasted meat in the chamber nearly made her swoon on the spot.

“Dinner for the servants will be later than expected tonight,” a fellow servant warned as he stopped in front of her carrying a soup tureen. He tossed his head toward the nearest exit to the garden. “Best wait out in the garden with the others until you’re summoned.”

Although Winston could have offered to help, the man was not the fellow to make the offer to. She moved past him and looked for the familiar face of the butler. But she did not see Seymour anywhere. Everyone was rushing about like headless chickens in too small a space. Venturing in farther would only make matters worse. She backed up the way she came and slipped past the kitchen doorway, along a hall that supposedly led to the kitchen garden.

She had been inside all day anyway, and now she gratefully breathed the fresh air deep into her lungs. Winston had always loved the outdoors more than anything in the world. As a child, she’d spent endless hours running about or riding her pony on Father’s estate. Fishing, largely without success, or climbing in the highest trees. As a boy, she’d had endless freedom to excel and had been praised for her efforts. As a girl, she would have been called an unruly brat and likely punished for half the things she’d ever done. Even though her life had been a lie even then, she thought of those days with a fond longing time and distance had never displaced.

There seemed to be no one else in the garden, and she strolled along the pathways at her own pace, inhaling the scents of rosemary, thyme, and the summer to come that lingered on the air. What would it be like to run off through the garden gate, wade through the first stream she came to with no care for her clothing or disguise, and then climb a tree at her age? She might wish to stay there until the stars came out.

She might have considered it if she wasn’t a valet with a stomach crying out to be filled.

Winston made three more circuits of the garden before deciding to head back to the kitchen doorway. The other servants meant to be out here were obviously elsewhere. Night was deepening and surely the servants would be eating soon.

But when she reached the door she’d used to exit the palace, it was shut tight, although she didn’t remember closing it behind her. And although she tried with all her might, it wouldn’t open again.

Her eyes widened. Had she been locked outside by mistake?

Winston looked right, beyond the kitchen garden, to the terrace doors open far in the distance where the family must be gathered tonight. She could hear the murmur of many voices, rising over the futile playing of musicians. She could get back in that way but only as a last resort.

Winston knocked and then pounded with her fist upon the heavy, aged wood door until it suddenly flew open. The butler glared out and then scowled to see her standing there. “Servants are expected to attend the dining hall promptly.”

“I was told dinner was delayed and to get out of the way until called,” she replied angrily.

The butler squinted at her with suspicion. “There was no delay.”

“You doubt me?”

“No one employed at Ravenswood would play such a cruel trick,” he insisted.

“Well, someone did to me,” she insisted, realizing how easy a target she’d been for the mean-spirited lark. Outsiders always were fair game for pranks.

She pushed past Seymour into the palace and headed for the servants’ dining room to eat, but saw to her chagrin that only a few of the servants remained there now. Most were rising from the table, fed and replete from the evening meal just served. The servant who’d told her dinner was delayed hid a smirk as he whispered something in Cook’s ear that made her laugh as she looked around at Winston.

Winston scowled to be the butt of a joke so soon in her stay. She’d been made a fool of tonight and sent away deliberately so she missed the evening meal and went to bed hungry. All because she was a newcomer. She kept her eyes on the smirking fellow as he carried the last empty plate out the door and into the scullery.

“There’ll be nothing now until morning,” the butler informed her. “Remember that the next time you decide to take the air.”

If confronted about the matter, the servant who’d deliberately misled her would only deny he’d done anything wrong. “I wasn’t hungry anyway,” she murmured, and stalked away.

Winston returned upstairs to Lord Stratford’s chambers, unfed and very angry.

She should have realized there would be greater challenges here than getting her new master away from his work. She would need a better plan for tomorrow, and she’d put some bravado on display when dealing with the other servants.

There was nothing at all to eat upstairs, unless she stole food, which was against the rules. She would have to go hungry till dawn, but it would be the last time she overestimated the kindness of Ravenswood servants. She’d also exact her revenge on the footman who’d misled her before she departed the estate somehow, too. She was very good at spotting the weaknesses of men. They were numerous and varied, after all.

Once in Lord Stratford’s chamber, she noticed the dress strewn across the bed. At no time in her life would she ever wear such a delicate creation. She approached a garment that only added to her aggravation. Gingerly, she touched the fabric and rubbed it between her fingers. Soft silk caressed her skin, and she snatched her hand back, unused to the sensation.

The dress could not remain upon the bed. Not when she was in her current bad temper. It must be cleared away or she feared she might take her frustration out on the garment.

Winston snatched up the gown with just two fingers, holding it aloft at the shoulders, and carried it toward the closet as if it would bite her at any moment. But before she could put it away, she caught sight of herself and the gown in the full-length mirror.

She stopped suddenly, squinting at herself. It was almost like looking at a portrait of her mother—albeit without the jewels she’d customarily been adorned with. Winston was so stunned by the resemblance, she pulled the gown toward her body and held it there.

It was like looking at another person entirely. She was not Winston but a lady. A shuddering breath left her lips at the ridiculousness of that thought. If she squinted, she was almost beautiful, as delicate as any other woman she’d ever seen. But that did not please her. A delicate woman she was not, and could never be. She tossed the dress aside in disgust and stared at it where it lay across the hardwood floor.

She was loath to pick it up again.