Maybe it was time to go.
Footsteps thumped up the staircase toward her bedroom. Meredith placed her hands on her belly, fully prepared to convince the interloper that her pains were still as bad as the first day.
But it was only Cook who popped her head though the door. “There you are.”
Meredith flailed around in a hopefully convincing display of surprise. “Agnes? I’m so sorry. I still don’t feel well enough to come downstairs.”
The cook harrumphed as she juggled a tray onto a nearby bed and then dug into her pocket. “You can quit your pretense. You’ve more than earned a rest of a few extra days. You’ll be skin and bones if you’re not careful.”
Meredith inhaled the delicious scent wafting across the room. “With your superior cooking, I doubt that very much.”
Cook shoved a letter across the bed. “Found this today.”
Meredith peered at it curiously. Strong, bold penmanship graced the front and her heart leapt. Robbie. But why would he be writing?
Cook’s son had been her first friend when she’d come to the area. Against his better judgment, he’d introduced her to his mother and then Cook had introduced her to Mrs. Cohen. She’d joined the brothel that same day with no regrets. It wasn’t the first time she’d been the new girl.
Meredith quickly scanned the sheet of paper and by the end she was in shock. He’d left without saying goodbye. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He never said he was leaving.”
Cook harrumphed again. “Why would he stay? You weren’t exactly pining for him.”
Meredith shook her head. “Robbie and I could never be. I’ve told him before he’s far too good a man for the likes of me. I wish he could understand.”
Cook heaved a weary sigh. “Sometimes there’s no getting over your first love.”
Guilt ate at her. Robbie was good. He deserved a woman who could love him completely. That wasn’t Meredith. Love made one reckless.
Cook shoved the bowl of soup beneath Meredith’s nose, driving thoughts of her failures from her mind. “Best eat now before you perish. You’ve a visitor to see.”
Meredith’s heart leapt. “Grayling?”
Cook appeared amused. “Only if he’s taken to wearing expensive lace and an elegant wig. Your caller is a right proper lady. Her groom claimed she’d wait in her carriage until you deigned to step out. I’ll let them know you’ll come down soon, so don’t make me a liar.”
Meredith stretched to look out her small window. Standing some distance away from the house was a closed carriage drawn by two dark horses. Meredith couldn’t imagine who the lady could be.
She set the bowl aside, threw her legs out from under the blanket, and smoothed her dark skirts into order. She glanced outside again. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon, making the coach appear menacing. Meredith hoped this visitor wasn’t the spouse of one of her callers. She hated being brought to task by a possessive lady with no cause for her misplaced indignation.
She made her way down the servants’ stairs, ducked past the dining hall, and before she stepped out into the cold afternoon, she drew her hood over her head. The groom lounging at the carriage snapped to attention when he saw her, whispered to the person inside, and then swung the door open before dropping the stairs into place. All Meredith had to do was step inside the dark interior.
She paused three steps away, keeping
her gaze on those around her. “May I help you?”
A gloved hand appeared on the doorframe, the glove made of the palest and finest kid leather. A handsome lady stepped out, pulling her heavy, dark cloak tight around her chest. Tall, slender, and obviously well-to-do. Eyes of the brightest blue.
The lady smiled warmly and gestured they walk away from the carriage and the brothel. A groom trailed not far behind, only stopping when the lady waved him back. “Thank you for coming to meet me,” she said after a long interval of silence. “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance.”
A wife then. Damnation. She was too weary to explain that she wasn’t responsible for a gentleman’s amorous pursuits. She’d have to hear her out and then set her straight where they couldn’t be overheard. She showed the woman into the private garden and faced her. “I cannot imagine who that might be.”
“Can you not? I wonder if Grayling made so little impression on you.”
Meredith closed her eyes briefly. Not a wife but a relation, come to straighten out Grayling’s wayward life. Friends and family were often worse than a wife. “I suppose you are here to warn me off?”
“Quite the contrary.” The lady smiled. “I’m here for the exact opposite reason.”
A tight knot of apprehension twisted in her belly. “I don’t understand.”
“I am Lady Grayling’s friend. We grew up together. In truth, we’ve had the devil of a time finding you.”