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Chapter Twelve
Chastity paused at the threshold between the kitchen and the stairs, a hand to the cool stone, and closed her eyes briefly. Tantalizing scents of roasted meat tangled with the sweet, tangy fragrance of stewing apples. Her stomach grumbled so loudly she imagined it could be felt through the floor above. She missed eating whenever she wished, missed the variety of foods at her father’s table.
Oh yes, and missed not having throbbing feet or sore fingers.
Add her piano to the list too. How she longed to have a quick play, just to stretch out her fingers. The temptation to slip into the music room ate almost as painfully at her stomach as the hunger did. The last time she had gone this long without playing was when John had taken her piano away out of spite.
But she could not quit now. No matter how exhausted she was with playing the servant. Eleanor needed her. Not to mention she had to prove to Valentine she was more than some spoiled duke’s daughter who cared only about shoes.
She tapped a finger against the gently curved stone, worn to a shine by hundreds of fingers running over the surface throughout the decades.
The furrow between his brows, the pain in his gaze. She would not forget that easily.
Nor his confession.
She understood, to an extent, why Valentine was the way he was. He carried a great burden upon those wide shoulders. It had taken all her control not to wrap her arms about him and rest her cheek upon his bare back. Maybe it was being the oldest sister, looking after grieving siblings after the death of their mother, or perhaps because she understood pain that cut so deep one would do anything to forget it; that she had felt weakened around him. She might not have taken to drink, but she didn’t enjoy dwelling upon her marriage any more than he wished to think of the anniversary of his father’s death.
“Chastity?”
She straightened her spine and offered a quick smile to Charlotte. “Yes?”
“You received this earlier.” Charlotte handed over a carefully folded letter, secured by simple string.
She smiled at the complex folds. The work of Demeter no doubt, who prided herself on the skill that meant one could tell if anyone had opened the letter. This one remained untouched, thankfully. Her ruse would be discovered if anyone read what her sisters had to say.
She only hoped it was good news.
“That’s nice paper, that is.” Charlotte nodded toward the letter as Chastity unfolded it.
Glancing up, Chastity twisted enough so that the maid could not see the contents. Cassie had not been silly enough to use a wax seal, but it likely had not occurred to her someone might recognize expensive paper. It certainly had not occurred to Chastity.
She scanned the neat writing and kept her expression neutral as the burst of triumph made her want to give a little leap. Luke had discovered Mr. and Mrs. Harper’s address. And they were not far from London—a two hour drive if that. She glanced at the clock. Her next day off wasn’t for another five days and sneaking out at night for two hours would most certainly be noticed, though she had been lucky Charlotte slept through her having fallen asleep in Valentine’s room. The woman slept so heavily that she imagined not even the largest of mail coaches driving down the corridor could wake her. A small blessing indeed.
Regardless, even if she could be assured of not being missed, she did not wish to wait.
“Is something the matter?”
She made her decision then. “Yes. It’s from my mother’s doctor.” She affected a trembling bottom lip and issued a quick silent prayer for forgiveness. Hopefully God would offer it, considering she had good motives. “She is dying and he fears she does not have long left.”
Charlotte put a hand to her mouth. “Oh Lordy. I am sorry.”
“You do not think Mrs. Cooke—” Chastity shook her head. Mrs. Cooke had yet to warm to her, despite her hard work and attempts at winning the housekeeper over.
The maid leaned in, putting a hand to her arm. “Mrs. Cooke’s mother died some five years ago. She might be kinder than you think.”
It was either appeal to the housekeeper for a day off or slip out and risk her job. No matter how much power Valentine had, he could not intervene if she absconded or else the servants would be certain indeed she was his mistress.
“I shall try.”
“Shall I come with you?”
Guilt jabbed its sharp needle into her chest. Perhaps when this was all over, she would buy Charlotte some sweetmeats or a new book. The maid had been so kind to her, and she regretted lying to her.
“I can handle Mrs. Cooke,” Chastity said firmly. There was no need to bring her into her lies.
“If you need anything...” She gestured widely, palms open.
“Thank you, Charlotte. Truly.”
