the indiscreet things she had let drop in front of staff.
The joint was accompanied by a good variety of side dishes and a very respectable claret. She really must ask Alice how typical that was. No wonder Papa's cellar bills were so large.
She managed the rest of the meal without glancing down the table towards Mr Lucas, or lapsing into gossip about his master. With a clatter of chair-legs on the flagged floor the most senior servants began to rise and
the rest of the table followed suit. Rowan realised just in time that she was supposed to bring her table napkin and her glass with her.
In the Steward's Room his boy was waiting beside a freshly laid table set with desserts. Really, she mused, moving towards her place, she had sat down to worse dinners in some very grand houses indeed.
'That colour suits you Miss Lawrence.' That gently amused voice again!
'What colour is that, Mr Lucas?' she enquired.
'The colour in your cheeks. Have you been flirting with your two swains?'
'Flirting? Me? I think not, Mr Lucas. I suggest you look in the mirror over there if you are searching for a flirt.' His soft chuckle as she swept past him had her gritting her teeth.
'Is he bothering you, Miss Lawrence?' It was Mr Philpott, his lanky frame contorted with embarrassment. Poor young man. He probably thought she needed protecting, but was terrified at the idea of a confrontation with Lucas. Who was, if one looked at him properly, really rather a formidable figure.
He glanced up from his plate and found her staring. Coolly Rowan continued her assessment. Yes, formidably muscled under that smart suiting, broad-shouldered and with a dangerous edge to him. She lifted one eyebrow scornfully and turned to smile at the anxious youth. 'Bothering me? Not at all, Mr Philpott. I am quite capable of dealing with men like him.'
Of course she was. Probably. She might have a better idea if she had ever met a man like him before.
The meal progressed-an unsettling and distorted reflection of what was occurring upstairs. Rowan tried to work out the timing. The butler was down here, which meant that the covers must have been drawn and the ladies had retired to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port and the attentions of the footmen.
She was just trying to work out what the equivalent would be here-tea in the housekeeper's rooms?- when the Steward's boy scurried in with the information that Miss Trent's woman was required immediately as she was retiring.
'Headache again,' her dresser muttered unsympathetically, finishing her dessert with more haste than elegance before jumping to her feet and hurrying out. 'I'll have hiccups for the rest of the evening now.'
It did not surprise Rowan when the next summons was for her. At least Penny had given her enough time to finish her meal.
She found her friend roused to uncharacteristic irritation. 'So unsubtle!' she exclaimed before Rowan had the door half shut. 'I have never felt so self-conscious in my life. They placed me next to him at dinner-can you imagine? I just had to run away as soon as I could. They were all whispering about me over the teacups.'
'Pointed, indeed.' Rowan pressed Penny onto the stool in front of the dressing table and began to unpin her hair. 'What is he like?'
'Beautiful,' Penny startled her by proclaiming. 'I had no idea, only seeing him at a distance. But he is tall and dark, and has the most sensitive features.'
'Well, then,' she began, banishing her image of a beetle-browed monster. 'That's something…'
'It makes it worse! No wonder everyone was smiling behind their hands. We must have looked ridiculous together: he so handsome next to drab little me. And,' she moaned as Rowan reached for the hairbrush, 'I was positively
'That you are quite unsuitable, one hopes,' Rowan said. 'It is what you want, isn't it? What did you prattle about?'
'Oh, the garden at home, and the landscape, and painting, and how I found the watercolour I did of my kitten when I was nine in an old sketchbook last week.' Penny gazed at her undistinguished reflection. 'None of the things a future countess should talk about.'
'Excellent. I will reinforce that by telling everyone that you are positively bird-witted and never stop talking of utterly inconsequential things.' Penny smiled wanly. 'What do you want to do now? Sit by the fire and read?'
It was a tempting prospect. For a woman who thought nothing of dancing the night away, Rowan could not imagine why she felt so tired. And her feet ached.
'I think I'd like to have a wash and go to bed early. My head is spinning,' said Penny.
Oh, well, she could read in her own room. Rowan tugged the bell-pull and a harassed-looking chambermaid appeared eventually. 'Yes, miss?'
'Hot water, if you please. And have some sent up to my room and set by the fire.'
'Mrs Tarrant says that we're that stretched that visiting staff 'll have to do for themselves, miss.'
'Thank you. That will do.' Rowan frowned at the closing door. She supposed lighting a fire could not be that hard. There had been wood and coals by the side of the hearth in the chilly little turret room, and she would have a candle, so there would be no need to strike a spark.
This experience was certainly making her appreciate Alice more, Rowan reflected as she made her way to the foot of the stairs, chamberstick in one hand, jug of hot water in the other. Going to bed had always seemed so simple-but it was not if you were the one putting the clothes away, tidying the room, securing the jewellery box and all the time answering anxious questions and soothing doubts.
She trudged upwards, one floor, then two. The handle of the jug was cutting into her fingers, but she could not use both hands and still see where she was going. The stairs unwound themselves onto a narrow landing-nothing more than a linking passage between wings, with the spiral stair to her turret curling up into the darkness on the other side.
'Ouch.' Rowan dumped the jug on the flags, splashing the cooling water, and sat down on the top step, her back to the landing while she massaged her fingers back to life.
'What's wrong?'
She jumped, stumbling to her feet. Then her heel caught in her hem and she was falling, the stone stairs beneath her and nothing to hold on to.
CHAPTER FOUR
'I've got you.' She was stronger than he had guessed, twisting in his grasp and using his body as a counterweight to regain her balance. Lucas found himself with a warm armful of panting woman clutched to his chest, her hands clamped around his forearms.
'Idiot!' She might only have been wearing light indoor shoes, but the force of her kick on his shins had him stepping back abruptly, pulling her with him. Of course-he might have known. It was Miss Lawrence, not some chambermaid with a twisted ankle.
'Ouch,' he said mildly, setting her back from him. 'First my nose, now my shins. You are a dangerous woman, Daisy Lawrence.'
'You would be in no danger at all if you kept your distance from me,' she snapped.
The light was poor, and he could see little of her face, but her eyes sparked at him and he thought it a safe bet her expression was not one of simpering gratitude.
He should, of course, let go. Only he found he did not want to, and she was clinging just as tightly, doing nothing to improve the set of his fourth-best evening coat. 'I thought you had hurt yourself.' An olive branch seemed in order. 'Twisted your ankle, perhaps.'
'Instead of which I nearly broke my neck.' There was a sudden flash of white teeth as she smiled, her irritation vanished as rapidly as it had come. 'The hot water jug was hurting my fingers. I set it down while I rubbed them.' Her voice, now she was not scolding him, was soft and held a hint of tiredness.
'Let me see.' They were still almost breast to breast. He could smell her, an unexpectedly sweet hint of gardenia and warm woman. Delicious. 'But you will have to let go of my arms.'
'Oh! I am sorry, it was the shock.'
She opened her hands as though he was hot: he rather feared he was. Very hot. Lucas took a steadying
