The Lost Bee Read Online Free Page A

ladies. Again, the duke smoothed the way with a letter of introduction which resolved any doubts the aunt had about Mrs. Gray’s quirks.
    When Susan departed for London, John drove her down to Carleson Peak in the dogcart and left her to wait at the Leopard & Grape for the mail coach. Squire Carleson was waiting there for someone arriving on the coach, and he offered Susan his condolences. He was a vulgar old man who reeked of tobacco. He meant to be kind, but she felt both mental and physical relief when the coach arrived and he hurried away to greet his visitor.
    While the driver loaded Susan’s trunk, she found a place inside between a tiny bespectacled older gentleman and a fat young cleric who didn’t remove his nuisance of a hat. She had a clear view of the inn door not six feet away when Morgan Baker stepped out into the street.
    “Good morning, Mr. Baker.” Susan recognized the bookseller’s voice. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
    “Yes, Mr. Davies,” Morgan said. “The new Duke of Gohrum has asked me to take on the duties of poor Mr. Gray.”
    “And will you be leaving the Leopard & Grape?”
    “I will indeed, Mr. Davies. His grace has invited me to take Millam Cottage.”
    The horses startled and the coach lurched forward, drawing Morgan’s attention. His eyes met Susan’s, but again he looked straight through her as if she wasn’t there. As if she had never been there.

Gohrum House
     
    Three years later, 1799 London
    Matthew Peter reached the end of the hall with a light heart. Every day at Gohrum House was a good day, today better than most. He was tempted to fly down the stairs by threes. But of course he’d be seen, and he didn’t want to bring grief to his father.
    “We must set the example, son,” Mr. Peter always said. He was butler of Gohrum House, the highest position in the Duke of Gohrum’s London household, a position Matthew Peter would hold one day. Matthew Peter was bound to act with proper decorum.
    But Miss Gray made it difficult. In the hall just now, she’d smiled at him. He sighed at the memory and shifted the silver tray he carried to one hand, tucking it under his arm. He took the stairs down to the kitchen one by one.
    Something was off. The kitchen maids were chopping and pounding like mad, their faces serious and fixed on the task at hand. It was so quiet he heard an ember pop in the open fire. Cook stomped over to the stove and stirred a pot, then stomped to the sideboard and sorted through her herbs and spices, apparently not finding what was wanted.
    The woman could be as gentle as a kitten when things ran smoothly, but since yesterday all of Gohrum House had been knocked askew by the duke’s new houseguests. Matthew Peter felt sorry for Cook. The kitchen was getting the worst of it.
    “Matthew Peter.” Cook pointed a long wooden spoon at his chest. “You’re just the man I want, with your long legs.”
    “I just came downstairs to fetch the plate from the butler’s pantry,” he said in protest. But he laughed good-naturedly and set the tray down on the worktable. “Madam, what is your desire?”
    “There’s a good lad.” Cook broke out in a broad smile, and her staff relaxed. “Bring down the egg basket for me. Lady Delia has a desire for a soufflé with her tea this afternoon, and I’ve used all my eggs for the breakfast she and the countess barely touched.”
    Lady Delia was the daughter of Earl and Countess Devilliers. The family were currently the duke’s houseguests, and Lady Delia had proved demanding beyond all belief.
    “I always wonder why the grand folk hate the Frenchies but love their food,” Matthew Peter said. He was taller than any of the footmen, but he still needed a stool to reach the wicker basket on the top shelf. As he stepped down, he almost trampled Miss Gray who’d just come into the kitchen.
    “I beg your pardon.”
    “Not at all,” she said, moving out of his range.
    He felt his face go red, but it couldn’t