I nodded, still squinting at the brightness of the morning sun, and poured my chocolate into a cup. After taking a drink of the bittersweet liquid, I sighed, and settled back against my pillows to watch Bree move about the room, laying out my clothing for the day and tidying up what I had discarded the night before.
When I had arrived at Blakelaw House seven weeks prior, I had selected Bree from the other housemaids to attend me as my lady’s maid mainly because she had seemed the least frightened by me. Her deep dimples and sparkling brown eyes had said she was not unsettled by me—or my macabre reputation—and her neat appearance and trim posture suggested she would be efficient and uncomplaining. And for the most part, I’d been right. She was cheerful and tolerant of my recent crankiness, but she was also bright and resourceful, two qualities I admired greatly.
Things had not gone well with my previous maid, and though Lucy and I had parted amicably, I was still somewhat disillusioned by my discovery of her disloyalty, and hesitant to trust a new maid. Whether or not Bree understood the reason behind my reticent behavior, she seemed to accept it. As this was her first assignment to such a position, perhaps she didn’t know any better. But regardless, I was grateful for her forbearance.
I was still uncertain whether I would ask her to come with me when I left Blakelaw House, but I felt the arrival of last night’s guest might swiftly help me to a decision. After all, Lucy’s behavior had caused me no qualms until we departed Gairloch, where she’d spent her entire life, and encountered the attractive, but treacherous, Donovan, a servant in the employ of the Dalmays. I couldn’t help but wonder about Bree’s reaction to Gage’s valet, Anderley. After all, the girl was quite young and pretty, with her strawberry blond curls, carefully tamed, and her sunny disposition, and I knew Anderley was not unattractive. His dark hair and eyes made quite a decent foil to his employer’s golden good looks.
However, I could think of no way to introduce the subject without sounding suspicious, and had resolved to find a plausible excuse to ask her later when she unwittingly broached the topic herself.
“You’re sure ye dinna wish to eat any more?” she asked, pointedly staring at the piece and a half of toast I had left on my plate.
“I’m finished,” I replied, dabbing my face with a towel after washing it.
Bree’s eyebrows briefly creased with concern and then straightened again as she moved to place the tray on the table near the door. I set the towel aside, lifted my nightgown over my head, and picked up my shift. By the time my head had emerged from the fine lawn fabric, Bree was there holding out my looser daytime corset, ready to help me fasten it.
“Everyone belowstairs is excited aboot our visitors,” she remarked.
I watched her in our reflection in the mirror, seeing her head bent over her task behind me. “Oh?”
“’Til you arrived, Master St. Mawr had ne’er had any. And you bein’ his sister, ye arena’ really a guest. So this is the first they’ve seen in some time. Since I’ve worked here anyway.”
I frowned, trying to recall whether I’d ever asked her before. “Remind me, how long have you been employed at Blakelaw House?”
“Oh, goin’ on seven years noo.” She looked up in the mirror, catching my look of surprise, and grinned. “Aye,” she said, answering my unasked question whether she remembered me. “I worked in the kitchens when I first come. Barely fourteen, I was. And quiet as a mouse.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head in regret. “I don’t think I . . . Wait! Are you the girl our former cook was always railing at?”
She nodded, flashing me another smile.
“But . . . I thought her name was Marie.”
“’Twas what Cook decided to call me. She said Bree was a stupid name.”
“Then you’re the maid . . .” I stopped, but not before she realized what I was thinking of.
“She beat with her rolling pin and almost crippled?” The sparkle in her eyes faded. “Aye. And if it weren’t for yer father, she probably woulda.”
I had been married to Sir Anthony by then, but I had heard something of the incident, though none of the details. “What do you mean?”
“He’s the one who stopped ’er. Heard the shrieks from his study and came doon teh find oot what all the racket was.” She finished with my corset and handed me my stockings. “He sent Cook packin’, and fetched the surgeon from Kelso for me.”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured, sinking down on the vanity bench, horrified that I hadn’t known she was the same girl.
She brushed it aside. “No reason for that. Yer father didna ken what the ole harpy was doin’, and he sent her away as soon as he did. I canna blame ’im, or you, for what ye didna ken.”
“Yes, but . . .”