A small spattering of laugher spilled from Danielle’s lips.Mon dieu. Was that? It couldn’t be. A giggle? A giggle? When in herentirelife had she ever giggled? “You make a fine point, Mary. I cannot disagree with you.”
Mary grinned and elbowed her and the two giggled again. It was an oddly comforting, sharing secrets with Mary.
“I’m happy to help,” Danielle said, awkwardly patting Mary’s hand.
Mary grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Danielle, thank ye so much. I’m ever so glad we’re friends.”
Friends? The word rang in Danielle’s head. “Friends?” She echoed without thinking about it.
A frown marred Mary’s brow. “We are friends, ain’t we?”
Danielle thought about it. Is this what it was like, having a friend? Was this sense of fun and belonging, talking and sharing secrets, what being a friend meant? She’d never had a friend before. She’d been born an only child, was never schooled with other children her own age, and then she’d gone to work on ships and pretended to be a boy. She couldn’t make a friend during those years. She hadn’t been able to share her secret with anyone. Well, unless you counted Robert, and he had left her soon after the one awful night they’d spent together.
“Yes,” she replied, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Yes, Mary, we’re friends.”
“I’m so glad.” Mary stood and moved toward the door. “And just think… after ye help me win Trevor, perhaps I can help ye win Mr. Cavendish.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Danielle spent the next several days in a flurry of activity. In the mornings she served Lady Daphne her breakfast. Then she helped Mary and Molly with their reading. After that, she helped Lady Daphne dress and arranged her hair for her afternoon calls. Later, she prepared Lady Daphne’s clothing and jewels for the endless rounds of balls, or the opera, or dinner parties. While Lady Daphne was out, if Mary wasn’t busy with chores, Danielle taught the girl how to do her hair and answered her many questions about France. Danielle’s days fell into a comfortable routine.
Much to her surprise, she found that in just a few days’ time, she had grown fond of both Mary and Mrs. Huckleberry. Mary asked her about her day, saved her bits of cake if she wasn’t present when it was served, and answered any questions she had about the household. If Mary didn’t know the answer, then Mrs. Huckleberry did. The housekeeper proved a ready and willing ally. The two were friendlier than anyone Danielle had ever known.Friendly and trusting. A knot tightened in Danielle’s chest each time she thought about it.
The other surprising thing was how much she enjoyed spending time in Lady Daphne’s company. Danielle had assumed before she’d arrived that Lady Daphne would be a spoiled, pampered, demanding aristocrat who cared about nothing more than her clothing and hair. Danielle’s mother had told stories of the kinds of ladies she’d grown up around. The infamous ladies of theton.
Lady Daphne turned out to be the opposite. The viscountess spent many of her days helping at an orphanage. She cared little for social gatherings and seemed to attend such events only as obligations. She preferred visiting with friends and family, wanted to spend as little time as possible seeing to her hair and clothing, and was interested in the lives of her servants. She was kind and friendly and lovely, just as Mary said.
Danielle found that she, Mary, Mrs. Huckleberry, and Lady Daphne could talk and laugh much like…friends. The word still felt foreign to Danielle, but she embraced it more each day. But always, niggling in the back of her mind, was the fact that someday soon she’d have to leave these people and this life. Would they learn she’d been a fake? Would they hate her for it?
To her chagrin, Danielle didn’t see Cade at all. She’d left off attempting to follow him after the first debacle. Instead, she turned her attention to eavesdropping. But the man stayed out until all hours, slept until afternoon, ate, dressed, and left. There wasn’t much to eavesdrop upon and Danielle grew more frustrated by the day.
In addition to her busy days, at night, after Lady Daphne and Lord Cavendish went out to Society events, Danielle visited her mother. It was during those quiet moments, after her mother had fallen asleep and she listened to her labored breathing, that Danielle had a chance to contemplate her encounter with Cade. She’d been surprised at their conversation in the library. He’d seemed open and honest with her until he’d shut down and stopped answering questions. His charming veneer had returned and he’d done nothing but offer her more wine and tease her.
Why hadn’t he kissed her? She honestly couldn’t say that she wouldn’t have allowed it had he tried. The man could tempt a saint. But when she wasn’t drinking wine and wasn’t in a romantically lit room with a handsome man, she realized it had been for the better. She suspected he relished his reputation as a rogue more than he actually deserved it. Or perhaps he had merely thought better of himself because he was in his brother’s house and seducing one of the maids would be considered bad form. He’d mentioned that he and his brother hadn’t been raised in Mayfair. Where had they been raised? Surely not too far away or his brother wouldn’t be a viscount now. Some sort of gentry perhaps? Lady Daphne and Lord Rafe both seemed perfectly civilized and proper like the other members of thetonshe’d met, but Cade, Cade seemed different. He didn’t have a valet. Didn’t seem to have a profession. He wanted her to think he was living off his brother. But why? Or was he living off his brother? That would certainly explain why the man might possibly turn to crime. Was he feeding secrets about his brother to someone, or group of someones, who wanted to hurt Rafe? Was that possible?
“There ye are.” Mary’s voice came floating down the servant’s corridor.
Danielle turned to see Mary and Mrs. Huckleberry bustling toward her.
“We’re off ta bed soon,” Mrs. Huckleberry announced. “Care ta walk up with us?”
“I’d love it,” Danielle replied. She needed to retrieve her shawl and reticule from her bedchamber before she hired a hack to go to her mother’s.
The three of them made their way along the corridor toward the servants’ staircase at the back of the kitchens.
“What’s wrong, me dear? Why da ye seem so… well, sad, if you don’t mind me askin’?” Mrs. Huckleberry held the candle high so they could navigate the steep, narrow stairs.
Danielle’s chest felt heavy, as if Cook’s iron cauldron were sitting on it. Andmon dieu,were those… tears? She’d never had anyone ask her such a question before. Never had anyone else care or be so friendly or helpful or… nice. Not since she’d been on her own. Mother had cared once. Before she got sick. Now all she could do was care for her mother.
She took a deep breath. “It’s my mother. She’s sick.” Now why had she gone and done that? Before she’d come here, she’d never told anyone about her mother.
Mary gasped and tears filled her eyes, too. She put her small pale hand on Danielle’s shoulder. Danielle allowed it. It felt unexpectedly good to be touched, to be comforted. She didn’t realize how much she’d been missing it.
“What’s wrong with her, me dear?” Mrs. Huckleberry pulled Danielle down to sit next to her on the stair.
“Consumption.” Danielle wiped away tears with the handkerchief Mary pressed into her hand.
“Oh, no.” Mrs. Huckleberry shook her head.
