Danielle LaCrosse smoothed the skirts of her simple white gown as she waited in the viscountess’s fancy drawing room. Gowns were highly overrated. Managing the skirts alone was a chore. She’d nearly tripped half a score of times today. She studied the gilt portraits, the sterling silver candlesticks, and the wallpaper that no doubt cost more than the entire little cottage near the shore she’d been saving for for so long.
She’d never seen anything so fine as the contents of this room. Tiny porcelain figures of birds that seemed to have no purpose other than to be pretty. An ornate gilded box resting on a nearby table that Danielle had been unable to keep herself from peeking into (it contained dried rose petals of all things). And carpet so rich and thick she’d momentarily indulged in the ridiculous desire to slip off her shoe and plunge her stocking-covered toes into the deep weave. And yes, it was every bit as soft as she’d imagined. She was exceedingly grateful no one had witnessed that particular behavior, however. No doubt it was conduct unbecoming of a proper English lady’s maid, but for a French girl who had spent far too long in uncomfortable accommodations, the viscountess’s house was luxurious indeed.
Danielle wasn’t usually nervous, but she desperately needed this position. Being the maid to a fine lady like Lady Daphne Cavendish would not only provide her with more money in a week than a regular maid saw in a month’s time, it would allow her to stay in London. At the moment, that was priceless.
The drawing room door opened and a diminutive woman with shining honey-blond hair and watchful gray eyes came gliding into the room. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years of age. “Please forgive my tardiness,” she said, her dark pink skirts sweeping across the top of the rug as she made her way over to where Danielle sat.
Danielle hopped from her seat and executed her best curtsy, the one she’d been practicing for days. “My lady.”
“Oh, please,” the slightly shorter woman said in a friendly, happy tone. “Do take a seat.”
“Thank you,” Danielle replied, already worrying that her French accent would be looked upon with distaste by her very English potential employer. The wars had been over for two years now, but Danielle knew well there was still a great deal of animosity between the English and the French.
The blond woman smiled at her with kind eyes. “I am Lady Daphne Cavendish,” she announced. Her English accent reminded Danielle of her mother. A sharp pain throbbed in Danielle’s chest.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Danielle replied, biting her lip and watching the lady for any signs of disapproval.
“The agency tells me you come with excellent references,” Lady Daphne said.
“Oui. I mean, y-yes.” Danielle hated the stutter in her speech but she found that now that she was confronted with Lady Daphne, she was quite full of nerves. If she didn’t secure this position, everything would be ruined.
Lady Daphne pulled a bell cord and a finely dressed butler soon appeared in the doorway. The lady prettily requested a tea tray. Tea served for a meeting about a maid position? Obviously, the viscountess treated her servants kindly. Danielle liked that a lot. She expelled a bit of her pent-up breath. Working in a fine London town house wouldn’t be the worst thing she’d ever had to do, by far. Perhaps it might even be … enjoyable.
“You’ve previously worked for Lady Birmingham in Brighton?” Lady Daphne asked, studying her closely.
Is that what they’d said? “Er, yes, my lady,” Danielle forced herself to reply. She squirmed in her chair. She wasn’t used to being watched so carefully. Normally, members of the aristocracy tended to barely look at servants. They certainly didn’t stare at them with an intensity that made Danielle believe Lady Daphne truly cared about her. It was unnerving.
“And you had to resign your position there … why?” Lady Daphne leaned toward her, waiting for her answer as if on tenterhooks.
Danielle plucked at the folds of her skirt. “I need to be in London, my lady. My mother … is ill.” No doubt this fine lady didn’t care a whit about her mother’s illness but it was the truth and Danielle had learned long ago that the more she could follow the truth, the better.
“You have the loveliest French accent.”
Danielle blinked three times before she could conjure up an appropriate reply to that surprising compliment. “Thank you, my lady. Not everyone in London is as charmed by it as you are.”
