“You told me what you needed. What shops to visit,” Sally said. “I handed the list to the salesclerks, and they’d gather what things they sold.”
Ashley sat at the end of the bed again, absently pushing Ravencroft’s foot out of her way. He snored and shifted without waking up. “But what about the hairstyles you copied fromLa Belle Assembléefor me? You replicated them perfectly.”
Sally’s posture straightened. “Yes, miss. I’m very good at copying.”
“Without being able to read the instructions,” Ashley said to herself. “Amazing.”
Sally and Maggie exchanged glances. “Beg pardon, miss,” Maggie said, “what was wrong with his lordship? How did you get him to be quiet?”
Ashley stood and shook out her skirts. “He’s cup-shot.” She glanced at his face, realized she was touching her fingers to her lips, and clasped her hands at her waist. “He passed out.”
Sally’s jaw dropped.
Maggie giggled.
“You both gave him a dose, as did I when you were out of the room.” She did a swift calculation. “In four hours’ time, we collectively gave him what should have been administered over the course of twelve hours.” She blew out a deep breath, puffing her cheeks. “Girls, we got him drunk.”
Chapter 15
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “I ain’t never known a gent who could get castaway on the little bit we give him.” She picked up the whiskey bottle, which was still a quarter full. “Why, some of the men who’ve tupped me can drink an entire bottle or two and still be wide awake, randy as a stallion.”
This time the giggle came from Sally.
Ashley moved farther away from the bed and cleared her throat, desperately trying not to picture Ravencroft awake, sober, and, er, randy.
“He seemed so happy,” Maggie continued. “Singing, but I couldn’t understand the words. Wonder what language it was.” She wrapped an arm around the bed post and leaned against it, staring at Ravencroft. “Drink don’t change a man. Just takes away his mask.”
“Reveals who he truly is,” Sally quietly agreed.
Ashley stared at the maids, thinking how sheltered her life had been compared to theirs.
“Wish I’d known that the first time Big Bob was drunk and hit me. When he sobered up, he said he was sorry and promised he’d never do it again. But he did.” Maggie took a deep breath and shook her whole body, as though dislodging the memory. She pointed at Ravencroft. “Even drunk, he’s kind. Hasn’t tried to pinch me bottom even once. Speaks to me polite-like, as if I weren’t a whore. Even though he wouldn’t let me help him spill his seed.” She gasped. “Oh! Maybe he likes boys instead of girls?”
Ashley choked.
“His preferences ain’t none of our business,” Sally said brusquely.
“You are a prostitute no longer,” Ashley said. “Unless you want to go back to that work? You don’t have to become a maid.”
“Oh, no miss! I’m ever so grateful to you! Being a maid is so much better.”
“I just want you to have a choice. Sally has enjoyed training you—” she paused to give Sally a chance to respond; she nodded enthusiastically— “and I’m thankful for the extra help these last few days. I’d be in a real pickle if not for both of you.”
“I’ve beenveryhappy the last few days,” Sally softly said, a dreamy smile lighting her face.
Did her maid harbor feelings for Ravencroft, too?
Ashley checked in the mirror to see what damage she’d done to her hair when she plowed her fingers through it, and replaced pins where curls were coming loose. “I’m going back downstairs. As soon as Aunt’s guests leave, I’ll write the note for you to deliver to Gilroy.”
* * *
Restless in her room that afternoon, alone except for the still-sleeping Ravencroft, Ashley gave up trying to nap on the sofa. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived their kiss.I knew it’d be like this.He’d thought about kissing her? As often as she’d thought about kissing him?
The wooden case with the lyre caught her eye. She hadn’t touched it since Lady Mansfield had sent it over. Eager to distract herself from lascivious thoughts, she selected a sheet of music that looked easy to learn, and sat at her desk to play.
“You’re terrible,” Ravencroft softly rumbled a while later, so faint she barely heard him. “Worse than I am on mandolin.”
She dropped the lyre on her desk, her cheeks flaming.
