Mary-Ann turned slowly, her smile cool. “And yet I wasn’t aware Mr. Wilkinson had been promoted to Lord Chancellor.”
Lydia blinked at the rebuke, then recovered quickly. “Only meant for your protection, of course.”
“Of course.”
A pause stretched between them, thin and brittle.
“You’ll want to be mindful of such things,” Lydia continued, straightening a vase on the nearby table with casual precision. “It won’t be long before this house is no longer your concern.”
Mary-Ann lifted a brow. “Oh?”
Lydia’s smile stretched. “I did mention it the other day. Mr. Wilkinson has offered me a permanent position. A housekeeper, of course. But with my knowledge of your habits, it only makes sense.”
Mary-Ann felt it then, a flicker of heat in her chest, slow and steady. She stared at Lydia for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. Then, lightly: “And you accepted?”
Lydia’s smile didn’t waver. “It’s all but settled.”
Mary-Ann stepped forward and reached for the tea tray. “Shall I pour, or would you prefer to continue implying my life has already been decided for me?”
Lydia didn’t answer. But the smugness in her expression said enough.
Mary-Ann handed her a cup. “Careful. It’s hot.” Let her think she’d won. It would make what came next all the more satisfying.
The front door slammed open not a moment later, followed by a flurry of skirts, raised voices, and what sounded suspiciously like a tangle of hatboxes.
“Oh, blast the walkway stones. Hollis, do be a dear and rescue the lilac ribbons before they scatter to Kent!”
Mary-Ann turned just in time to see Mrs. Bainbridge sweep into the drawing room, cheeks flushed, gloves mismatched, and hair only half-pinned. A feather stuck out at an angle that suggested war rather than fashion.
“Why is it always windy when I need serenity?” she demanded, then paused upon seeing Lydia. Her expression brightened with dramatic delight. “Miss Lydia! What a surprise. I hadn’t realized today was your turn to hover.”
Mary-Ann blinked. There was a bite beneath Bainbridge’s sweetness she hadn’t heard before. It was cool, practiced, and unmistakably deliberate.
Lydia’s mouth thinned. “I was merely serving tea.”
“Splendid. Serve it elsewhere.”
Lydia hesitated.
Mary-Ann gestured without looking. “That will be all, Miss Finch.”
With a stiff curtsy, Lydia vanished. Refined or not, Mrs. Bainbridge wielded her words like scalpels when she chose. And today was one of those days.
Bainbridge collapsed onto the settee with a groan, kicking off one shoe. “Honestly, between your father’s dreadful penmanship and my cousin’s duel over a dessert fork, I may call off the wedding and elope with my own dog.”
Mary-Ann bit back a smile. “I imagine he would object.”
“He’d be honored. He listens when I speak.”
Then, with a sigh and more gravity, Bainbridge added, “I saw something odd this morning. I wasn’t going to mention it, but now… I think I must.”
Mary-Ann’s smile faded. “What did you see?”
“I was in the fish market, don’t ask, and I saw your lady’s maid. Lydia. Near the docks. She wasn’t shopping. She was standing behind the fishmonger’s stall, staring out at the harbor as if memorizing the tides.
Mary-Ann’s spine went still.
“She didn’t see me,” Bainbridge added. “But it didn’t look like an errand.”
