Page 49

Heartsick, too.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Scrunching her brow, she checked the tie of her robe before calling, “Who is it?”

“Nanette, Miss Glanville,” burbled the cheery maid in her heavy accent through the door. “You have a delivery.”

A delivery?

What in the world?

Branwen opened the door a crack, well aware of the impropriety of doing so wearing her nightclothes.

A delighted grin dominated the lower half of the plump girl’s face. Holding a vase containing a huge bouquet of flowers, she bobbed her head at six other maids behind her.

Each held a box wrapped in pretty fabric and festooned with a large ribbon. Except for the last, who cooed and patted an acorn-brown, curly-coated puppy.

Puzzling her brow, completely baffled, Branwen gazed helplessly at the array before her. “Are ye certain ye havena made a mistake?” Her attention gravitated to the beaming maids. “This is all meant for me?”

Giving an exuberant nod, Nanette giggled as she and her cohorts exchanged knowing glances. “’Tis wondrous, non?”

“Aye,” Branwen agreed.

Perhaps it was De La Beche’s way of saying thank you? Or his wife’s?

Overwhelmed, Branwen stepped aside and permitted the servants to parade into the chamber, proudly bearing the gifts.

Nanette placed the bouquet on the table beside Branwen’s nearly full dinner tray. She tsked upon spying the uneaten food. “You did not like the meal, mademoiselle? Shall I bring you something else? Oui?” she asked, so eager to please.

“I didn’t have much of an appetite after the events of the day,” Branwen consoled, not wanting to hurt the servant’s feelings. Witnessing men die, impaling one herself, and relinquishing any hope of a future with Bryston had rather put her off her food. “Please dinna take offense. I’m sure on the morrow I’ll be famished.”

“Oui, fresh croissants.” Nanette put her fingertips to her mouth and made a kissing noise.

The other excited maids placed their boxes on the bed.

“The puppy is a female. If she needs to go outside, just ring, and someone will come up to take her out,” Nanette offered with a little, shallow curtsy.

“Arena you adorable?” Branwen said, accepting the wriggling puppy from a maid whose name she did not know. It promptly began licking her face enthusiastically. Despite her earlier melancholy, she laughed and buried her nose in the dog’s soft neck.

Holding the chubby, wriggling pup close, she took in the packages. “Do ye ken who they are from?”

“From me, lass.”

She whirled to face Bryston, and her heart did that weird skittering, wobbly thing it always did when she looked upon him. Unabashedly, she permitted her gaze to feast upon his masculine magnificence.

Hair damp and hanging around his shoulders rather than tied back at the sides as was his wont, wearing only a linen shirt, leather breeches, and boots, his large frame dominated the doorframe. Arms folded, he rested one ridiculously broad shoulder against the wood.

He winked at the maids who erupted into giggles once more.

“Mademoiselles.” He stepped aside, then bowed as he swept his arm out to indicate they should leave.

Falling over themselves while tittering and speaking in French—a couple of the bolder lasses giving Bryston seductive inviting looks—they filed from the chamber.

Branwen waited until the last one’s footsteps receded before speaking.

“Why? I havena need of anythin’. Ye’ve already purchased much for me that stretches the bounds of propriety.” Branwen shook her head while trying to control the exuberant puppy. She was also aware the servants could still hear their conversation.

Clasping the back of his neck, he peered at her almost sheepishly and slanted his molded mouth into a disarming smile.