The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

Good God.

Had Christian been a bystander, one party to these inappropriate thoughts, he would have slapped his own face. The woman was a maid in his household. He blamed his heightened emotions and strained nerves on Mrs Booth's departure. It was not like him to forget his place or his manners.

“Welcome to Everleigh, Rose. I trust Mrs Hibbet gave you a tour of the house and grounds.”

Rose smil

ed. “She did, my lord.”

“You may leave your references on my desk, and I shall attend to them later. As I’m sure you’re aware, we are short of staff and must pull together during difficult times.”

The maid opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs Hibbet tapped her on the arm.

“As to the matter of references, my lord.” Mrs Hibbet blinked too many times to count. “There was a dreadful accident on the road, and someone stole Rose’s valise. She arrived late last night with nothing but the clothes on her back. It’s why she slept in late this morning.”

Christian stared at them both for a moment. Neither met his gaze.

“Indeed.” He’d shared a house with Mrs Hibbet for nigh on fifteen years, was just a boy when she took the position. She had lied to him only once before. “What sort of accident?”

“There’s only one sort of accident, my lord,” Mrs Hibbet replied with a snort. “An unfortunate one.”

Christian focused his gaze on the new maid. “You will tell me what happened on the road.”

Deceit was a trait he despised, could never tolerate. Short-staffed or not, he’d have the truth from the maid, or she’d be on the next mail coach to London. Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Rose proved to be far too distracting, and he’d never had cause to doubt his integrity before.

The apples of Rose’s cheeks flushed pink. She swallowed three or four times, sucked in so many breaths there could hardly be any room left in her lungs.

“Well, Rose? What have you to say?”

With wide eyes, the woman stared at him. “There wasn’t an accident. I … I lied to Mrs Hibbet because I have no references.”

“There, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” He admired the strength it took to tell the truth when one’s livelihood was at stake. “And why are you without references when it is a condition of your employment? Surely Mr Burns made that clear at the registry office.”

“It’s not Rose’s fault, my lord.” Mrs Hibbet jumped to the maid’s defence. “She told me about the references and … well, we’re so short of maids … I …”

“You thought it wouldn’t matter?”

Was his housekeeper suffering from memory loss? Had she forgotten that he’d thrown a footman out for the part he’d played in Cassandra’s charade?

Mrs Hibbet had the decency to hang her head.

Christian turned his attention to the maid. “Were you sent by Mr Burns from the registry office?”

“No, my lord.” The maid raised her chin and took on an air of hauteur usually reserved for society’s elite.

“Then pray tell me what you’re doing here.”

“It is all a terrible misunderstanding.” Rose turned to Mrs Hibbet and mouthed a silent apology. “I was on my way to Morton Manor but got lost in the woods.”

“Morton Manor?” The name filled him with dread. He was aware there were servants at the old asylum, but as yet, no residents had called at Everleigh to make an introduction. “Why were you going there?”

“To work. I was to report to Mrs Gripes, the housekeeper. Indeed, if you would be kind enough to provide an escort, you would have my utmost gratitude.”

She curtsied. Not the quick dip offered by maids but a slow, elegant movement that spoke of refinement and good breeding. Her elocution was faultless. Rose had no references because he suspected she’d never worked a day in her life.

“May I see your hands?”

“Certainly.”