Bodice Ripper

"Certainly, ma'am. I'll have the cooks prepare something immediately."

"Thank you," she answered, but she had already gone back to her novel. There was a stack of them, and she bet that she could be halfway through the second by the time she went to bed in the evening if she were quick.

There was one thing she was certain of. Her father's death was no accident, and he hadn't been suffering pneumonia. He was the picture of health, and he had always been careful to keep

himself bundled up heavily. Lord Geis was a man who preferred warmth, did not engage in parties, and since her mother had died, he had largely kept to himself.

The notion that he might have become ill over the winter and died, without seeing a single doctor…

It was unthinkable. And that meant that whoever had concluded his death to have been caused by pneumonia was either incompetent or lying. It would have been comforting to believe it may have been incompetence. Mary didn't have that luxury. She needed to act on the assumption that there had been foul play involved.

Whatever someone might kill her father over would be an equally convincing reason to see her off along with him. The charade of a disinterested, lazy girl provided a wonderful mask.

Davis came back, announcing himself with a knock before pushing the door in and setting the platter on the desk Mary had set aside for herself. She thanked him and poured a glass of water from the pitcher he had brought in earlier that morning.

The food was lovely. A cut of beef steak and parsnips, and truffles set aside for a dessert. Mary smiled and for a moment she nearly felt herself again. There was reason for concern; she was certain of that. But more than that, she knew that things would go on. She would go on, even if it felt painful.

She'd devised the entire charade of her own incompetence to hide from the outside world while she dealt with her grief, and then with the threat that her family was facing, and that was enough for now.

She cut a bit of the steak and speared it with her fork. The cut was delicious-looking: thick, juicy, charred just so. Yet, when she put it in her mouth it tasted like ash. She closed her eyes and swallowed. The cook was not at fault, she knew. Rather, her mood was affecting her more than she had thought. Some day, things would be perfectly alright again. Until then, she ate to deal with the hunger, and drank to quench her thirst, and that was enough because it had to be enough.

When a knock came at the door, she waited for a moment. Only Davis knew where she was, and he would come in if he needed to speak to her for some reason. As expected, the door opened just enough to permit him to step through.

"Ah, ma'am, there is a Mr. James Poole here. He's asking after the head of the house."

"What on earth for? Send him away. I'm not receiving guests; it's not proper, Davis."

"Very good, ma'am. I would have done so immediately, of course, but he says that he is not here to visit, but was hired by your father before his passing."

Mary sat back against her chair and thought for a moment. Whoever had murdered her father would have an agent in the house. She was certain of that. She had guessed as much before, but she had assumed that they were already in the household staff. Very possibly, they had even been involved in the assassination themselves.

The notion that the spy might be an outside agent hadn't even occurred to her. If, indeed, this Mr. Poole might be a spy working for her father's assassins, then it would be a worrying sign to his handlers if he were sent away without a thought.

Further, she thought, if he were not a spy, and truly was hired by her father…he could prove an interesting entrant into the situation, as well.

Mary thought through the line of logic again, making sure that she hadn't missed anything important. Then she opened her eyes again and cut a bit of steak.

"Send him in, Davis. I'll need to make sure that everything is in order before I make a decision."

Davis paused before answering, but Mary didn't notice. "Yes, ma'am."

With that, he left the room silently. Mary listened to his steps grow quieter as he walked away. She swallowed another bite, and another. It was a mechanical action, and one she needed to keep up appearances with.

There was a knock at the door again.

"Come in."

The door opened and a man stepped through. Mary looked up and watched him. He was a big, strong man. She wondered what sort of job he might be here to do. With such broad shoulders, he looked like he was better suited to soldiering than he was to any genteel work.

With the war on, she wondered at it until she saw the pin on his lapel. She'd seen it before. A silver circle set around the King's cipher. Around the edge was the text: "For King and Country. Services Rendered."

He stepped through the door and looked up, seeming to take her measure in the same way that she had been taking his. And then, all of a sudden, he went stiff and turned immediately on his heel, facing the wall.

"I'm sorry, Miss Geis. I didn't realize—"

"How can I help you, Mr. Poole?"

"I was hired by a representative of your father, to act as a steward?"