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Samantha struggled with her sleeves and then yanked the dress down over her head. “That’s nonsense. Besides,he’sbeen the one who’s been too busy to see me.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she winced. “What I mean, is—”
“What you mean is that he’s been too busy to go out slinking about Old Town with you in the dead of night, looking for trouble,” said Bathsheba. “One cannot blame the poor man for not wanting to work all day and then spend half the night acting like a blasted footpad. Not to mention the danger you put yourself in.”
Donella dropped her pencil. “Er, what?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Samantha said, twitching a hand in Boland’s direction.
“Don’t worry about Boland,” Bathsheba replied. “She knows all about your adventures with Braden. She’d never say a word, either, even if Lord Beath or some other ninny tortured her with hot irons.”
Boland, who had carefully draped Samantha’s silk gown over her arm, scoffed. “I’d give them a good box on the ears if they tried. And we’d see who’d be getting hot irons.”
“That’s the spirit,” Bathsheba said with a grin.
Donella twirled a hand. “Might we get back to the part where Samantha and Braden slink about like footpads?”
“We don’t slink about like footpads,” Samantha exclaimed.
Bathsheba waggled a hand. “Maybe you do a bit.”
“How would you know? You never even saw us.”
Then she froze, aghast.
“Ah, finally admitting it, are we?” Bathsheba softly said.
Samantha pressed her lips shut, regretting that she hadn’t pressed them shut as soon as her friend initiated this deranged conversation. Instead, she’d just blurted out the truth—in front of Braden’s sister-in-law, no less. He would be far from thrilled about that little slipup. She must truly be losing her mind.
Just like Beath said you were.
Suddenly, she felt like someone had just stuck her with a pin. A sigh softly slid out of her, like air from a tired old balloon.
Bathsheba tilted her head. “You’re looking green all of a sudden.”
“That’s because you’ve been jabbering at her,” Boland said, steering Samantha to the chaise. “Her ladyship needs a cup of tea.”
“I think she needs something stronger,” Bathsheba said.
“Well, then fetch her a sherry while I get on with this dress.” Boland pointed a finger at her mistress. “And don’t you be teasing her, anymore. She’s got enough on her mind without your stuff and nonsense.”
Bathsheba gave her dresser a flourishing bow, her frilly lace cuffs brushing the plush carpet. “Yes, oh mighty one. To hear is to obey.”
With a derisive snort, Boland exited the room.
“She’s so dreadfully bossy,” Bathsheba said.
Samantha slumped onto the smooth silk cushions of the chaise. “Like her mistress, perhaps?”
Bathsheba wrinkled her nose, then fetched a tray with a crystal decanter and small wineglasses from a dresser tucked behind an ornate Chinoiserie screen. She poured out drinks and handed them around.
Samantha took a generous sip and was grateful for the soothing heat that made its way down her throat.
“I don’t mean to be a bother,” Donella apologetically said, “but can you please explain why you and Braden are going about the stews? I am certainly aware that Braden has feelings for you, but that seems a very odd thing to do, even for a Kendrick.”
Samantha’s heart stuttered. “Braden has feelings for me?” Then she flapped a hand. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Bathsheba said.