“Nonsense. The wars are long since over and everyone knows the French are famous for their good taste in hair design and clothing. French lady’s maids are all the rage in Mayfair these days.”
Danielle blinked again. She should have guessed as much when Grimaldi had asked her to play up her Frenchness. “I’m terribly glad to hear that, my lady,” she said before cursing herself for saying something so common. But the viscountess’s twinkling laughter indicated the lady didn’t disapprove in the least.
“You lived in Paris, did you not?” Lady Daphne asked.
“Oui, madame. I was born there.”
“Why did you decide to come to England?”
Danielle was spared from answering that question by the arrival of the tea tray. The butler marched over, his back completely straight, his white gloves pristine. He set the tray on the gleaming rosewood table in front of them.
“Thank you, Henry, that will be all.” Lady Daphne nodded at the man and he retreated from the room. The smile that rested in the crinkles of his eyes as he left, however, informed Danielle that he liked his employer a great deal. She stared after his straight-backed perfection as he left the room. Was Henry his first name or his last?
Lady Daphne poured the tea in the most dainty, ladylike manner imaginable, and Danielle lapsed into a momentary daydream where she pictured herself dumping over the entire pot and shattering the teacups. She was skilled at a great many things, but being dainty and ladylike were not among them. It would be a miracle if she were to be actually offered this position. Not to mention she would doubtless be sacked within the sennight, but first things first. She must be offered the position before she could be terminated from it.
She took the porcelain teacup Lady Daphne offered, fingering the little roses painted along the rim. The cup and saucer alone were probably worth more than she’d earned in a month’s time in her previous life.
“Tell me,” she said, trying to stop the shaking of her hand on the cup. It would not do to spill tea onto the immaculate carpet. “What exactly are you looking for in a lady’s maid?”
Lady Daphne’s teacup stopped, arrested halfway to her mouth, and she laughed again. “Why, I’m not certain I’ve ever had anyone ask me so directly.”
Danielle silently cursed herself. Maudit. She should not have asked that question. Lady Daphne would think her too forward.
“I’ve heard the French are quite direct. I like that,” Lady Daphne continued.
Danielle blinked again, her teacup arrested halfway to her mouth. “You do?”
“Yes, quite a lot. We English are often too polite for our own good. I admire someone who can say what they mean. For instance, what do you think of my hair?”
Warning bells sounded in the back of Danielle’s mind. She brought the teacup to her lips and took a long sip while she considered exactly how to answer such a delicate question. Lady Daphne’s hair was certainly a lovely color and the lady herself was a beauty, but her hair was a bit on the frumpish side, coiled around her head in a knot that did little to show off her fine features.
“I so admire your chignon,” Lady Daphne said, pronouncing the French word perfectly. “I can never seem to get my hair to do that. And Miss Anderson, well, she was quite sweet, but not the most adept at arranging hair, I’m afraid.”
“Miss Anderson?” More time bought.
“My former maid.”
Danielle set down her teacup and rubbed her hands together. The best answer to Lady Daphne’s question, she’d decided, was no answer. Danielle was not one to spend time on her hair or wear fine clothing, but she supposed having grown up in France, she did have a certain je ne sais quoi when it came to style, as many French women did. She had her aunt Madeline to thank for teaching her such things. “Would you like me to show you my favorite upsweep?” she asked, smiling conspiratorially at Lady Daphne.
“By all means.” Lady Daphne returned her smile.
Danielle stood and hurried around to the back of Lady Daphne’s chair. Finally, something she was good at. She plucked the pins from her blond locks, concentrating on not tugging her hair. She pulled them out efficiently, letting the viscountess’s curls fall past her shoulders. Then she used her fingers to part the hair down the middle, sweeping it over her shoulders in two wide swaths before rolling first one side and then the other. She pulled the two rolls together to meet in the center and wrapped the pieces around each other, making a loose bun on the back of Lady Daphne’s head. She replaced the pins and waved her hand in the air. “Voilà!”
