The Carriagemaker's Daughter Read Online Free Page B

the candlelight. “Ought t’ be wakin’ up by now, t’ my way of thinking.”
    The governess moaned. Her eyelids fluttered open, then closed again, and Charles caught a glimpse of clear green eyes.
    “Mrs. Tiggs,” said Lord Quentin.
    The woman looked around. She looked surprised to see him still sitting there. “ ’Tis no need for you t’ stay, milord.”
    “Mmm, yes. Well, it is my room.”
    “Eh?  Oh, right you are, right you are. Well, ’twill just be a minute–”
    “Mrs. Tiggs, I think the young woman will appreciate a light meal when she awakens. Perhaps you could send for some tea.”
    “Just be a minute, milord, James’ll be movin’ the girl t’ her own room in a trice.”
    The girl. Charles was suddenly curious. “Does anyone know her name?”   
    “Miss Helen Phillips, I believe.”
    Miss Phillips. Twice the chit had been in Lord Quentin’s arms, and she was now lying on his bed, but it seemed almost improper to know her name. As if some odd intimacy had been established, thought Charles, and immediately banished the thought. He didn’t need a compromised governess on his hands.
    A burly footman scratched at the door. “Mum?”
    “James, take Miss Phillips to Miss Fitzpatrick’s room.”  Mrs. Tiggs took another look at the governess, who was stirring again. “I believe she’ll need t’ be carried. You can do that, can’t you James?”
    “Mum?”  The footman looked confused. “Miz Fitzpatrick?”
    “Now, James,” the housekeeper said, as if speaking to a child,  “you remember Miss Fitzpatrick, don’t you?”
    He nodded. “Yes, mum.”
    “And you do remember where her room is?”
    The man looked unhappy. “Miz Fitzpatrick ain’t here no more.”
    Mrs. Tiggs nodded. “Yes, quite right you are. Very good, James. But if she was here, do you remember where she would be?”
    “Oh. Oh, yes, mum.”  James nodded vigorously.
    “Good. Take Miss Phillips t’ that room, do you understand?  I’ll follow you in a minute.”
    “Yes, mum.” 
    The footman picked up the governess as if she was a delicate piece of porcelain, nearly weightless, and left. Mrs. Tiggs followed, pausing at the door to send Lord Quentin a speaking look.
    “James is a good lad. He wouldn’t do anything t’ annoy Miss Phillips, if you take my meaning, milord.”
    “Ah.”  Charles nodded.
    “And I’ll see that she gets some nice hot tea.”
    “Something to eat, too, Mrs. Tiggs,”
    “Yes, milord.”
    She left, and Lord Quentin was not to see Helène Phillips again for the remainder of that day.
    * * * *
    Amanda Detweiler reclined on the fine brocade of a chaise lounge and watched Lady Pamela Sinclair put the final touches to her toilette .
    “London is simply too dreary this time of year,” she remarked. “Everyone swathed in layer after layer of scarves and smelling of wet wool.”
    “Indeed,” said Lady Pamela,  “Would you have them freeze, instead?”
    Lady Detweiler considered this seriously. “I believe I might,” she said finally. “A score fewer bird-witted females would have made Lady Jersey’s musicale last night entirely more bearable.” 
    Pam laughed. “I must beg to differ. With Sally’s choice of a soprano, last night was destined to be intolerable.”
    “Mmm. I concede the point.”
    “But it’s only a few more days in town. We’ll be at Luton Court by Sunday.”
    “I understand that Charles Quentin will be joining the party this year,” said Amanda.
    “As he does every other year.”
     “The countess said he may have arrived there already, in fact. On his way to Tavelstoke.”
    “Mmm,” said Pamela. She looked at herself in the mirror, frowned, and started removing hairpins. White-gold hair fell down in heavy waves around the faultless oval of her face.
    “I have always thought him as handsome as any man of our acquaintance,” continued Amanda. “Excepting the Earl of Ketrick, perhaps.”
    “Mmm.”  Patiently, Pamela arranged layer after layer