Page 38 of The Confessions of a Lady
Her heart cracked and something hot and sweet melted free, burning down her body as it dripped from her chest to her belly and lower.
The man was diabolical.
Glancing around her, it was clear the other domestics had received one new outfit, a woollen coat each, and shoes. Generous by any standard.
But Penny’s gift far exceeded the others. The extravagance would set tongues wagging if anyone noticed.
Molly rushed to Penny’s side as she hastily hid her excessive gift by wrapping everything in the woollen coat. Molly threw her arm around Penny’s shoulder. ‘Did you see, Penny? I got a hankie. A proper one with daisies stitched on it. Can you even imagine?’
Such a small token, yet so thoughtful. In a horrifying moment of weakness, tears threatened.
I will not cry over handkerchiefs and hatpins!
‘Come, Molly. Let’s take our things up to our room and be about our work, or these clothes will be a parting gift after we’re dismissed for being laze-abouts.’ Penny smiled at the girl whose cheeks were pink with pleasure.
‘I’ve never in all my days,’ Mrs Harding muttered as her hard stare caught Penny. ‘That’s quite a thick package, Miss Smith.’
Penny pressed the woollen coat full of treasures against her chest, her new boots dangling by their shoelaces from her arm. ‘No more than everyone else’s,’ Penny brazenly lied.
Mrs Harding tipped her chin at Penny’s cheek. ‘The marquess mentioned you had an accident. Said you needed light work for the week. Polishing silver. Folding linen. Nothing that puts you on your feet. Don’t see how a cut cheek stops you from completing your tasks, Miss Smith.’
Penny stiffened her spine. ‘He’s mistaken, Mrs Harding. I slipped and cut my face. Nothing more than that. I’m very well indeed and need no special treatment.’
Mrs Harding’s eyes narrowed, her thin lips puckering like a shrivelled raisin. ‘And you’ll get none.’
Penny choked on the harsh retort begging to be let free. Instead, she nodded her head, turned, and endured the sharp pain lancing from her ankle to her knee, refusing to show any sign of weakness as she sailed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.
Servants were expected to pay attention to the details. To discern by their employer’s slightest movement what they needed. To know in which room the lord or lady resided, when they last ate, what refreshments they preferred at specific timesduring the day, when they expected service, and when they wished to be left alone.
Penny knew Liam was in his study. She knew he was attending to personal correspondence. She could guess at least one of the important letters he wrote had something to do with the Devil’s Sons. He might even be pulling the brass key out of his pocket to open his secret drawer full of damning parchment all marked with the Sons’ seal. And without a doubt, he wished for solitude.
‘Bugger that!’
His overly generous gesture toward her had put her in a dangerous position. If a servant started receiving special treatment from the lord of the house, jealousies formed and rumours began. If that servant happened to be a maid, accusations were often hurled right before the unfortunate woman found herself out on the street with nary a letter of recommendation to ease her way. His actions could be her undoing. Surely Liam knew that.
Well, if he doesn’t, he’s about to find out.
Pushing open the door of his study, she strode into the cosy room, doing her best to hide the limp, and walked up to his desk, slapping her hands on the leather stopper.
‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’
Liam looked up from his letter. His gaze caught on her cheek, but wisely, he didn’t comment on her appearance. She was hardly in the mood. The quill in his hand dripped a blot of ink onto a line of neat script. Script exactly matching her name scrawled over a piece of brown paper and pinned to a gift far too dear for any servant.
‘I am attempting to reply to a business offer. And I shall now have to redraft my letter. What are you doing, Miss Smith?’
Penny straightened, her hands resting on her hips in a pose she’d once seen her mother use with a debt collector. ‘I am tryingto understand why the bloody Marquess of sodding Stonewell would waste his inheritance hiring a tutor and kitting out his servants with new clothes. Especially when one of those servants received three dresses. Three! Do you know how extravagant that is? If anyone had seen?—’
‘It’s so strange. You call me the marquess, so you must know I employ every person in this house, yet you seem to forget it ismychoice if I wish to be extravagant. I decide how I want to spend my money. I decide if I want to educate my staff because I believe in the power of learning regardless of station. I choose who I want to buy clothes for, and how many clothes I wish to buy. And fear not about the health of my finances. They are very,’ Liam placed the quill carefully on its holder, ‘very,’ he pushed himself to his feet, ‘robust.’
She refused to think of Liam’s other robust assets.
He took a fluid step closer, prowling around the desk like a jungle cat. The space between them was charged with electricity, like the air before a thunderstorm. This moment had been building since their first kiss in the library, and their second in the brougham. Tension pulling tighter every time they occupied the same room, the intensity of their connection impossible to ignore. ‘You are acutely concerned with the opinion of your peers, Miss Smith. Yet you show no such reticence when setting me down. Something you do with alarming regularity, might I add.’
Penny refused to retreat. Instead, she thrust out her chin. ‘I am concerned when your actions could start rumours that would end my employment here. End my income.’
‘But yelling at your employer poses no such hazards for you?’
Well, bother. He has a point.
