Was that … singing? A man … singing? Danielle glanced up from her work in Lady Daphne’s wardrobe. She’d been organizing the delicate, expensive undergarments, lovely lace handkerchiefs, and gorgeous butter-soft gloves all evening.
It was calming work, placing things in order. It made her feel in control. Not a feeling she was familiar with. Her mistress and her husband had been gone for the last few hours. The theater, Lady Daphne had said, and she’d seemed extremely pleased by the way in which Danielle had arranged her hair before she’d left.
Another artful style done in record time. Just what milady wanted. Lady Daphne had thanked her prettily and asked her to make herself at home. She’d introduced her to the other servants including a tres friendly housemaid named Mary, two extremely helpful and energetic footmen named Trevor and Nigel, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Huckleberry. That lady had shown her to her room on the fourth floor with the other female servants. Everyone seemed pleasant and no one had been rude to her for being French. Such a relief.
After dinner of tomato bisque and cheese and bread with the rest of the servants belowstairs, Danielle had come back upstairs to survey Lady Daphne’s things. It was Danielle’s duty to ensure everything was clean and mended and in the right place. Apparently Miss Anderson had done a poor job because most of Lady Daphne’s lovely items were squashed together in drawers, items mismatched and not folded properly. The horror. Danielle eagerly set about fixing it.
She’d been at her work for the better part of an hour when the singing caught her attention. Certain that she must be mistaken, she cupped her hand behind her ear. It was getting louder. Whoever was singing was climbing the stairs. Was one of the footmen foxed? She tiptoed to the bedchamber door and peeked out.
His shadow preceded him. Tall and broad-shouldered. She saw the top of his blond head before she saw the rest of him. His voice was deep and strong and he sounded quite happy for all that he was clearly three sheets to the wind. She smothered a smile behind her hand.
When the man emerged from the shadows and stood at the top of the staircase, she gasped. It was none other than Lord Cavendish himself.
Where was Lady Daphne?
Danielle watched in fascination as he continued through the corridor, passing by the room where she peeped out without noticing her (dieu merci). There was an awful bruise on his eye and his fist was—mon dieu—dripping blood! She covered her mouth with her hand again, this time to keep him from hearing her gasp. He continued past her door, and to her further surprise, past his door.
She’d already explored, taking the liberty of opening the adjoining door from Lady Daphne’s bedchamber and realized that her husband’s room was adjacent. Why wasn’t the man going to his room? He continued past both rooms to the end of the hall and entered a door on the opposite side of the corridor. Was he too inebriated to remember where he slept? This could be quite embarrassing for him when he woke up and discovered he was somewhere else. Would Lady Daphne be mortified? Would she even know where her husband was?
Danielle bit her lip. Should she run and tell Mrs. Huckleberry? Perhaps inform one of the housemaids and let her handle it? Or should she quietly steal over and tell the lord of the manor he was in the wrong room?
She’d never been one to pass up an interesting opportunity. She might learn a bit more about her employers while she was at it. She tiptoed out of Lady Daphne’s room and scurried down the corridor to peer into the room Lord Cavendish had entered. He’d left the door wide open. Candles on the mantelpiece and the bedside tables lit the space.
“My lord?” she called in a hushed whisper.
At first he didn’t hear. He was sitting on the side of the bed, tugging at his boots in an attempt to remove them. Where in heaven’s name was the man’s valet?
“My lord,” she called again, a bit louder this time.
His blond head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes toward the door. “Who is it?”
She stepped into the door frame. “It’s me, my lord.”
“For God’s sake, don’t call me that. I cannot abide it.” With that, he went back to grappling with his boots.
“My lord, I do not think that you … That is to say, you perhaps are not aware that … I mean, you are currently—”
“Are you a maid?” he finally bellowed.
“Yes.” Was it possible the man had forgotten her since this afternoon? Given the state he was in, she decided it was more than possible.
“If you’re a maid, then please make yourself useful and help me with my boots.”
