Maggie turned to her, her eyes hazy and starlit.
“I understand it was your turn to light Mr. Cassidy’s fire and bring his coffee this morning.”
“Drew the long straw, so’s I did,” she confessed, dreamily.
Hugh Cassidy was usually up and dressed and restlessly moving about even before all the maids were yawning through the dark halls to light fires and trim wicks, a habit of a lifetime from when he’d been up to do chores and to watch the sunrise over the tops of tall pines. But one unforgettable morning a maid had come upon him still sleeping. Half of his coverlet had been tossed off, exposing a vast bare shoulder gleaming like a gold mountain by the light of a single glowing log. The maid who’d witnessed this glory had returned to the kitchen all but speaking in tongues. She’d been given smelling salts.
Ever since then the maids had drawn straws and bickered over the opportunity to wait upon him. Because while fascinating men did tend to appear at the door of The Grand Palace on the Thames—notably, the notorious bastard son of a duke and a handsome if taciturn blockade captain—the dark haired, blue-eyed young American was the onewho notched most comfortably into their fantasies. He seemed toseethem. He somehow seemed more real, and therefore more deliciously devastating.
Delilah and Angelique had always found Mr. Cassidy to be all that was charming, courtly, proper, and helpful—he’d even helped build part of the Annex—and he was infinitely patient with Mr. Delacorte. He’d been a guest for some months now, and they were quite fond of him. And yet, he wasn’t precisely easy to know. He was a trifle guarded. And there was a suppressed energy to him that suggested he’d be moving on as soon as he was able. Mr. Cassidy was clearly a man with plans.
“I suspect you returned to the kitchen and brought Mr. Cassidy one more scone this morning than you ought to have, didn’t you, Maggie?”
Maggie went still. Then she squeezed her eyes closed, as if awaiting the blade that would separate her head from her neck. And then gave one short, sharp nod.
Angelique sighed again.
Maggie turned a pleading expression up to her. “When he smiles... it’s like when you look at the sun, Mrs. Durand. You can’t see nothing else after that.”
“Yes, well, he has a fine smile and he knows it.” He in fact had a number of different kinds of fine smiles, all of which she also enjoyed, but the slow crooked one, all intimate warmth and wry, mischievous pleasure, that wrapped the viewer like a sensual net—well, that was the one that typically did the maids’ heads in. “Do you know what a budget is?”
“Well, yes. You and Helga and Mrs. Hardy talk and talk about it and you seem to have great fun.”
Over Helga’s muttered, “Ha!” Angelique said, “Well, itisa bit like a game. You have to be clever, you see. It’s all about strategy. We earn money by providing a service to our guests, but everything costs money. For instance, what if I told you that smuggling an additional scone to Mr. Cassidy each morning could eventually mean we won’t be able to afford to hire footmen?”
She wasgreatlysimplifying the concept of budgets, but the word “footmen” had inspired all manner of excitement for months now, for reasons not entirely related to shared work. Angelique now had all Maggie’s attention.
“It’s a bit like that. We make choices all the time about what to spend according to what we earn. We must be resourceful and thriftywhilestill providing exceptional comfort and service so that The Grand Palace on the Thames can continue to enjoy its stellar reputation...” “Stellar” was a bit aspirational, but it made her point. “...and so that we can continue to employ all of our staff members, too. Do you see?”
Maggie nodded eagerly.
“And while Mr. Cassidy is a gentleman through and through and I know he wouldneverdo anything untoward, men are deucedly clever about getting what they want, because most of them assume we’re not as smart as they are.”
“And that only proves they are fools,” Helga added. “With precious few exceptions.”
“Mr. Cassidy is better than most, by far. And Helga’s scones can entice a saint,” Angelique allowed.“But we have to be stronger and cleverer than men are and not give them what they want simply because we find them charming. At which point, contrary creatures that they are, they will find us irresistible.”
“Oh, I shouldloveto be irresistible!” Maggie breathed.
“It takes many years of practice,” Angelique added quickly. “Many,manyyears. So all of you, smile politely and repeat after me in a polite but grave tone: ‘I shall have to speak to Helga about additional scones, Mr. Cassidy.’”
“I shall have to speak to Helga about additional scones, Mr. Cassidy,” everyone present repeated sternly.
“Now please properly cut the apples, Maggie.”
The maid gave a start. The knife went through an apple and she soon established a speedy rhythm.
Angelique exhaled as Delilah sailed into the kitchen. It was one of her favorite places, too. But Delilah’s expression suggested she had unwelcome news to impart.
“At least Mr. Cassidy loves my food,” Helga said worriedly. “Lady Lillias hardly touches it. Too plain for the likes of her, I suppose.”
Delilah and Angelique exchanged a look. The Earl and Countess of Vaughn and their family were the very first occupants of one of their handsome, newly completed suites.
Difficult people had been guests at The Grand Palace on the Thames before. Delilah and Angelique had, in fact, married those difficult people. Difficult people were looked upon as an opportunity to sharpen their wits and exercisecompassion. And if all else failed, a blockade captain would drag their deservedly unconscious body out the door. (Fortunately, that had so far only happened once.)
The two of them just hadn’t yet decided what sort of difficult person Lady Lillias was.
As the rules compelled, she dutifully sat in the parlor four days a week and was absent for the other days. A sketchbook sat before her, as did a crayon in a holder, but no one had ever seen her so much as lift it. She did not knit (she’d been invited); she did not embroider (likewise). She spoke when spoken to and her voice was lovely and her manners were faultless. She was a beautiful conundrum, a still presence but not precisely a mild, or even benign one. She seemed to be mounting a sort of personal protest, the object of which was known only to herself. She seemed alive with thoughts.
