Page 40 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
“The under-butler,” Sally whispered with a sidelong look. Right. Antonia ought to have known who she was reporting to if she were a real maid and not an interloping spy. Proboscis had a name, and a sweetheart. Antonia gave one last flick of her wrist over a sconce mounted on the silk wallpaper and resolved to do better at keeping in character. “Come on,” Sally said. “It’s almost time for the ladies to arrive.”
They returned to the kitchen and set about assembling trays of finger sandwiches, biscuits, puddings and other treats. When they carried them into the parlor, Antonia kept her gaze downcast. From the corners of her eyes she spotted Lady Woolryte and Lady Jersey amongst the twelve women assembled to play at cards. Not ideal, but with luck she wouldn't do anything to attract their notice and therefore scrutiny. She had no opportunity to check whether her makeshift disguise had melted or smudged. The collective grime of a full day of labor lay on her skin in a familiar but unwanted blanket. Antonia had become very fond of her regular baths at the Evendaws.
“We play by the same rules as usual. As we've no newcomers this week, I shall remind you not to bid more than you can afford to lose. Just because I no longer have a husband to keep me in check doesn't mean you young women have such liberty. I won't be publicly shamed by your husbands for taking all your pin money at whist.”
“That requires you to win, my dear duchess,” Lady Woolryte replied archly.
Antonia bit the insides of her mouth to keep from smiling. She made her way around the tables, placing dainty plates at each woman's elbow. By the time she came to Lady Summervale’s seat, Antonia was sweating in her maid’s outfit. This was a giant risk. She knew several of these women by name. It was one thing to feign bravado and self-assurance before Malcolm but quite another to be here waiting to be exposed.
Not one woman looked up at her face, though. Antonia remembered how invisible she had felt as servant. One reason she had hated it. She was incapable of erasing herself, folding and compacting her intelligence and personality into a package suitable for servitude until the girl she had been born no longer existed. In retrospect, Antonia wouldn't recommend her own methods to anyone, but there had been no possibility of keeping her below stairs.
“Sally, fetch a fresh pot of tea,” said Lady Summervale without glancing up.
Antonia started. She wasn’t Sally. She stood easily four inches taller and solidly built, unlike Sally’s thin figure. The lady who spoke hadn’t even glanced up long enough to discern the differences in their features. Nonetheless, Antonia hurried to comply. She whisked back the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” demanded the housekeeper.
“Fetching tea for milady,” Antonia responded in a tone insufficiently subordinate.
“You stay where you’re assigned,” the housekeeper rebuked her sharply. Antonia stiffened. A long time had passed since anyone had spoken to her that way—
Well, not if one counted Havencrest ordering her to steal a gem from this household, on pain of being turned over to the magistrate.
Antonia dropped a curtsey. “Ma’am.”
The housekeeper frowned. Antonia had let her accent slip. Damn. She had gotten so good at imitating the marble-mouthed syllables of the upper class, but she had less practice with mimicking the musical cadences and clipped consonants of the lower classes. She bowed her head, heart thumping as discovery loomed over her like a sword of Damocles.
“Get back to the parlor. A footman shall bring the tea. I expect one of Miss Dumfries’ Girls would have known better than to abandon her post.”
Tea-less, Antonia hurried back to the game room. The quiet skim of metal chips over wood surfaces and the snap of printed cards was punctuated by the ladies’ conversation. Sally cast her a glare. Fine. She hadn’t known this particular process and would never need to again. She was only here for the day…
And then she saw it. What she had failed to notice earlier. Antonia forgot all about tea and serving and did not try to stop the slight grin from tugging the corners of her mouth upward, for she knew where the duchess kept her half of the Heart’s Cry necklace. If winning it at cards did not work, she could steal it after all.
* * *
“I do hope Toni is safe,”Margaret fretted as they absently perused the artworks at the British Museum that afternoon.
“Miss Lowry can take care of herself.” Behind them trailed Margaret’s lady’s maid, for propriety’s sake. He wished he believed it as firmly as he insisted to the young lady whose shorter legs churned to keep up with him no matter how slow he moseyed. He hadn’t believed Antonia when she had insisted they would not recognize her as she took the unbelievable risk in pursuing their quest.Hisquest. How deflating to realize that he had outsourced the achievement of his most aching desire to a complete stranger.
Or rather, what had been his greatest desire. Over the past week a new yearning had begun to edge out the hollow space left by his mother’s death, and then his father’s a few years ago. It no longer felt like an unexplored cavern in his breast. Antonia had moved in and filled the space with her lies and teasing and sly wit. When sunlight tugged him away from his warm nest each morning, he could not wait to see his hired thief again. Yet he had let her risk her neck in going under cover as a maid in his grandmother’s house.
“Lord Havencrest. Your Grace.” Lady Margaret cleared her throat. At times, it was difficult to hear her. The girl’s voice was so soft, and a foot of distance between her lips and his ear didn’t help matters of discussion any more than it did when they were dancing.
“Yes, Lady Evendaw?” he teased mildly.
Margaret’s cheeks reddened. “Do you think…maybe, perhaps…”
Spit it out, girl.
“Might we commence courting in earnest?”
Havencrest’s stride hitched.
“I realize, of course, that there is little genuine affection between us,” Margaret continued hastily. The apples of her cheeks fired with blotchy embarrassment. “At least, I presume you feel none for me beyond whatever loyalty exists between you and Toni—”
“I have said this before,” he interrupted. “You are a delightful —”child, he could not see past her youth, “—young woman. You have your choice of men in your first season, and—”
“I donot. Do not try my patience with notions of choice. I have none.” Margaret’s voice carried clearly the distance to his ears. How much further? Did her maid overhear? She went on. “I know I am regarded as a simpleton, but I am not, I swear, I only need a bit more time. I can become a worthy woman—”
