Page 35
Julius gave a soft huff of laughter in reply, shoulders easing ever so slightly.
Patrick cleared his throat in gentle rebuke. “There be the servants’ hall if you wish to sit.”
Patrick pointed toward the short hallway where Audrey had earlier stood watch. Julius nodded, and the three of them passed through the scullery door into a modest servants’ room beyond. A scarred pine table sat near the hearth, the smell of flour and ash still lingering in the air. They took seats, and Audrey perched uneasily on the edge of a bench, painfully aware of her unsuitable garments. Her jerkin felt too tight across the shoulders, and her borrowed shirt had come loose at one side, the linen bunching uncomfortably beneath her stays. Across from her, Lady Abbott had swept into place with effortless grace, settling herself with a poise that made Audrey flush with self-consciousness.
She fought the urge to fidget, to tug at her waistband or smooth her sleeves, and instead flattened her hands against the rough bench beneath her.
“Why are you here?”
“How did you recognize me?”
The questions collided as Julius and Lady Abbott spoke at once, both halting mid-breath in polite confusion.
The noblewoman arched a crimson brow with quiet amusement.
“I was there the night of your father’s ball. I witnessed the … um … moonlight encounter.”
Color surged up her neck, drowning the delicate freckles that dusted her skin. She stared at her folded hands, visibly mortified. “I … see.”
Julius hesitated, tracing a finger slowly along the scratched tabletop. “How did you find us?”
“Lady Hays has often spoken of you, regaling me with stories of your youth when you would steal into her home.”
“Ah! Aunty Gertrude.”
Lady Abbott’s blush receded, and she smiled. The tension between them softened. “Lord Filminster and your friends are most concerned, especially after seeing your note stained with blood. I persuaded them to allow me to check Lady Hays’s home to see if you were here.”
Julius tilted his head. “I suppose I should be flattered. There was an incident outside my father’s home, and I was wounded. Fortunately, Miss Gideon is the daughter of a fine physician and a competent healer in her own right.”
Lady Abbott turned her bright blue eyes to Audrey, who stiffened in place. Her shoulders squared, though her nerves flared under the lady’s gaze.
“We appreciate your service, Miss Gideon. Lord Trafford is well-liked by his friends, and we have all been anxious to hear word.”
Audrey gave a small nod, but her stomach dropped when the redhead pulled a face.
“However, I regret to inform you that Lady Astley is quite vocal about Lord Stirling’s missing ward. I am afraid scandal is brewing.”
Audrey’s heart sank. So it was as she feared. Her disappearance had not gone unnoticed. But surely, such gossip would lose its fire once she returned quietly to her village? She clung to the hope that distance might erase consequence.
“We are prepared to rally in your support when you return home.” Lady Abbott reached into her basket and retrieved a folded letter, handing it across to Julius. “Lord Filminster wrote this in the hope that I would find you here. I must leave now, so as not to raise suspicion should anyone be watching the street outside.”
They all stood. Lady Abbott pulled up her hood once more, her fine cloak falling in neat folds over her gown.
“Farewell. I hope we shall be reunited soon.”
She hesitated at the tradesman’s door, glancing back with a fiery blush blooming once again across her cheeks.
“Lord Trafford?”
Julius offered a curt nod of encouragement.
“I … wanted to express my appreciation of the instruction you gave Aidan on the day of our wedding.” Her eyes dropped at once to the floorboards, her voice scarcely above a whisper.
Audrey nibbled at her lip, her brow puckering. Instruction? What sort of instruction could be so mortifying?
Julius huffed, the grin spreading over his face like sunlight breaking through cloud cover. “You are most welcome. Abbott was a committed student.”
Lady Abbott gave a bashful smile in return before Patrick opened the door to let her out, disappearing as quietly as she had come.
