Page 29 of Too Good to Be True

“We dry clean in house,” the curtain maid sniffed, clearly affronted. “It’ll be returned this afternoon.”

All the maids were now heading to the door. Indeed, the dressing maid was already out of it, with my dress.

“Hold on,” I snapped.

The breakfast tray maid slipped out, the curtain maid remained, arching her brows toward me.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Laura,” she answered.

“And the others?” I demanded.

“Rebecca brought in your tray. Harriet will see to your dress. I believe Brittany has already introduced herself.”

Yes. They definitely talked among themselves.

“Please don’t come into this room without knocking,” I requested, firmly.

She hesitated, gave a slight bow to her head, and said, “As you wish.”

And then she left, the door giving a soft snick when she closed it behind her.

I felt bad for being snappish, but for goodness’ sakes. Who walked into a stranger’s room, woke them up, fluffed their pillows and took their clothes?

No, in a team of three, who did all that?

None of this requested, after they’d unpacked personal belongings, again not requested.

I mean, honestly. If it wasn’t for the USB ports in my nightstand, it’d feel like I’d been thrown back to the 1890s.

Still sleepy, feeling off, and definitely unsettled by what just happened, I looked down at the tray.

And for God’s sake.

This was beginning to be too much.

The tray was large, like a small table. And the china appeared to be designed for the room, cream with carnation-pink edges clad in slender strips of gold.

Breakfast included egg in cup, impeccably toasted squares in an ornate silver caddy, coffee service, cup and saucer, creamer and tiny sugar bowl in the same cream and pink china. The silverware, as it had been at dinner last night, was gold-plated. There was half a grapefruit, several rashers of bacon, sauteed mushrooms, two delicious-looking sausages, two hash brown patties, and four small bowls, one of brown sauce, the others of ketchup, butter and marmalade. The only things missing from a proper English were the beans, blood pudding and grilled tomatoes.

There was also a small, gold vase, the top being tightly packed poofs of four pink carnations.

I grabbed the tray and set it aside so I could swing my legs off the bed. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face, and lightly moisturize (I could hardly eat with morning mouth).

I then went back to bed to enjoy breakfast in it.

But I did this with the steely determination to speak to Lord Alcott when I joined him for the tour in order to explain as politely as possible (even if he had not extended much of the same to me) my clothes and belongings were mine to deal with, I would prefer privacy in my room, and if that was too much to ask, I’d be leaving it and Duncroft, taking my sister and Lou with me.

And last, but most importantly, I would demand to talk, alone, with my goddamned sister.

I went to Lou’s room first, before I headed down to the Conservatory.

I knocked. She didn’t answer.

I knocked again, no answer.

I didn’t want to stick my head in, in case she was showering or had her earbuds in. I didn’t want to give her a fright.

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