“I know what you are trying to do, putting me here so close to the servants. You’re hoping the other guests will take me for one of them. But I am a guest of Lord Frederick’s, so I demand to be—”
“I can assure you that is not the reason,” Bridget heard Aunt Marianne say. “This is simply the only room we have left. You were not on our guest list.”
Bridget inhaled and squared her shoulders before making her way to the room. “Miss Bouffant, you seem upset. May I help with anything?”
“Your housekeeper has had the cheek to put me in this back room like a servant. She’s ashamed I’ll embarrass your finer guests, but I came here with Lord Frederick, and I demand to be put upstairs with the other guests.”
Bridget silently cursed Nate. How could he be so stupid as to allow his friend to bring a courtesan to Villa De Lacey? This was to be a respectable inn—a place for the wealthy to come and relax and unwind—not a bawdy house. She needed Villa De Lacey to work. It was her only chance to remain in her home—it washerhome—and she wouldn’t let this woman or anyone else take it from her.
Bridget forced a smile. “This is my aunt, Mrs. Marianne Brixton,neeDe Lacey, not my housekeeper.”
“Aah, I see then why she is so bossy. A relation to the previous owner, now reduced to a living off charity.” The woman’s tone was sharp and condescending, though Bridget supposed she didn’t blame her. No doubt her aunt had spoken to her in a similar way.
Even now, her aunt declared, “My brother would turn in his grave if he knew his house was being populated by the likes of—”
“If I may interject,” Bridget said, silencing the two women. “Miss Bouffant, there is no need to be rude to my aunt. She was quite right in thinking there are no open rooms and so did the best she could by you. However, I received notice by messenger of a cancellation,” Bridget lied, “so fortunately we now have a much larger room available for you. I shall be happy to move you in there. But you cannot share Lord Frederick’s room. This is a respectable inn, and only married couples can share a room. If you don’t like that arrangement or continue to make a fuss, I’m afraid you will have to leave.”
The mention of a larger room seemed to calm Miss Bouffant, who surprised Bridget when she nodded in agreement. “Very well, I’ll be onmy best behavior as long as you move me out of this dungeon immediately.”
“Exactly what room are we talking about?” Aunt Marianne asked.
“Number thirteen,” Bridget said. It was a suite her father had made up for himself on the ground floor two years prior after he’d injured his leg in a riding accident and found it difficult to walk up the stairs.
“Bridget, you cannot be thinking of—”
“It’s for the best, Aunt.” Bridget put a loving hand on her aunt’s arm. “Trust me.” She turned back to Miss Bouffant. “The room is still on the ground floor, but it is spacious and well-furnished. I think you will find it to your liking,” Bridget said, glancing at her aunt, whose jaw was set in a hard line.
Miss Bouffant seemed pleased with that explanation and willingly followed Bridget to her new room.
“Oh yes, much better,” she said as Bridget opened the door to the large room with its canopy bed, an elegant, carved dresser, and a seating area consisting of two plush blue-velvet chairs and a tea table.
“I must ask that you pretend not to know Lord Frederick or to have met him before. You were the first to arrive, so no one will be the wiser that you came together. You can pretend to strike up a friendship while you are here, but I will ask you to remain discreet as to the true nature of your relationship. We have other ladies and gentlemen coming to stay, and I should like to avoid any behavior they might view as scandalous taking place directly under their noses.”
Miss Bouffant shrugged. “I can play any part you wish. If you wish me to be a respectable lady and blend in with your other guests, then that’s what I shall do.”
Bridget frowned. She doubted that anyone from London society would be fooled by this woman.
“I’m not uneducated. I’m an actress, and as a result, I know Shakespeare. I can even speak French.”
“Can you?” Bridget said, surprised.
“Oui, bien sûr, mademoiselle. J’ai grandi à Paris.”
“You grew up in Paris?”
“I left when I was nine—adopted by my English aunt after I became orphaned. But she was a cruel woman, so after three years in her care, I turned to the theater to earn my way.”
“That’s wonderful!” Bridget said, an idea forming in her brain. “How about I introduce you to the others as a widowed lady from France…” Bridget hesitated. “Do you still remember how to speak with a French accent?”
“But of course,” the lady said in a convincing French accent.
“Very good. Now, here’s the plan. You will tell people that you have traveled to the Lake District from Paris for a holiday.” Bridget tapped her chin as she thought. The lie wasn’t convincing enough just yet.
The answer came to her in a flash. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.” Bridget hurried down the hallway and bounded up the stairs to her room. There she retrieved her copy of Wordsworth’sGuide to the Lakes, two Parisian shawls, a feathered hat, and a pair of gloves, all of which her papa had brought her from France over the years.That ought to do the trick!
She raced back down the stairs and almost collided with Nate, who was ascending with Lord Frederick and two other gentlemen.
“Miss De Lacey!” Nate said. “Where are you off to in such a rush?”
