“Good evening.”
“I apologize for my tardiness to dinner. A matter in town required my attention.”
“I see. No apology necessary.” Next, he’d make his excuses, no doubt.
“It has been a long day. I’m certain you wish to proceed with dinner.”
As she’d expected.
“But, if you have a mind to wait, I shall wash up and join you.”
Warmth, lovely and wholly unwelcome, blossomed in her chest. “I do not mind waiting. You must eat, after all. Shall I await you in the parlor?”
For her efforts, Lord Randall bestowed his brief, dashing smile, then he hurried toward the stairs.
***
A quarter hour later, Sterling’s rapid steps slowed as he rounded the final bend in the stairwell en route to the parlor to collect Annabelle.
Seeing Babette, standing sentinel at the base of the stairs, hands clasped behind her back, brought him to a sudden halt.
“My lord,” she said, not waiting for him to inquire after her presence, “milady awaits you in the parlor.”
As he very well knew. “Thank you.”
He eyed her for any telltale signs of a coming disturbance. With the maid, one never knew exactly what might set her off. One thing, however, had become clear since Annabelle’s arrival: Babette’s work as a lady’s maid grounded her, leastways in service to Annabelle. He wasn’t sure what that portended for the girl when Annabelle departed in several days’ time.
She seemed in no danger of a breakdown at the moment. He nodded to her and started down the corridor.
She fell into step beside him. “I took the liberty of fitting one of my Lady Caroline’s gowns for milady.”
As he’d noted at a glance, earlier. She’d looked bloody delectable in the rose-colored frock. “Well done, Babette. I’m sure Lady Annabelle appreciates your efforts.”
She ducked her head, a shy smile curving her mouth.
He expected her to slow her pace and let him go on his way. He did not expect her to hasten forward, shift to face him, and block his path.
Nevertheless, the diminutive maid took the liberty of doing so.
Tamping down his burgeoning impatience, he arched a querulous brow. “Yes?”
“Milady has been hurt.”
He blinked at her. “I beg your pardon? Lady Annabelle, you mean? Who hurt her?”
Only when the girl flinched did he realize he’d raised his voice. With effort, he composed himself and tried again. “Did a mishap occur during my absence?”
She shook her head, her lips firming. “Before.” She spared a moment to peer behind her toward the parlor. When she spoke next, he had to strain to hear her. “It’s why she hides her beauty.”
He really did not have time for this. Lady Annabelle’s beauty was…far from hidden. She was undeniably stunning, and well she knew it.
As if she’d discerned his thoughts, Babette gave him a pitying smile and tapped her chest. “Inside,milord. One only has to”—she shook her head in clear frustration—“see past the prickles to thewhy.”
He was being schooled by a young woman who flitted about the house, waving her favored feather duster like a magic wand. He had no earthly notion how to respond.
She fixed him with unblinking eyes as if willing him to comprehend. “It’s kindness she needs, milord, to let the sweetness locked inside, out.”
By her expression, he gathered she expected a reply. “I see. I’ll…er…take that under advisement, Babette.”
