Page 26 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
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Most of the wedding guests were scheduled to arrive on the morrow. However, Lady Philippa Winterbourne insisted on coming a day early. One did not argue with the Duchess of Dorsett, and for that, Millie was grateful. She would have to wait for Ivy’s company, but she welcomed any friendly face, even if that face held the stern expression of a displeased despot.
Millie was meant to be dressing for dinner when Lady Philippa sailed into her room, midnight-blue silk skirts billowing around her like a wave.
‘You look positively gaunt. And why are you holding yourself so stiffly? You are injured. What happened? Did you hurt yourself while training?’
Millie was only in her chemise. She quickly turned to face Philippa, so her mentor couldn’t see the bandages. As much as she wanted Philippa’s empathy, she wasn’t sure unleashing the full force of the duchess’ ire on Patricia would be wise. ‘I am quite well, Your Grace. Perhaps a trifle tired.’
Philippa walked up to her, ignoring Penny, who stepped hastily back. She grasped Millie’s chin in surprisingly gentle fingers and turned her head one way, then the other. Tsking likean enraged hen, she swept her gaze from Millie’s feet up to the artfully piled curls on top of her head.
‘What has Patricia done?’
Of course, Philippa would guess the truth immediately. Millie bit her trembling lip as tears threatened. ‘It’s nothing. Really. It didn’t even interfere with my training. Or at least, not much.’ She would not fall apart in front of her mentor. Philippa would think her a weak fool.
‘Turn around so I can assess the damage. If I had known your stepmother was going to hurt you, I would have insisted you cease your training until you were healed. Let me see what she’s done.’
Millie realised the futility of resistance. If Philippa wanted to see her back, she would see her back. She dutifully turned around, thankful the worst of her lashes were hidden beneath bandages.
‘Malicious little bitch.’ Phillipa hissed. ‘How dare she whip you like a dog!’
Millie cleared the waver from her voice, refusing to be weak. ‘It’s not so bad. It will heal. And I was able to train through it. I actually think it was good for me to focus through the pain.’
‘Some of these gashes should have been stitched, Millicent. She didn’t call for a doctor?’
‘She didn’t allow anyone to touch me. The second session caused the worst of it, I think.’ Millie bit her cheek with ruthless determination. They were just wounds. They would heal. There was no need for messy emotions.
Phillipa’s harsh inhale was a strange benediction. To know someone shared her outrage at such injustice was like cool water on her burning skin.
‘I have a salve, Your Grace. It will help with the healing. Minimise the scars, I hope.’ Penny spoke quietly, her hand clasped in front of a snowy white apron.
Philippa turned to stare at the maid. ‘What is your name?’
‘Penny, Your Grace.’
Millie had to hand it to her maid. She was a courageous woman to speak so calmly to the duchess.
‘Get me that salve, Penny. Now.’
Penny rushed out of Millie’s bedroom, returning quickly with a small pot in her hand. Philippa took the offered pot, removed the lid, and sniffed. ‘Camphor and linseed?’ She raised a dark-black brow at the maid. Though Millie never asked Philippa’s age, her dramatic colouring, smooth skin, and lustrous hair made it impossible to guess if she was in her third, fourth, or even fifth decade. One thing was certain; she was stunning. And bloody intimidating. But Penny stood her ground.
‘That and some honey and lard. A few other odds and ends my mother’s never shared with me. It works, Your Grace. I swear it.’
Philippa narrowed her gaze. ‘Hmm. I’m inclined to believe you. And can you keep secrets as well as you heal wounds?’
Penny nodded. ‘I’m loyal to my mistress, Your Grace. Maids with wagging tongues rarely have steady incomes. In my experience.’
‘Hmm. Well, inmyexperience, words are cheap. Actions show the true character of a person. You will hear many things that cannot be shared. With anyone. Starting right now, Penny. Can you manage that?’
‘I’ve seen and heard a great many secrets, Your Grace. I know how to bury one so deep, it becomes lost forever.’ Penny’s hands shook a bit before she clasped them tightly together.
‘Interesting turn of phrase.’ Philippa tapped her crimson-stained lips with a finger before turning to Millie. ‘Keep this one around, Millicent.’ She handed the pot back to Penny. ‘You’ll apply that tonight and every night until the wounds heal.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Penny ducked her head.
Philippa was usually right about most things. Millie guessed her assessment of Penny was bang on.
‘Right. Now that’s sorted, we should discuss my meeting with the Queen.’ Philippa ignored Penny’s gasp, but her gaze did pause on the maid long enough for Penny to turn and find a flannel cloth that needed folding. Philippa’s attention returned to Millie. ‘But if you need a moment, I understand. Tears are not a weakness, Millicent. Sometimes, they are the only way we have of releasing emotion.’
