A maidservant from the kitchen followed them in, carrying a tray that looked far too heavy for one small woman. “Tea, and bread and cheese, My Lady.” She set all of it on the table.
“What is your name?” Margaret asked.
“Lizette, My Lady. Can I bring you anything else?” The maid had wide blue eyes, but Margaret couldn’t tell the color of her hair as it was all tucked beneath her cap.
“Thank you, Lizette. This will be fine,” Margaret murmured. She had always appreciated the servants at her beck and call but she had not considered their lives—their personhood. She could make excuses for herself, because, yes, it was what she’d been taught by her mother but…
Lizette backed out of the room and then held the door as the manservants exited. Once the door was closed, Esther stepped out from behind the screen with Margaret’s dressing gown draped over one arm.
Esther had only been with her since last summer. She was not at all similar to Margaret’s first lady’s maid, Agatha. Agatha had been close to Margaret in age and had served as her lady’s maid for over a decade. She’d been a confidante, a friend, even. Unfortunately, when Agatha’s mother had grown ill, she’d been forced to leave Margaret’s employ. That had been shortly after Lawrence passed away and Margaret hadn’t had the heart to hire anyone new after that. She’d instead presumed upon the occasional housemaid up until she’d taken up residence in her townhouse in Mayfair.
Esther was older than Margaret. She was kind and quiet though. Guilt pricked her as Esther unlaced her gown. She had never made any attempt at all to come to know the woman.
Esther’s hands moved at Margaret’s waist and Margaret gasped. Her skin felt tender there.
“You are injured, My Lady?”
“Ah, no,” Margaret answered. And then she exhaled.
Esther peeled away the dress and seemed to be examining the marks left on her waist. “When you’ve finished bathing, I’ll make a lavender poultice for these. If you’d like.”
He’d gripped her there, from behind. Margaret glanced over her shoulder into the mirror and felt herself blushing. Red marks, in the shape of a man’s hands showed visibly on her hips.
“I would appreciate that.”
Esther met her eyes in the mirror. She had very kind eyes. She would not give away Margaret’s secret. “Let’s get you into the tub.”
Margaret dipped low and allowed the hot water to envelope her. She wasn’t used to such drama in her life. Tragedy—now that, she could deal with. She’d grown used to coping with loss that dragged one through sadness until hope pierced its way inside.
Fluctuations between ecstasy, guilt, and fear, however, posed an entirely different challenge.
Until this house party, she had considered herself a strong and wise woman. Oh, how ironic! She had been a coward and a fool. She had thought she’d been proper and dignified. She’d thought she was a good friend, a humble woman—a woman of high morals. Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble up. She had only to twist in one way or the other and twinges of discomfort reminded her she was anything but.
“Margaret?” The door to her chamber closed with a solid thud.
“In here, Penelope.”
Her sister-in-law’s face peered around the screen. “I know you told Hugh you were going to be fine, but I wanted to check on you again, anyhow. You seemed… different.” And then her eyes flew open wide. “Love bites!”
Margaret reached up to cover herself instinctively. “What?”
And then a slow smile spread across Penelope’s pale face. “You sent him through the passageway. You were not alone in the study.”
Esther dropped a washcloth onto Margaret’s neck and shoulder before tilting her mistress’ head backward to gently pour warm water into her hair.
“You are mistaken.” Margaret covered her face with the washcloth, her first inclination to hide any other marks that Penelope might see. But this was Penelope—her friend—her sister. So, instead, she removed the washcloth and shrugged. “I couldn’t very well allow Hugh to find us together.”
“Who is it? Not Mr. Kirkley. I know you better. But who is it? Not a servant.” Penelope placed a finger on her chin as she contemplated the list of single gentlemen guests. “Lord Rockingham.”
If Margaret wasn’t already flushed from the hot water, she would have blushed crimson from the root of her hair to the toes on her feet. She nodded. “But you cannot say anything.”
Penelope drew up a chair and lowered herself onto it while Esther rinsed the suds out of Margaret’s hair. “I positively hate you for having such glorious hair.”
Penelope’s hair was a delightful sunny auburn. “I envy yours.”
“I wondered on a few occasions but… I am so happy for you! How, though? When?”
“He is helping me search for the ring.” Margaret rose behind the towel that Esther held up for her and stepped out of the tub. “I don’t want to make any more trouble for you and Hugh. Lord Rockingham has been helping me look for it.”
