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As if on cue, the door opened and the serving girl hurried in with a fully laden tray.
“Coffee at last.” Gillian nodded at the girl. “And please bring some ham and eggs for the young l—”
“Boy,” Kathleen cut in.
The serving girl looked flummoxed. “You wants me to serve the likes of him? In here with you?”
Jeannie, who had shoved her thick, wheat-blond hair under a droopy knit cap, was garbed in dust-covered breeches and a smock that was topped with a leather jerkin two sizes too big. Kathleen couldn’t imagine where her sister had found such an appalling outfit.
“Yes,” Kathleen replied. “He’s . . . he’s our coachman’s son and is under the weather. He needs a good breakfast to, er, perk him up.”
With a dismissive shrug, the serving girl thumped down the tray and departed.
“Very quick thinking on your part, Kathleen,” Gillian said.
“What difference does it makes if people guess I’m a girl?” Jeannie dropped into a chair and poured a cup of tea. “No one knows who I am.”
“They know who I am, and they certainly know the Duchess of Leverton,” Kathleen replied, still trying to recover from her shock. “The entire point of my exile is to avoid a scandal, not start a fresh one.”
After taking a large gulp of tea, Jeannie began removing her knit cap.
Kathleen flapped a hand. “Please leave it on. You have to maintain that gruesome disguise until we leave.”
“Why? It’s not as if anyone cares about me.” Jeannie’s tone was now surly. “I’m not you or Cara.”
Gillian patted her arm. “Kathleen certainly cares about you, dear. She doesn’t want you damaged by cruel gossip.”
Jeannie pulled a face. “It’s not fair. Kathleen kicked up the stink, but Mamma was acting like I was just as bad. She threatened to lock me in my room. What choice did I have but to run away?”
Guilt stabbed at Kathleen. Still, now was not the time to fret about unintended consequences or fruitlessly dither. Unfortunately, devising a plan to get Jeannie safely home, without causing gossip, currently felt beyond the skills of her frazzled brain.
“Think,” she whispered to herself, pressing a fist to her forehead.
“Kath,” Jeannie said. “Are you all right?”
“Not really.” Kathleen sank into her chair. “You, however, seem remarkably sanguine for someone who just spent two days in a carriage boot. How ever did you manage it?”
“Oh, it was—”
Kathleen put up a warning hand as the maid came in with a tray. The girl set it down, darting curious glances at Jeannie while she unloaded plates of eggs, scones, and ham.
“That will be all,” Gillian sternly said.
The maid curtsied but cast a suspicious look over her shoulder before she closed the door behind her.
“I’m assuming your servants will not gossip with the inn staff?” Kathleen asked.
Gillian shook her head. “They know I’d stab them if they did.”
Jeannie giggled. “Would you really?”
“Let’s hope not,” Kathleen said as she began stacking food on her sister’s plate. “Now, please tell us how you managed this mad scheme.”
“It was dead easy,” Jeannie replied around a mouthful of eggs she’d immediately shoved into her mouth.
“Don’t choke yourself, dear,” Gillian said. “There’s no rush.”
Kathleen grimaced. “I’m afraid there is. We have to get her back to London as soon as possible.”
