Mary shook her head again. “Not at all.” She scratched her nose. “Well, I surely can write me name, but that’s all.”
Danielle couldn’t imagine not being able to write. Her father had taught her, her lovely French father. He’d been a professor of English and had met her beautiful mama during his extensive travels in England in his youth. Mama had run off with him, scandalized her family, caused an outrageous uproar—or so her aunt Madeline had once told her. They’d gone to France and lived until Papa was killed, Mama was imprisoned, and Danielle had been cast out on the streets.
She’d tried to find Aunt Madeline, but her aunt had been traveling. Her mama, she learned, had been sent back to England, a prisoner, for the murder of her husband. She’d been traded for a French prisoner. Danielle needed to get to London to plead with the judge. She’d seen the man who had killed her father, and she’d learned his name years later. Lafayette Baptiste. She’d spent her life hunting the man. She knew he was a sailor, the captain of a ship. She’d traced him to the docks, located his ship, and followed him. She’d tracked him, trailed him, knew all his secrets.
Then Grimaldi had found her, offered her another life in exchange for keeping her from gaol on the charge of smuggling. She was no fool. She’d taken his offer. Grimaldi had offered her training, skills, a respectable position, and most importantly, he’d promised to find and help her mother.
And he had. Grimaldi was a man of his word. A man of honor. A man, perhaps the only man living, whom she could trust. A vision of Cade Cavendish flashed through her mind. No, she couldn’t trust Cade. He saw her only as a pretty face. Another in a long string of women to seduce. Though he had answered her questions. And she suspected she’d flustered him.
“Mademoiselle?” Mary murmured, snapping Danielle out of her thoughts.
Danielle smiled at the girl. “You must call me Danielle.”
Mary’s grin widened, a charming gap-toothed smile. “Well, thank ye, madam—I mean, Danielle. Thank ye, kindly.”
“No need to thank me, Mary. Now tell me, what did you wish to talk about?”
Mary blushed a beautiful rose color that highlighted the fine freckles on her cheeks.
“Tell me.” Danielle tucked her feet beneath her and leaned toward Mary, even more eager to hear the subject that had made the girl blush so adorably.
Mary clasped her hands together and took a deep breath. “Oh, Danielle, ye’re so poised and yer hair is so well done and ye’re so lovely and—”
Danielle would have blushed if she was a blusher. “That’s quite kind of you, but I hardly think that I—”
“Don’t deny it. I’ve seen how the footmen look at ye and how Mr. Cavendish looks at ye and—”
“Oh, no, no, no. Surely you’re mistaken.” But then, “Mr. Cavendish looks at me?”Mon dieu,she couldn’t keep herself from asking.
“Like he can’t take his eyes off o’ ye.” Mary sighed, a dreamlike expression on her face.
Danielle blinked. Could that amazing news possibly be true? “Oh, but I—”
“Ye’re so kind, well-spoken, and have such gracious manners and…”
A lump formed in Danielle’s throat. She’d never been told any of these things. Kind? It certainly wasn’t something she aspired to. Treating people well was second nature. Who would be mean for mean’s sake? Besides, was it kind of her to be lying to these good people about being a lady’s maid while spying on her employer’s brother?
Well-spoken? Perhaps. If that were true, it was thanks to the education at her parents’ knees. Papa had taught her flawless French and Mama had taught her the perfect English-cultured tones. She’d taught herself the less refined accents of both languages.
As for gracious manners, she had her mother to thank. She supposed she had Aunt Madeline to thank for showing her how to arrange hair and how to toss on clothing that was fashionable, though she’d had precious little time for fashion and loveliness. And of course she’d undertaken a fortnight of training at the hands of one of London’s most popular lady’s maids. This position in Lady Daphne’s household felt like a whole new world to her, one that, to her surprise, she was quite enjoying. Nevertheless it was kind of Mary to pay her such lovely compliments.
“Ye’re just so… perfect,” Mary continued.
Danielle waved her hands in front of her to stop the girl from saying more. “Now wait a moment. I’m far from perfect…” Danielle chuckled. If only Mary knew how imperfect she was. Guilt tugged at her. She bit her lip.
“You seem quite perfect ta me,” Mary insisted. “I wanted ta ask if ye would perhaps… see fit ta…” The girl’s blush returned. She seemed hesitant to continue.
“Yes?” Danielle prompted, nodding to encourage her.
“See fit ta give me some guidance,” Mary finally blurted.
Danielle sat back, a hand to her chest. “Guidance?”
Mary smoothed her skirts. “Yes. Ye see, there’s a boy I fancy and—”
Danielle lifted her brows. “A boy?” A smile spread across her face.
Mary giggled and nodded.
