She would always have the memory of that night. She ought to regret it but what would that do? Assuage her guilt? Provide some personal form of punishment?
Foolishness.
She rose from her chair and tiptoed to the door leading to her own chamber. Recalling Lady Althea’s nightmare of just last night, she left the door ajar so she would hear right away if either of the girls called out to her.
She’d made up her own bedding that morning after scrubbing at the soiled sheet with cold water. Now she pulled back the counterpane and breathed a sigh of relief that the stain hadn’t set.
After making love to her Jasper had lain beside her until they both caught their breath. Then he had arisen and returned with a wet cloth. She hadn’t expected that he would apply it between her legs himself. And, although embarrassed at the intimacy of his gesture, her heart had swelled even more.
He’d told her she would be sore today.
She drew the counterpane back up and focused on the unusual twinges she experienced now. The pain was ironic. The anticipation of its relief brought a sorrow. She wanted to remember every moment for as long as possible. The pain served that purpose intimately.
She’d given a part of herself away that she could never get back––to a man who could offer her nothing in return. Not anything she could take, anyhow.
He was her employer. And he’d been her lover.
After washing the stickiness from between her legs, he’d tossed the washcloth onto the floor and then held her. At the thought, she gasped and searched around the bed until her gaze landed on the discarded evidence of her impetuous actions. She scooped it up into her fist. What if the maid had entered and discovered it? Oh, but she could not rely on luck like this in the future.
He’d whispered tender words of appreciation and apology but not mentioned love.
She had not expected him to.
“Miss Fortune?”
Tilde spun around. She’d not heard any knocking at the door. Most definitely she had not expected to find Lady Willoughby standing just inside the threshold of her chamber.
Goodbye
“I did not hear you knock.” Tilde lifted her chin. Something in the woman’s eyes made gooseflesh appear on her arms. In a horrified moment, Tilde quickly stuffed her hands, holding the soiled cloth, behind her back. “The girls are sleeping. Is there something I can do for you, my lady?”
Lady Willoughby’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid that you and I must have a little… chat.” The woman gestured for Tilde to take the only seat in the room. Preferring to stand, Tilde declined.
“Very well, then. This is not the first time, and I fear it won’t be the last.” She sighed, as though already fatigued by whatever task she’d taken on for herself… “My son sometimes makes very poor decisions. And on occasion, they involve various members of our female staff, more specifically, our younger female staff. And inevitably, whenever he makes such a mistake, he comes to me. As his mother, I, of course, take care of these little problems for him. A mother does what she must, I’m sure you understand.”
“Mistakes?” Tilde’s mind required a moment to process what Lady Willoughby was saying.
The woman lowered her chin and raised her brows. “Ah, yes. Of which you hold the evidence in your hand behind you.”
Tilde could do nothing to prevent the heat from travelling up her neck and into her cheeks. How did she know? She must have been standing in the door when Tilde scooped the cloth off the floor.
“Yes, mistakes, my dear. My son came to me first thing this morning. You are excused from your post—that it goes without saying. If you choose to cause any difficulties, I’ll be forced to report your unprofessional proclivities to the agency. Such a stain upon your references might make it extremely difficult to secure a respectable position in the future, would you not agree?”
Tilde struggled to comprehend exactly what the woman was saying. Not that Tilde was obtuse, by any means, but because the notion that Jasper had left her bed and then met with his mother…
But how else would Lady Willoughby have known?
The older woman held out a piece of paper. “He asked that I give this to you.”
Tilde recognized his handwriting immediately. She’d found his barely legible scrawl almost amusing when she’d read over their contract.
The paper directed she receive a payment in the sum of three thousand pounds. For your immediate withdrawal. Signed, Jasper Charles Talbot.
“You see, Miss Fortune, Willoughby expects you to take your leave before he returns this evening.”
Tilde glanced toward the open door. She thought she’d seen a motion out of the corner of her eyes. Nothing was there.
“But what of the girls?” She could not help but ask the most obvious question.
