“But…”
“Yes?”
“Can I gets a pink ’un?”
“A pink what, dear?”
“Dress. I wants a pink ‘un.”
“We shall see what we can do. Now. Come along. We don’t wish to see Mr. Jervis return, do we?” Maeve held out her gloved hand. Where one tiny, grimy hand latched on.
Blast. She’d sent the carriage away. She glanced about for a hack, and her eyes settled on Lorelei’s carriage. Her footman, Andrews, was watching her. Good heavens, he’d witnessed the entire exchange. The news was sure to get back to Harlowe.
Andrews hopped down from the box and held the door. “I’ll run you home, Lady Alymer. When I return, I’ll apprise Ladies Kimpton and Brockway of your need to deal with an unexpected matter.”
“That sounds an ideal solution, Andrews. My thanks.”
He held out his gloved hand to Penny. Eyes wide, she took it and let him assist her up the steps, but she was so tiny, he finally lifted her from the waist and set her inside. Maeve followed and drew the curtains, in the event Mr. Jervis was watching.
There were no further incidents on their ride to Cavendish Square. Maeve and Penny descended from Lorelei’s carriage. She turned back to Andrews. “Please inform Lady Brockway I have need for a pink frock close to that of Lady Cecilia’s size”—she frowned—“perhaps a tad smaller, Andrews. And… thank you.”
He inclined his head and climbed up onto the box.
Once she and Penny reached the portico and McCaskle opened the door, Andrews lifted a hand and set off.
“Lady Alymer?” Her new Scottish butler looked surprised to see her. As he should.
Maeve and Penny stepped over the threshold. “Have Agnes draw a bath in my sitting room. We have a guest. Penny, this is McCaskle.” Maeve gave a snooty sniff. “He’s new. Come along, dear.” She and Penny started up the stairs, but Maeve stopped. “McCaskle, send up some hot meat pies and a biscuit or two.” She went up another few steps. “Oh, and a glass of milk.”
“Will do, madam.”
She’d reached the balcony when the unfamiliar, feminine voice reached her. Maeve looked over the rail. A large woman with frayed, graying hair stood wiping her hands on her bright, starched apron. Unease curled through Maeve. “Who are you?”
“Ina, milady.”
“I see. And just what is your position inmyhousehold, Ina?”
“The housekeeper, milady.”
Another round of outrage simmered, but with Penny clutching her hand, Maeve tamped it back. “Send tea as well,” she snapped. “With brandy.”
Steven and MaryandNiall trudged in carrying buckets of steaming water. Niall poured them in the copper tub. There was something different about Mary and Steven. Maeve stared at them as they moved to the door—
She took up the bottle of rose scent and poured a few droplets in the water. The room bloomed with the scent when the difference hit her. “You’ve new clothes,” she blurted out.
“They came a few days ago,” Mary said, beaming.
Another Harlowe deed. One she had no intention of berating him over. “Come here,” she said. “Turn around. Slowly, now. I wish a thorough inspection,” she said with mock sternness. “Why, they are fine. Just fine.” She waved out her hand. “Run along. Oh, Mary, I am expecting a box from Lady Brockway. Please bring it up immediately when it arrives.”
Grinning, she dipped an imperfect curtsey. “Yes, milady.” And with the exuberance of her age, dashed out.
Agnes, in the meantime, was behind a screen, stripping the rags from one squawking five-year-old. A few minutes later, Agnes stepped around the screen with a firm grip on her charge.
“All right, Penny. In you go. I put some of my best smelling oil in the water. I probably won’t be able to get you out.”
Her lips took on a mulish pout. “Where’s me new dress?”
“As soon as it arrives, Mary will bring it up.”