Danielle bit her lip. A moment of panic set in. Would Lady Daphne be horrified by the fact that she’d just dressed her hair in broad daylight in the middle of the drawing room? How in the world would she ever make this work?
Daphne stood, patting the back of her head to feel the new hairstyle. “Well, that was quickly done.” She stood and moved to the sideboard where a looking glass hung. She studied her hair from first one side, then the other. “It’s positively charming, and what I like best is that I didn’t have to sit still for an hour while you poke and prod. I cannot stand such things.”
Dieu merci. She wasn’t angry. Danielle glanced down at the carpet to hide her proud little smile. “A lady such as you has more important things to attend to than waiting half the day for her hair to be arranged.”
“Indeed.” Lady Daphne turned back to face her, smiling and still patting the bun on the back of her head.
The door to the drawing room opened and a tall, fit, tres handsome blond man with crystal-blue eyes and a dimple in his chin strode in. Danielle had done her research on this family. Not only had she learned that Lady Daphne did not enjoy spending long amounts of time having her hair and clothing fussed over, she’d also learned that the lady’s husband was a famous war-hero spy known as the Viscount Spy. She hadn’t been aware of how breathtakingly handsome he was, however. Lady Daphne was a lucky woman, indeed.
Danielle watched every movement he made. He had the tiniest hint, nearly unrecognizable, of a limp in his left leg, a faint set of lines around his mouth that indicated he’d been in pain in the past, perhaps a lot of it, and he moved with an easy, quiet style that made her think he was probably a proficient spy, indeed. She sat up straight. Would he approve of his wife’s potential new maid? Was he the sort of man who would make the decision for her?
“Ah, Daphne. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m looking for my—”
“Rafe, there you are. May I present Mademoiselle LaCrosse? Mademoiselle, this is my husband, Lord Rafferty Cavendish.”
The man had the grace to stop what he was doing and acknowledge her. Danielle turned and curtsied. Then he promptly returned to his task of searching for whatever it was he came for.
“What do you think of what she’s done to my hair?” Daphne smiled and spun around to allow her husband to see the chignon.
Her husband smiled back at her and a fetching dimple appeared in his cheek. “Daphne, my love, your hair could be a rat’s nest and I would still think you were gorgeous.” The couple shared a look that clearly indicated they were devoted to one another. Such a good-looking, happy couple. Danielle inwardly sighed. Those were few and far between. She stood and made her way over to a small table near the door.
“Mademoiselle LaCrosse comes with excellent references,” Lady Daphne added.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Lord Cavendish patted his pockets, preoccupied with searching the sideboard.
“She arranged my hair in no time at all. It was quite amazing.”
“Sounds good.” Lord Cavendish turned his attention to the table in front of the seating area.
Danielle slipped her hand under the newspaper that sat atop the table near the door. THE BLACK FOX STRIKES AGAIN! read the headline. She quickly grabbed the object she’d spotted from across the room and turned away from the paper.
“Is this what you’re looking for, my lord?” She moved toward Lord Cavendish and presented him with a gold pocket watch.
The viscount stopped and looked up. His eyes widened. “Yes, actually. Where was it?”
“Here. Under the paper.”
“My goodness, Danielle, I didn’t even hear you get up. You move like a cat.” Lady Daphne smiled. “And you saw that from all the way across the room?” the viscountess asked in awe.
“Just a guess,” Danielle replied, hoping Lady Daphne wouldn’t make too much over her knack for spotting things. “I noticed you patting your pockets so I assumed the item you were looking for must be small and something you carried upon you.”
Lord Cavendish’s eyes narrowed on her briefly, but he inclined his head and smiled, too. “And so it is. Thank you, Danielle.”
Lady Daphne put her hands to her hips. “I daresay you’ve done two impressive things during your interview. I suppose my next question for you is simply … when can you begin?”