The woman’s hooded eyes narrowed with doubt.
Before Lady Fitzhoward could press her, Rebecca asked, “And I thought you planned to visit friends?”
The woman lifted a haughty chin. “I changed my mind. Apparentlyboth of us have had a change in plans. I hope you are not disappointed to find me here. You were no doubt hoping for a respite from my company.”
“Not at all, my lady. And I hope you are not sorry to see me again so soon.”
The woman hesitated, then coolly replied, “It makes no difference to me.”
Rebecca’s stomach growled again. Perhaps she could sit with Lady Fitzhoward at dinner. Would it be presumptuous to ask? She was not there in her role as companion now.
Pressing a subtle hand to her midriff, Rebecca said, “Are you planning to dine here tonight, my lady?”
“Why? Do you wish to join me?”
“Only if you don’t mind. I am not certain it would be seemly for me to dine alone. Not in the coffee room, of course, but in the main dining room.”
“I don’t see why not. I dined there alone last night. But then, I am old and don’t draw any attention, whereas you are young and pretty.” Her disapproving gaze swept over her once more. “That frock, however ... Yes, assuming you change for dinner, you may share my table as usual.”
Relief overcame offense. “Thank you.”
One sparse eyebrow rose. “Will you be sharing the bill as well? Or do you wish to cancel your week’s holiday and resume your onerous duties?”
“Oh, I did not presume you would pay for my meals. I will pay my own way, to be fair.”
Lady Fitzhoward waved an impatient hand. “No matter. I have more money than companions. And you don’t eat much. That is ... unless you have suddenly acquired a taste for French wines and choice game?”
“No, my lady,” Rebecca hurried to assure her, and then sawthe humor glimmering in the woman’s eyes. Rebecca grinned tentatively, almost holding her breath, relieved when her employer smirked in return.
Something in her expression reminded Rebecca of something, but the fleeting impression flickered away before she could identify it.
The gleam faded from Lady Fitzhoward’s eyes as quickly as it had appeared. “I dine at seven. Don’t be late.”
Rebecca dipped a quick curtsy and turned to go, postponing her plan to search the library shelves.
“Which room have they put you in?” her employer called after her.
Rebecca turned back. “Thirteen.”
Lady Fitzhoward nodded. “I am in the Grand Suite. I shall send Joly to help you dress at half past six.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
Rebecca walked back upstairs to her room, reaching into her reticule for her key as she went. The metal edge caught in a small tear in the lining. As she stood outside her door, carefully extracting it, she noticed movement down the corridor.
A woman in a broad-brimmed hat stood at a door beyond the night stair, struggling with her lock and key. She gave a small cry of frustration. A man emerging from the water closet seemed to hear and turned in her direction.
“Having trouble, miss? Mine sticks too. Happy to help, if you like.”
“Oh, that is kind of you. Thank you.” She stepped aside.
“The trick is to lift up while you turn the key,” he explained, his tone friendly. “Like this.” He demonstrated and the lock gave.
“There you are.” He handed back the key, and the young woman thanked him again.
“No trouble.” He bowed respectfully and turned, walking in Rebecca’s direction.
She recognized him as the man she’d seen sitting outside one of the rooms a short while before. As he strode smartly toward her now, she dismissed the notion that he might be a coachman. Definitely an officer, she decided, though in civilian dress. Middle forties, perhaps, brown hair receding slightly at the forehead, long side-whiskers a shade lighter than his hair.
