Perfect.
“Daisy can help. She’s practically a lady’s maid now. Not a spectacular one, but certainly adequate for this.” She pulled the rope by the doorway.
Within a few seconds, Daisy appeared. Gone was the drab brown dress and serviceable grey smock Amelia was so familiar with. Instead, Daisy wore a simple floral day dress that was only a few years out of fashion, and her hair was up, only slightly askew, in the new style they’d been practicing.
“Daisy, you look quite pretty,” Amelia said. “Green suits you.”
“Th-thank you, m’lady.” She flushed as she curtseyed.
“We’re practicing the cotillion, and Cassandra needs someone to partner with.” She pointed to a spot in the middle of the room. “Just over there, if you please.”
“I…uh…” Daisy looked over her shoulder toward the door.
“What is the difficulty?” Today was becoming increasingly frustrating, and Amelia couldn’t help the tap, tap, tap of her foot on the floor.
“I think it’s her afternoon off,” Cassandra whispered.
Daisy nodded.
Honestly.
“I’m not asking her to dust the cornicing, although it needs it. It’s dancing. Everyone loves dancing. You don’t mind, do you, Daisy? What could you possibly have planned that’s more diverting than a cotillion?”
Daisy swallowed, her eyes trained on the tips of her toes. “Nothing, m’lady.”
“See.” Amelia turned to Cassandra. “She wants to help. And it’s not every day a maid gets dancing lessons from an expert.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“What do you mean? That was just a fact. I can’t help what the facts are.” The words came out quick and terse, off her tongue before she’d even thought them. Cassandra’s accusation stung, whiplike, and only years of training allowed her to keep her poise.
She was perfectly nice, thank you very much. And it was frustrating when her comments were willfully misinterpreted.
“Perhaps we should start the dancing, m’lady.” Daisy stood next to Cassandra. “What would you have me do?”
The altercation soured all of their moods, a feeling that was not improved a quarter hour later when Benedict bellowed from the foyer. “Cassandra!”
“In heeee—errr.”
Amelia rolled her eyes. An entire day spent discussing how to conduct oneself in a ladylike manner and still this.
Benedict walked into the drawing room and sketched a quick bow, one hand kept behind his back. Amelia nodded in his direction, her movements feeling stiff and awkward. He’d apologized for yesterday’s argument, but their interactions were still strained.
“You found us,” Amelia said. “What a relief. Why, if it hadn’t been for all the yelling, you might have been wandering for days. Quelle horreur.”
“Lady Amelia, I come in peace.” He produced a single Christmas rose, a faint blush of pink touching each of the perfect white petals. The apprehensive look on his face turned quickly into a smile as she accepted it.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The scoundrel winked and turned to his sister. “Cassandra, you have a book on your head.”
Giving him an I’m-not-an-idiot stare, Cassandra curtseyed, slowly and with precision, her back ramrod straight. As she rose, she wobbled, and the book slid off.
“Darn.” She caught it before it hit the floor.
“That was close,” Amelia said. “You were very nearly up.”
“Daisy is helping us get ready for London,” Cassandra said.
