“For me it’s funny. I’ve known other people who drink to excess and are angry or sad or just sleepy.”
Mary blinked at her. “Ye mean it’s different for everyone?”
“I think it can be. My father used to say a drunken man says a sober man’s thoughts.”
“Oy, that’s mighty interestin’, mademoiselle.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“What did ye mean when ye said it would take more than two glasses of wine? How much does it take ta get foxed?”
“That also depends,” Danielle replied.
“On what?”
“On how accustomed to drinking you are. I used to drink quite a lot with the sorts of people who drink quite a lot.” And she’d had to learn quickly how to handle spirits to keep her identity secret.
“Who did ye drink with?”
“That’s a story for another time, but suffice it to say I learned how to handle my liquor and now, it’s not possible for two glasses of wine to get me foxed.”
“I want ta get Trevor foxed and ask him if he fancies me.” Mary giggled. “If I get him foxed will he tell me what he really thinks?”
Danielle laughed. “There’s only one way to find out.”
There was no time to discussthatplan before Mrs. Huckleberry came huffing back up the stairs. “I’ve put on a pot o’ me garlic soup fer ye ta bring with ye ta yer mum’s tonight.”
Danielle started. “You didn’t have to—”
“I’ve been told it helps with the cough and the tight chest.” A kind smile wrinkled the housekeeper’s face.
“Oh, yes,” Mary said, nodding emphatically. “Mrs. Huck’s garlic soup is legendary. It’s sure ta make yer mum feel better.”
“I’ll send Trevor with ye ta carry it,” Mrs. Huckleberry added.
“That’s far too kind of you.” Danielle’s chest still felt tight. She twined her fingers together and stared down at her slippers. She’d never felt more guilty for deceiving these nice women. “I… I don’t understand why you’re helping me.” She dared a glance up.
Mary’s nose scrunched up and she gave Danielle the cutest little grin. “Oh, Mademoiselle Danielle, ye’ve never had friends afore, have ye?”
There was that word again.Friends.It hung in the air like a cloud of coal dust. No. She had never had friends before. This was what it felt like. To have people to talk to. People to ask questions of. People willing to make your sickmeregarlic soup.
What sort of a friend was she? One who was lying to them? Deceiving them? A friend who would have to leave one day without so much as telling them where she’d gone or why? She was a horrible friend, which was exactly why she’d never had any. She didn’t deserve one, let alone these two.
“I don’t know what to say,” Danielle murmured.
“There’s nothing ta say, me dear, except… thank ye,” Mrs. Huckleberry replied.
Thank you. Those, too, weren’t words she’d used often. She’d never had anyone to thank but herself. No one aside from Grimaldi had done anything for her, but he didn’t require thanks. She’d worked to pay him back. She hadn’t asked anyone for help and they hadn’t offered, which was exactly the way she liked it. No commitments. No obligations. Long ago, two people she trusted had betrayed her, but something told her Mary and Mrs. Huckleberry never would.
“Thank you for the soup,” she whispered, standing so the three could continue their walk upstairs.
“It’s me pleasure,” Mrs. Huckleberry replied. “Now, hurry home tonight after yer visit, ye hear? Ye’ll need ta get some sleep. Tomorrow’s ta be a busy day.”
“Yes, tomorrow’s going ta be especially busy,” Mary echoed.
Danielle paused. “Why? What’s happening tomorrow?”
“Didn’t Lady Daphne tell ye?” Mrs. Huckleberry asked. “She’s planning a ball.”
