“I think you have a great complexion, Teresa. What do you use on your skin?” Leah swallowed another bite of gruel in the ensuing silence. Apparently they hadn’t expected her to speak.
“Me mum would mix rosewater and cream, and apply it to her face. She let me do it too, when I was older and we could afford it.” Teresa smiled down at her bowl. “It makes me skin softer. I do it whenever I can, even now.”
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“Vanity is a sin,” Mrs. Harper admonished. “You’ll
cease this immediately.”
Teresa’s face went bone-white. “Oh no, Mrs. Harper, I didn’t mean…”
“You’ll do as you’re told in this household.” Mrs.
Harper’s chair scraped back. “The very thought of a maid taking such pains with her appearance is disgraceful. You are to be neat, pressed, and present yourself as a servant of His Grace, but to give yourself such a treatment is well above your station.”
“Yes, Mrs. Harper,” Teresa whispered.
“You’d all do well to remember that.”
With a glare at Leah, the housekeeper left the table.
The three footmen followed at her direction, leaving Leah with the maids and Avery. All the females at the table turned distrustful eyes on Leah, with the exception of Teresa, who had tears tracking down her pale cheeks.
“Teresa, I’m so sorry,” Leah said. God, she felt like shit. “I just wanted to give you a compli— ”
“You’re poison, you are.” Henrietta stood, her lips pursed in disapproval, much like Mrs. Harper’s had been.
“You intended to cause that trouble for poor Teresa, hoping that you can replace her as the upper housemaid.
We’ll none of us have aught to do with you.” At her beckoning gesture, the other girls followed, including the still-sniffling Teresa.
Leah leaned forward with a groan, plastering her forehead against the rough top of the dining table. This was so not going well.
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Avery stared down into his bowl, unwilling— no, unable, if he were to be honest with himself— to look at Leah.
He should have spoken. He should have defended her against the false accusations that Henrietta had hurled on her. But how could he, when he knew that casting himself as her savior would harm her even further?
A movement drew his gaze as she sat up and glared at him. “Thanks for saving me there, cowboy.”
Leah’s shoved her chair back to stand. He shoved another bite into his mouth to prevent having to reply.
She left the dining room without another word, and Avery stared at her departing back as if his regretful gaze alone could atone for his lack of action.
He was no gentleman. Never had been, by birth or by breeding. Did that excuse him? His mother’s voice, echoing in his head from beyond her too-early grave, said not.
No matter what it cost him, he could have borne it to protect her. But how could he subject her to the jibes and taunts that would surely follow his public declaration of loyalty to the girl? She could have no way of knowing how much worse things could be if he were to cast his lot with her. His presence caused more problems than it corrected, and poor Miss. Ramsey had more than enough trouble of her own.
Avery sighed regretfully as he left the now-empty table. He should know by now that nothing ever came of wishing things different. He had his lot, and now Miss Ramsey had hers. They would both manage as they could and leave the rest to the whims of Fate.
No matter how his heart ached with every pain she was forced to endure.
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The rest of the day passed in a blur of normal duties and preparation for the dowager’s rout at Tunstall Place across the square. With the large crowd that was expected, Avery would serve as footman with the others from His Grace’s employ, and even Miss Ramsey was expected to assist. Cornering her to ensure her proper service was becoming more troublesome than he’d expected, but he persevered through the afternoon.
Until he was summoned by Cook.
“Mr. Russell,” the old woman hissed as he made his way through the kitchens with a pile of freshly pressed cravats. “Meet me in the larder.”
He nodded subtly and went on his way. He knew without her speaking what the summons meant. It was a play that they’d enacted many, many times before.
Once the cravats were put into their proper place, Avery descended the stairs again, winding around the corner of the kitchen to duck into the larder, unseen.
Cook waited for him there, her sausage-curls wispy and haphazard from the heat of the kitchens, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“The apothecary’s boy came this morning.” A small brown bottle was produced from Cook’s apron pocket.
“He said to thank you for your custom. I gave him your coin for it.”