A Lover's Kiss. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ eaten. The master’s gone off to one of his society meetings—the Linus Society or some such thing, where he can talk about his bugs. Nasty things, spiders, but he loves ’em the way some men love their dogs or horses. Sir Douglas is here, though. I heard him say he didn’t have to be at the Old Bailey today. Lucky for him he can pick and choose, I must say.”

      Never having had a maid, and uncertain how to proceed, Juliette drew the dressing gown on over her chemise. It was soft, slippery and without doubt the most luxurious garment she’d ever worn. She stayed silent as the young woman plumped a cushion on one of the armchairs. “Sit ye here, miss, and have your breakfast while I tidy up a bit.”

      “Merci,” she murmured, wondering if she should ask the maid her name, as she wanted to, or if the servant was to be treated as little more than a piece of furniture. The rare times she’d been summoned to the upper floors of Madame de Pomplona’s establishment, the ladies’ abigails had been like wraiths, sitting silent and ignored in the corner on small, hard chairs kept for that purpose.

      “I’m Polly, miss,” the maid said, solving her dilemma, and apparently not at all disturbed that Juliette was French, although that could be because she was supposed to be Sir Douglas’s cousin.

      “I’m to be your maid while you’re here,” the lively young woman continued. “I can arrange your hair, too. I’ve been doing Lord Bromwell’s mother’s hair when she’s in London, and she’s right particular about it. Mrs. Tunbarrow thinks I have a gift.”

      “That will be lovely,” Juliette replied, although she had never had anyone help her dress or do her hair, either.

      Her mama had died when she was a baby and she’d never had a sister or a friend to assist her. Most of the time, Papa and Marcel forgot she was even there and even Georges could be neglectful. However, Polly was so obviously proud of her talents and keen to demonstrate them, why not let her?

      “It’s a terrible thing what happened to you,” Polly said as she threw open the drapes covering the tall, narrow windows. “I can’t even imagine!”

      “It was not pleasant,” Juliette agreed as she lifted the first napkin and discovered fresh scones. One of the jars contained strawberry jam, and her mouth began to water as she sat in the soft chair and picked up a knife.

      “I tell you, nobody’s safe these days. It’s all them soldiers left to run amok after the war, isn’t it? Still, you’d think a relative of a baronet’d be out of harm’s way and not be robbed on the highway and left with only one dress to her name!”

      Polly, busy straightening the bed, didn’t see Juliette’s sharp glance.

      Sir Douglas and Lord Bromwell must have concocted this story of a robbery to explain why she had arrived with no baggage. Thank goodness she had a new chemise, or what would this maid be thinking? “Yes, it was most unfortunate.”

      “And to have your own maid desert you just before you sailed from France! I would have been too frightened to board, I would.”

      Clearly they had realized they would have to explain her lack of companion or chaperone, too.

      “I had no other choice. I had no lodgings and my cousin was expecting me,” Juliette lied as she bit into the scone now spread with strawberry jam. It was so good, she closed her eyes in ecstasy.

      “And a generous cousin he is, too, I must say! It looks like the Arabian nights in the morning room.”

      Juliette opened her eyes. “Arabian nights?”

      “Lord, yes! There’s all sorts of fabrics and caps and shoes and ribbons. Sir Douglas went out early this morning and came back with a modiste to make you some new dresses, and a linen-draper and a silk mercer, too.”

      A modiste? Mon Dieu, not…!

      “Madame de Malanche dresses all the finest ladies, including the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s. And Lady Abramarle, and Lady Sarah Chelton, who was the belle of the Season six years ago. I remember Lord Bromwell’s mother thinking she was a bit forward. And Viscountess Adderly, another good friend of Lord Bromwell’s.

      “She writes novels,” Polly finished in a scandalized whisper. “The kind with half-ruined castles and mysterious noblemen running around abducting women.”

      Relieved that Madame de Pomplona wasn’t below, and not really paying attention to what else Polly said, Juliette swallowed the last of the scone. She hadn’t expected Sir Douglas to buy new clothes for her, but if she was to be Sir Douglas’s cousin, she supposed she must dress the part. And if so, who else but Sir Douglas should pay, since she was in danger because of him?

      “There’s a shoemaker and a milliner, too,” Polly continued as she made the bed. “It’s as if he brought half of Bond Street back with him. I do wish I had a rich cousin like him, miss. Such fabrics and feathers and I don’t know what all!”

      Perhaps there really was an abundance of such items, Juliette mused, or perhaps the young maid was exaggerating in her excitement. After all, Sir Douglas would hardly spend a fortune on her.

      Polly finished the bed and looked at the tray. “All finished? You haven’t had a drop of tea.”

      “I do not drink tea.”

      Polly looked a little nonplussed. “Coffee then? Or hot chocolate? You’re to have whatever you like.”

      “No, thank you.” Juliette replied. She’d never had either beverage and was afraid she wouldn’t like them. That would be difficult to explain if she’d requested one or the other.

      “In that case, I’ll fetch your new dress.”

      “I can get it,” Juliette said, rising and heading toward the armoire, where she assumed her new muslin dress, likewise purchased with Lord Bromwell’s money, must be hanging. It was no longer on the foot of the bed where she’d laid it last night.

      “I don’t know what they do in France these days, miss,” Polly cried in horrified shock, “but you can’t go wandering the house in your chemise!”

      “What do you mean?” Juliette asked, confused, as she pulled open the armoire doors.

      It was empty. “Where is my new dress?”

      “Downstairs, miss.”

      They must have taken it to wash. “Is it dry already?”

      Polly looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “No, miss. There’s a new gown for you. Madame de Melanche brought it. She made it for another customer, but when Sir Douglas told her about your troubles and that you had only an old traveling gown, she brought it along. I’ll just run and fetch it—and tell Sir Douglas you’re awake.”

      As the maid bustled out of the room, Juliette returned to the comfortable chair and sat heavily. Sir Douglas had described her new dress as an “old traveling gown”? It might not be of the best fabric, but it was well-made, by her own hands, and pretty and new.

      She suddenly felt as she had when she’d first arrived in Calais, an ignorant country bumpkin. Except that she was not. Not anymore. And although she was poor, Sir Douglas had no right to insult her.

      The door opened and Polly returned with СКАЧАТЬ