maids had filled in the empty seats around Leah, and Henrietta especially looked pleased at Mrs. Harper’s attitude. The little viper was really getting under Leah’s skin. She’d have to think about how to get back at her for the ash bucket. That had been a prank worthy of Leah’s best retaliation.
“No, no.” Leah laughed uncomfortably. “It looks delicious.” She took a big bite and nearly gagged at the too- thick texture. Blinking back tears, she swallowed the muddy-tasting gruel as quickly as she could.
“See that you finish it all.” Mrs. Harper watched her like a skinny, cotton-headed hawk.
Leah nodded weakly. It was a good thing she could stand to lose a few pounds. On this diet, she’d be lucky to keep anything down.
The scraping of a chair near the end of the table brought her watery gaze upward. Avery nodded politely as he sat and began eating with refined gusto. Hmph. Must be an acquired taste.
A swig of lukewarm tea helped clear the gluey taste from her mouth, and the chatter at the table picked up shortly thereafter.
“Her Grace’s routs are always such fun,” Sarah was giggling to Teresa across the table. “All those posh lords and ladies.”
“And their dresses, blimey,” Teresa said, her pale face long with dreamy reverie. “I’d love to be puffed off like that.”
“You?” Henrietta snorted. “A bony figure like yours would ruin those fancy clothes.”
Teresa looked down into her lap dejectedly.
Leah resisted the urge to kick Henrietta’s shin under the table. Instead, she opted for a more polite approach.
“I think you have a great complexion, Teresa. What do you use on your skin?” Leah swallowed another bite of gruel in the ensuing silence. Apparently they hadn’t expected her to speak.
“Me mum would mix rosewater and cream, and apply it to her face. She let me do it too, when I was older and we could afford it.” Teresa smiled down at her bowl. “It makes me skin softer. I do it whenever I can, even now.”
“Vanity is a sin,” Mrs. Harper admonished. “You’ll cease this immediately.”
Teresa’s face went bone-white. “Oh no, Mrs. Harper, I didn’t mean…”
“You’ll do as you’re told in this household.” Mrs. Harper’s chair scraped back. “The very thought of a maid taking such pains with her appearance is disgraceful. You are to be neat, pressed, and present yourself as a servant of His Grace, but to give yourself such a treatment is well above your station.”
“Yes, Mrs. Harper,” Teresa whispered.
“You’d all do well to remember that.”
With a glare at Leah, the housekeeper left the table. The three footmen followed at her direction, leaving Leah with the maids and Avery. All the females at the table turned distrustful eyes on Leah, with the exception of Teresa, who had tears tracking down her pale cheeks.
“Teresa, I’m so sorry,” Leah said. God, she felt like shit. “I just wanted to give you a compli—”
“You’re poison, you are.” Henrietta stood, her lips pursed in disapproval, much like Mrs. Harper’s had been. “You intended to cause that trouble for poor Teresa, hoping that you can replace her as the upper housemaid. We’ll none of us have aught to do with you.” At her beckoning gesture, the other girls followed, including the still- sniffling Teresa.
Leah leaned forward with a groan, plastering her forehead against the rough top of the dining table. This was
Avery stared down into his bowl, unwilling—no, unable, if he were to be honest with himself—to look at Leah.
He should have spoken. He should have defended her against the false accusations that Henrietta had hurled on her. But how could he, when he knew that casting himself as her savior would harm her even further?
A movement drew his gaze as she sat up and glared at him. “Thanks for saving me there, cowboy.”
Leah shoved her chair back to stand. He shoved another bite into his mouth to prevent having to reply.
She left the dining room without another word, and Avery stared at her departing back as if his regretful gaze alone could atone for his lack of action.
He was no gentleman. Never had been, by birth or by breeding. Did that excuse him? His mother’s voice, echoing in his head from beyond her too-early grave, said not.
No matter what it cost
Avery sighed regretfully as he left the now-empty table. He should know by now that nothing ever came of wishing things different. He had his lot, and now Miss Ramsey had hers. They would both manage as they could and leave the rest to the whims of Fate.
No matter how his heart ached with every pain she was forced to endure.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of normal duties and preparation for the dowager’s rout at Tunstall Place across the square. With the large crowd that was expected, Avery would serve as footman with the others from His Grace’s employ, and even Miss Ramsey was expected to assist. Cornering her to ensure her proper service was becoming more troublesome than he’d expected, but he persevered through the afternoon.
Until he was summoned by Cook.
“Mr. Russell,” the old woman hissed as he made his way through the kitchens with a pile of freshly pressed cravats. “Meet me in the larder.”
He nodded subtly and went on his way. He knew without her speaking what the summons meant. It was a play that they’d enacted many, many times before.
Once the cravats were put into their proper place, Avery descended the stairs again, winding around the corner of the kitchen to duck into the larder, unseen. Cook waited for him there, her sausage-curls wispy and haphazard from the heat of the kitchens, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“The apothecary’s boy came this morning.” A small brown bottle was produced from Cook’s apron pocket. “He said to thank you for your custom. I gave him your coin for it.”
Avery took the bottle with a grateful nod. “I thank you, Mrs. Dearborn. My aunt sorely needs this. Her illness is getting worse.”
Cook sniffed and dashed away a tear with the corner of her apron. “Millie was always a sweet girl. It’s one of my greatest regrets that she took ill so sudden. She could have made a cook in some great house, for an earl or even a duke after my own time.” She looked into Avery’s face, sincerity thick in her words. “She was the best kitchen maid I ever had, and that’s the honest truth. You tell her Mrs. Dearborn sends her love, and you take care of her, boy.”
Avery gripped the bottle tightly, bowing deeply. “You may be assured of that. My mother would have wished for me to care for her youngest sister, and I’ve no intention of shirking that duty.”
Cook straightened her apron and patted her curls. “Now, I’ve a goose to see to. I take it that you’ll be off to St. Giles this afternoon?”
Hesitation sprang to his mind. He’d not yet spoken to Miss Ramsey, and it might be impossible to do so before the dowager’s rout if he spent the evening away. But what choice did he have? His aunt could not do without this medicine. He nodded.
“I’ll inform Smythe that you were called away.” Cook shooed him. “Now, be off with you. I’ve a basket made up for Millie. It’s by the door.”
“You have my thanks, Mrs. Dearborn.”
She left him in the larder with the bottle of medicine in his hand. Lifting the bottle to catch the beam of sunlight streaming through the crack in the larder door, he watched as the milky medicine bent the light, diffusing it through clouds of liquid. Strange that such a small amount of medicine could cost so much. And strange that such an odd woman as Miss Leah Ramsey had upset his normal balance.
Making up his mind, he shoved the bottle into his waistcoat pocket and headed up the back stairs to find Miss Ramsey. He couldn’t leave her to face the dowager without warning.
