Danielle pushed her shoulder against Mary’s thin one. “Anyone I know?”
Mary’s blush deepened. “It’s… Trevor.”
Danielle blinked. “Trevor? The footman?”
Mary wrung her hands and nodded.
“You fancy Trevor?” Danielle clarified.
“He’s so tall and handsome and he’s been so sweet ta me.” Mary sighed again, a starry look in her eyes.
Danielle considered the lanky footman. He was well over six feet tall, had a shock of white-blond hair, pale blue eyes, and as many freckles as Mary. It was utterly adorable that the maid should fancy him.
“What sort of advice are you looking for?” Danielle couldn’t imagine what she might be able to offer. When it came to someone fancying someone else, she’d had too little experience in that quarter herself.
“I thought ye might be able ta help me with me hair,” Mary squeaked.
Danielle breathed a sigh of relief. “That is no problem whatsoever. I’d be happy to. Your hair is lovely, you know.”
The girl self-consciously touched the braid wrapped around her head. “I… I noticed you had a… a vial o’ perfume.” She nodded toward the dressing table.
Danielle’s gaze fell on the vial, too. Her Frenchgrandmerehad given it to her. Lavender. “I could help you with your hair and I am certainly happy to share a bit of my perfume but—”
“Oh, no.” Mary shook her head and turned pale. “I should never be so bold as ta ask ye foryerperfume. I was hoping ye would go with me ta choose some fer meself. I’ve been saving me wages and finally have enough ta purchase a small amount. I want some perfume that will drive Trevor mad with longing.”
“Mad?” Danielle watched the girl’s face. She was perfectly serious.
“Yes. Mrs. Huckleberry says perfume has been known ta drive men mad. EspeciallyFrenchperfume.”
Danielle contemplated that for a moment. It sounded like something the cheeky housekeeper might say. A Frenchwoman was rarely without her perfume. The English must have decided it was the secret to attracting a man’s attention. At least this English girl had. “I can help you with your hair and perhaps the perfume, but why do you think I would know much about… men?”
“Have ye never fancied a boy before?”
A boy? A vision flashed through her mind, one she hadn’t contemplated in nearly a decade. A vision of a boy and a night and an uncomfortable act she didn’t enjoy, fumbling hands and sweat and grunting. She shuddered. “I can’t say I have.”
“Don’t ye fancy Mr. Cavendish?”
A vision of Cade Cavendish’s enticing visage replaced the bad memory. “Ah, but Mr. Cavendish is no boy. He’s all man.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Danielle regretted them. She cleared her throat. “That is to say… I mean…”
“Ye don’t have ta explain yerself.” Mary nodded sagely. “Iquiteagree.”
“But I don’t know that I’d say Ifancyhim,” Danielle rushed to add.
“He surely is handsome,” Mary pointed out.
“Yes, he is that,” Danielle agreed.
“And he has a fine body,” Mary continued, hugging herself.
“It’s true.” Danielle couldn’t argue that point.
“And he is ever so charming if ye ask me.”
“Charming is an apt word,” Danielle agreed.
Mary put her small hand on Danielle’s and Danielle allowed it to stay.
“I’ve never been good at maths, mademoiselle,” Mary said. “But I say when ye add up all o’ them things, ye’ve got one fine specimen o’ a man and one wot is quite worthy o’ being fancied.”
