A Mistletoe Masquerade. Louise Allen
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Название: A Mistletoe Masquerade
Автор: Louise Allen
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472009371
isbn:
‘Daisy, eh?’ Will had warmed up again. Lucas kicked himself mentally: the wounds must be raw indeed for him to take up every hint that might refer to his late wife. ‘Seducing servants, are you?’
‘Of course not.’ Lucas shook out the midnight-blue swallowtail coat and helped Will ease into it. ‘Merely getting on terms with our best source of information.’ He regarded the Earl, elegant and immaculate. ‘You’ll do. In fact, you’ll probably do only too well. I don’t suppose you’d consider developing a revolting personal habit to put her off?’
‘More revolting than murdering my wife?’ Will lifted one eyebrow. ‘I’m afraid my imagination won’t stretch that far.’
Lucas stood looking at the back of the door after it closed behind his friend. The bitter words seemed to hang in the air. He gave vent to his feelings by kicking a discarded shirt across the floor, then stalked off to his own room to change. Upper servants were expected to dress for dinner and good manners would not allow him to be late—even if the lady he was to escort into dinner was the housekeeper and not a duchess. And he needed to take special care this evening: there was a certain prickly dresser to impress.
CHAPTER THREE
ROWAN entered the Steward’s Room feeling much as she had on her first visit to Almack’s—convinced that she would break all kinds of rules, most of them incomprehensible. On the other hand she was now twenty-four, and she had entertained the Duke of Wellington and virtually every notable at the Congress as her father’s hostess. She ought to be able to manage Pug’s Parlour, as irreverent lower servants everywhere referred to the rooms of the upper staff.
The evening dress she was wearing had once been hers, and had been passed to Alice, her own dresser, the year before. Now she had borrowed it back, noting that the heavy lace at neck and hem had gone—doubtless sold on as one of the dresser’s perks—and had been replaced with a more modest braid. Alice had maintained the heavy moss-green silk in good order and had let in long sleeves in a fine gauze.
Worn with plain kid slippers and a simple pearl cross at her throat, the gown presented the picture of modestly respectable elegance, suitable for her position. Dressing to be inconspicuous was a new skill—one she had never had to master before, Rowan realised with an inner grin.
The Steward’s Room was crowded, the guests’ valets and dressers chattering away, all apparently known to each other. A tall man in a black swallowtail coat approached her. ‘Good evening. I am Mr Evesham, Steward here. You will be Miss Maylin’s dresser. Miss …?’
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