Maggie exited, wearing her newly finished uniform. The dark green fabric looked similar to that worn by the other staff, and with the white apron tied on, she’d blend right in with the rest of the household maids. She turned in a circle so Sally and Ashley could inspect it.
“Much better.” Ashley stashed Ravencroft’s shaving kit in a drawer of her wardrobe.
“We’ll wash the other one and put it back in the trunk in the attic,” Sally said.
“We’ll still need to find or buy another uniform, so you can have a change of clothes.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Ashley absentmindedly waved acknowledgment as she opened her trunk of things she’d brought from the academy. Knowing her stay in London would be brief, she hadn’t unpacked much. Now she brought out her small collection of books and made space for them on the bookcase near her writing desk. She pushed aside her fan, vinaigrette, and other trinkets like the seashell from a long-ago holiday in Brighton with her parents. She took a moment to touch their small, framed portrait, and organized the books as well as her journals.
Feeling a touch of defiance, she also brought her apothecary supplies out of hiding and arranged them on the shelves. As quickly as she was using up her hand cream, to offset the drying effect of washing with gin, she would need to make a new batch soon.
By the time she went down to dinner, she had chosen one of the novels she’d read enough times to remember the plot in detail—Sense and Sensibility—in case Aunt Eunice really did want to discuss it.
* * *
When David awoke, the bedchamber was quiet and semi-dark, lit by a candle on the bedside table on one side and a candle on Ashley’s writing desk on the other. When he limped back to the bed, he noticed the book she’d left open on her desk. Tired of lounging in bed, he shrugged into his banyan and sat down at the desk to read.
* * *
As much as she delighted in Uncle Edward and Aunt Eunice’s company, Ashley didn’t need to feign yawning after playing only a few hands of cards.
“I’m going to turn in,” Uncle Edward said after Ashley’s second yawn in as many minutes. “Have a lot to do tomorrow to catch up after being gone.”
Aunt Eunice agreed, and they all trooped upstairs and said good night in the hallway.
Sally and Maggie efficiently helped Ashley get ready for bed. While Sally took care of her clothing and arranged her blanket and pillow on the sofa, Maggie brushed out her hair and plaited it. When Ashley went back to working at a school, she was really going to miss this luxury of having someone else do her hair.
“He ate a little something while you was downstairs,” Maggie said so softly Ashley barely heard her. “And drank another cup of tea and whiskey.”
Ashley looked at her in the mirror. “Thank you.”
After she dismissed her maids for the night—and how strange to think that she had maids,plural—Ashley glanced with longing at the comfy sofa and soft blanket. But she needed to change the poultice before she could give in to her exhaustion.
She got everything ready and sat on the edge of the bed. Ravencroft appeared to be sound asleep. Her heart sped up, just a little, as it did every time she prepared to touch his naked skin. Trying not to wake him, she treated his face, then eased the blankets down a little so she could treat the bruises on his torso. She froze when she saw he’d fallen asleep with his left hand holding a book.
One of her journals.
She gently slid it from his lax grasp. Which one had he read?
“My apologies,” he softly rumbled.
Startled, she met his gaze.
“I confess to a vain curiosity to know if you had written about me.” His voice was so quiet she barely heard him, even as close as she was. “I would have stopped reading before prying further into your private thoughts. But it’s not a diary.”
She glanced at the journal in her hand, the one where she kept notes from working in the infirmary. Patients, illnesses and injuries, treatments and outcomes, lessons learned from the Army surgeon and Mrs. Rafferty, instructions and recipes from apothecaries.
“Guessing I’m Patient DL?”
Numbly, she nodded.
“Just what did you teach at the academy?” He gestured at the bookcase. “One journal has recipes and instructions for preparing meals for a large group. Another has notes on experiments to increase yields in the kitchen garden. Which herbs to grow for medicinal as well as culinary uses.” His hand dropped to the blanket. “Another was all about advertisements to attract students and how effective each was. Experiments about ratios of students to teachers for the best academic outcome. Exactly what subject did you teach, Ashley?”
“I was not a teacher.” Her throat was so dry, the words came out as a rasp.
He raised both brows. “What, then?”