Maudit. The man was imperious. At least when he was intoxicated. “Perhaps you should take off your boots in your own room,” she offered.
“I am in my own room.” He’d managed to rip one boot from his foot and toss it onto the floor next to the bed.
She had experience arguing with drunken men. Quite a lot of it. “I beg to differ, my lord,” she called out.
“Shh, woman.” He clapped his hands over his ears. “Has anyone ever told you you’re loud?”
Mon dieu. That did it. Employer or no, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be insulted. Poor Lady Daphne. Had Danielle really thought earlier that the woman was lucky to have this man? He might have the face of a Greek god but he had the personality of a horse’s ass. “Has anyone ever told you you’re rude?”
That remark was met with a grin. “Countless times.”
“And?”
“I chose not to believe them.” His grin was unrepentant. “Now, either help or leave.”
She clenched her hands into fists and plunked them on her hips. She wanted to slap some sense into her new employer, but reason fought emotion. She couldn’t get sacked on her first day. Especially not for something so easily avoided like slapping the lord of the manor.
That would be exceedingly bad form, as the English liked to say. No, she’d get sacked tomorrow or the next day for not knowing white kid gloves didn’t go with a fur-trimmed gown or yellow hair ribbons were never worn on Wednesdays. Something ridiculous. She needed this job. Needed it badly. Very well, she would help the lout with his boot. Perhaps after that, he would listen to reason when she told him he was in the wrong room.
She crossed over to stand in front of his booted foot. She knelt next to him and held the thing on both sides while he attempted to tug his foot free. He grunted and pulled. Nothing happened.
“Perhaps if you try from this side?” he suggested, gesturing to the front of his boot.
Her face flaming (and her face never flamed), Danielle stood and straddled his leg with both hands holding down the boot. At this point, she wanted the boot off, the man put to bed in the correct room, and to be done with this entire, unpleasant business. “Pull,” she commanded.
He did so and his foot came free. He toppled back upon the bed, upending her, and she flew backward with him, onto his lap.
“Thank you,” he said, his hands on her hips. Her backside cradled intimately against him. “You might be loud and more than a bit overbearing, but I can’t say I mind this particular side of you.”
“Vous pouvez etre tres beau, mais vous etes un ane complet,” she muttered.
“You think I’m handsome?” came his overly confident voice. “Why, mademoiselle, I am flattered.”
She turned her head to glare at him. “If you understood the first part, you must have understood the second, monsieur.” This was it. She was sacked.
“Oui,” he replied. “But I was purposefully choosing to ignore the part where you called me an ass.”
She blinked at him and pushed herself up on her elbows. Mon dieu! This was a nightmare. One she was certain to wake from at any moment. She was literally lying in bed with her drunken employer. She had to get out of here immediately. What would Lady Daphne do when she discovered her husband had made an inappropriate advance on her maid? She’d be sacked for certain. She also couldn’t stay in a house where her employer was so exceedingly inappropriate. She could handle herself, of course, but she doubted very much that a swift jab to the ribs to the man who paid her salary would be met with anything other than a dismissal.
A loud gasp at the doorway drew her attention and Danielle was horrified to see Lady Daphne standing there in the bright pink silk gown that Danielle had helped her into earlier.
Danielle scrambled off the bed. “My lady, you must believe me. I didn’t mean to—” Danielle stopped and gasped. Next to Lady Daphne in the doorway materialized none other than Lord Cavendish.
Danielle glanced back at the man whose lap she had recently vacated and then at the man standing in the doorway, her eyes huge. What in the world? How could they both be…? Wait. Now that she studied him more closely, the man behind her had longer hair than Lord Cavendish, a deeper tan than Lord Cavendish, and a much more mischievous look in his eye than Lord Cavendish. She’d been distracted by the blood earlier or she certainly would have noticed the differences.
Lady Daphne managed to find her voice first. “I’m so terribly sorry, Danielle. Allow me to be the first to apologize for the behavior of my husband’s twin brother.”