***
Only once she faced an empty doorway did it occur to her that she had been carrying on a conversation with the high-and-mighty Lord Sterling Randall while wearing a night rail—one likely belonging to his paramour. She stomped to the door to slam it shut.
Then she considered her gown. This Babette had snuck into her chamber, undoubtedly in the wee hours of the night, to filch, press, and mend it. Furthermore, the embellishments she’d added had wrought the dress even more fetching than it had been in its original state.
“She likes pretty things,”Lord Randall had said.
A shiver of pleasure danced up her spine, recalling the moment. Because there’d been an undercurrent in his tone when he’d said it, that told her he referred not only to her dress, but toher.
With care, she closed the door, walked to the bell pull, and tugged.
A brusque knock sounded, all too soon.
She crept back to the door and cracked it open to find a scowling Lord Randall standing in the corridor, arms folded over his broad chest.
“What is it now?”
She huffed. “I was hoping for a small pot of tea to be delivered and…I would also appreciate an opportunity to speak with Babette.”
His brows furrowed.
“To apologize to the girl,” she said between her clenched teeth. Really. The man made it entirely too difficult to keep a civil tongue in his presence.
He slanted her a dubious look. “Very well. I’ll request your tea and see that Babette delivers it.” He made no move to leave, however.
“Thank you,” she said, and would have closed the door, but he spoke again.
“I remind you, Lady Annabelle, she’s suffered a trial and has not fully recovered.”
“Yes, so you’ve told me, repeatedly.”
His broad mouth firmed. “Nevertheless. You strike me as one possessing a particularly strong streak of curiosity.”
As she’d heard the sentiment on multiple occasions over the years, and as she saw nothing wrong with the tendency, she merely stared down her nose at him.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I warn you not to indulge your inquisitiveness as far as the girl is concerned. The results can be trying in the extreme.”
She sniffed. “Yes, well, thank you for the lecture. I’m sure I can manage one simple apology without undue difficulty.”
He snorted and left before she could punctuate her words by closing the door in his face.
A timid knock sounded minutes later.
“Enter,” Annabelle, seated atop her bed, called.
Babette crossed into the chamber, tray in hand, capped head downcast. “You wished to see me, milady?” she asked, approaching the bedside table.
“Babette, isn’t it?” she asked, striving for an amicable tone.
The maid placed the tray. “Yes, milady.” The girl’s gaze darted to the open wardrobe where Annabelle’s gown once again hung, then down to her boot tips.
Annabelle cleared her throat. She wasn’t accustomed to apologizing, especially not to household staff. But needs must and all that. “Babette, I wanted to say, that is, I am…er…sorry if I startled you earlier.”
Babette’s head came up, and her honey-colored eyes went wide with apparent surprise.
This was easier than she’d expected, Annabelle decided. “In my defense, I was asleep, and you startled me, equally.”
The girl’s expression began to darken.
