excuse me, I believe I shall try to get back to sleep. I daresay I shall be needing my rest come the morrow."
"Aye, that's the truth of it," Nancy agreed darkly, bustling forward to assist her into bed. "Although how you'll be getting any sleep after all of this, I'm sure I don't know. That reminds me. Where's the young lady what started the commotion? I've not so much as caught a glimpse of her."
"I'm not sure," Portia admitted, frowning as she realized she hadn't given Miss Montgomery more than a passing thought since she'd smashed the earl over the head. Somehow in the middle of all the commotion Miss Montgomery had managed to slip away.
"Ah, well, doubtlessly she'll turn up for breakfast." Nancy dismissed the unknown woman with an indifferent shrug. "You just close your eyes, sweeting, and try to get some rest. You'll be wanting to look your best when you face his lordship again."
Portia smiled sleepily at the maid's endearment. "You haven't called me that in years," she said, exhaustion pulling at her.
"Haven't I?" Nancy tugged the covers up to Portia's chin.
"Maybe it's because I haven't been particularly sweet," Portia mumbled around a yawn, her eyes drifting closed as she snuggled against the pillow. "Good night, Nancy."
"What do you mean she isn't here?" Connor roared, then winced as his head began throbbing anew. He cursed roundly beneath his breath, and then spoke again, his voice carefully modulated. "How did she get away?" he asked, fixing the maid with a baleful glare. "I thought I brought you along to keep an eye on her."
"And so you did," the maid, Gwynnen, replied calmly, apparently unperturbed by her employer's black displeasure. "But even maids must rest, and the little minx stole out while I was sleeping. Took her bags as well, so I reckon we needn't bother looking for her. She's probably halfway back to Cambridge by now."
Connor felt a stab of guilt at the maid's words. "I didn't mean to imply you'd been neglectful," hemuttered, his eyes closing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was still pounding like the wrath of God, although that was no doubt due more to the vile potion the physician had forced upon him than to the blow. He hadn't felt so wretched since his early days at Oxford, and he prayed it was another dozen years before he felt so poorly again.
"This is all my mother's fault," he announced, his hand dropping to his side as he met the maid's gaze. "Why couldn't she just send for this companion like she did all the rest? Why must I come fetch her?"
Gwynnen's eyes took on a knowing gleam, which would have alerted Connor had he been in any shape to take note. "Miss Montgomery's the great-niece to a viscount," she said, her mouth pursing in a disapproving line. "Can't expect her to take the mail coach like a parlor maid."
"I don't see why not," Connor complained, not yet ready to forgive his mother for the trouble he had endured. He'd been in the middle of the lambing season when his mother had insisted he travel southward to meet her newly hired companion. He'd refused at first, citing his many responsibilities, but his mother had looked so downcast and alone that he'd finally given in with ill grace. Now it appeared his efforts were all for naught.
"I suppose I shall have to return to Cambridge and hire some other female for Mother," he grumbled, feeling decidedly put out at the prospect. "Unless you think we might find someone suitable here?" His dark spirits lifted in hope.
Gwynnen hesitated. "I reckon we could ask about," she said, the doubt in her voice making it plain she thought it unlikely. "Her ladyship's particular in her notions, and you can't hire just anyone. Although . . ."
"Although what?"
"That young lady, Miss Haverall, is a pretty thing, don't you think?"
Connor's brows met in a scowl at the mention of the hell cat who had floored him last night. "How the devil am I to know?" he snarled, although he remembered a pair of rain-gray eyes lavishly trimmed