“That’s something at least.” She sipped her tea. “Lady Sadie is a horrible name.”
Perfect. She’s perfect.
The thought was enough to have Sadie lowering her teacup. She should have objected before now. The dowager assumed she’d agree to this farce. “I’d love to help you,” Sadie lied, “but I can’t play lady for the next month. I have a job.”
“I will compensate you for your time. Living in the manor for a month is surely a more pleasant way to earn your wages.”
“Lovely for that month, sure. But what about afterward? Mr. Ferman isn’t going to let me return to the shop if I disappear for so long.”
The tiniest crease formed between the dowager’s eyebrows. She studied her tea. Then her face smoothed, and she looked over at Sadie once more. “I shall tell Mr. Ferman that I need another maid while my guests are at the manor, and you impressed me so greatly that I must have you. He won’t dare refuse lending you to me for the duration.”
A month spent away from the shop. Weeks without having to keep a smile on her face while her boss chastised her over problems he created or yelled at her for daring to suggest an action that could prevent future problems. No late nights or missed suppers.
Just a month of being the country bumpkin who made the genuine ladies look better in comparison.
No, not a bumpkin. The dowager had asked Sadie to do this after watching her argue with the baron. She didn’t want to make a fool of Sadie. She wanted her to be contrary and outspoken.
No pretending to be meek and demure.
Sadie met Lady Marstede’s hazel eyes. “If you can get Mr. Ferman to agree, I’ll do it.”
“Excellent. Let’s discuss the details. Your name is Sadie Pentry, and you arrived this evening from your uncle’s estate in Algimon.”
“Where is Algimon?” Was she going to have to memorize a bunch of facts about this family she was pretending to be a part of to sell the story?
“It is in the northwest, about a three-day journey from Marstede.”
Sadie tried to work out where that would be. “Near Baravant?”
She had lived in just about every corner of Sidrea at this point, trying to find a place where she was accepted, then simply one she could hide in when acceptance proved too hard. Baravant had been her final attempt to live without completely denying her magic. She had hoped that in the large town people might accept the potions she made and not ask too many questions about what power she had beyond her water affinity.
It hadn’t worked.
“A few hours from Baravant, yes.” Lady Marstede smiled. “You are familiar with the town?”
“I lived there for a bit about two years ago.”
“Wonderful. That will add verisimilitude to our story. I’ll send a footman down to Lamsdel for the rest of your wardrobe, then there will only be one detail left to account for.”
Sadie could think of several details, but first she had to correct the dowager on her assumptions about her wardrobe. She glanced down at herself and finally understood why Lord Marstede had assumed she was yet another lady come to invade his home. To work in Ferman’s exotic goods, she had to look like the type of woman who could afford those goods, who would know from experience their quality.
Her work dresses were finer than the clothes anyone else in the village wore outside of festival days. Sadie glanced over at the expensive silk of the dowager’s gown. A proper lady might wear the type of dress Sadie was in currently when she had no important engagements, but she’d own several dresses like Lady Marstede’s. Wearing the same two gowns over and over would give Sadie away. So would wearing any of her simpler clothes.
“I have only one other frock of this quality.”
Lady Marstede didn’t frown—like snorting, that must be another thing proper ladies didn’t do—but the impression of a frown was there all the same. She was quite talented. Sadie’s determination to stay for the month wavered. She’d never master behaving like a lady, even if she had years to practice. Then she reminded herself that the dowager didn’t want her to be proper.
“I apologize. I should have considered that.” Lady Marstede looked Sadie up and down. “We’re close enough in size that it will be short work to alter a few of my old gowns to fit. The other ladies won’t realize they were once mine, and if they are a year or two out of fashion, so much the better for your role.”
“Won’t the baron recognize your clothes?”
“Nicholas is not overly concerned with fashion. It will be fine. The only detail we need to worry about with him is your maid. He will notice if I reassign one of the staff to fill that role. We need someone else to play the part.”
“I think my arrival at the manor might also raise some questions,” Sadie pointed out. “Eventually, Lord Marstede will wonder why I knocked on the kitchen door. He’ll realize I came not only without a maid but also on foot.”
“Nonsense. He has no reason to look so closely. We’ll put about a story of a mishap with your carriage. That will explain away your arrival and the delay of your maid. He won’t ask for details.”
The story had holes large enough to drive her nonexistent carriage through, but Sadie didn’t say so. If the dowager thought it would work, then she’d trust her. Perhaps lords and ladies didn’t concern themselves with practicalities enough to notice the flaws in the explanation.
