Page 64 of His Wife, the Spy
The maid entered, bringing cooler air with her. “What would you—” She put her hand over her mouth, but not quick enough to hide her smile, and not hard enough to mask her laughter. “Your hair.”
Annabel put her wet hands to her head. Her normally straight, boring hair was a mass of tangles. Heat curled through her insides that had nothing to do with embarrassment. “Drat.”
“It will be easy to repair.” Barnes strode across the room. The nearer she came, the easier it was to see the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She gathered Annabel’s hair in her hands and lifted it over the edge of the tub. “I’ll brush while you soak.”
Annabel closed her eyes and let the heat seep through her. Though her joints were loose already, she ached in unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, places. Barnes worked carefully on her hair, but every gentle tug was a reminder of how they got there in the first place. A knot formed low in her stomach, making her squirm until her feet stirred the water.
“My lady?” Barnes pulled the brush through the now-smooth strands, roots to ends, section by section. “If you don’t mind my saying, it’s about bloody time.”
“Barnes!” Annabel covered her face with her damp hands to muffle her laughter. Barnes’s giggle was muffled as well.
After a moment, she closed one hand on Annabel’s shoulder and retrieved the sponge with the other. “The water will cool soon. Let’s get you into dry clothes.”
Barnes helped her from the tub and into a dry towel, and then into a velvet dressing gown the color of butter. It was so lovely that Annabel had never felt worthy of wearing it. “Could we do something different with my hair?”
“Of course. Why not a chignon?”
The maid was so excited. Annabel felt guilty for making her do braids every morning for the last few weeks. “Whatever you’d like, Barnes. Thank you.”
The result, a low bun with wisps of curls at her ears, was soft and simple. Annabel loved it. “Perfect. I think the red dress today. I’ll be going out for a bit after I resolve some household business.”
“Lovely choice, my lady.”
Annabel left her room feeling like a marchioness for the first time. The maids scurried from Jasper’s room under Stapleton’s watchful gaze, hiding their smiles.
“Breakfast, Lady Ramsbury?”
Given the reactions of the staff, Annabel wasn’t certain she could face Jasper’s mother and sisters over eggs and toast. After all, she wasn’t sure how much noise had escaped their room, and the house wasn’t that large.
“Lady Lambourn hasn’t come down yet, and the young ladies are with their French tutor.”
“In that case, please have a tray sent to his lordship’s study. I would like to start work.”
The butler dipped his head. “As you wish. Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please.” Today, of all days, she was glad for the man’s unswerving, stoic nature. “Thank you, Stapleton.”
She entered the office and took the chair behind the desk, steadfastly ignoring the spot on the floor where last night had begun. There had been enough relishing the events of the night, and now she needed to get on with the tasks ahead of her.
Breakfast arrived as she was making a list of the household receipts, and she sipped her coffee as she checked her math. Her evidence had to be perfect when Jasper confronted Mr. Jones. Otherwise, the careless man of business would explain it away as Jasper putting too much faith in his wife, whose sex made her incapable of rational thinking.
As she chewed her toast, she scanned the newspaper headlines. Talk of London’s continued growth and hunger for goods occupied one column, while reports of unrest and complaints about working conditions filled the other.
On the inside, the announcement of Charlotte Bainbridge’s betrothal to Philip Melton, Viscount Raines, led the social calendar.
Ramming his way into Wales?The headline caught her eyes, coaxing her to read further.
We have word that Lord R may be exchanging his love of Welsh horses for a vein of Welsh coal. Could he have some inside knowledge, or perhaps a frank friend has given him an advantage…
Annabel sighed as she laid the paper aside. Logic dictated that the gossip would fade, but was it a coincidence that every move they made was broadcast and dissected?
Jasper’s correspondence consisted of invitations for events that had already occurred, requests for patronage or donations, and investment speculations. The more detailed the letter, the more tempting the profit, the more her suspicions were raised. She put the reasonable offers aside to discuss with Jasper.
There were letters from the vicars in both Ramsbury and Lambourn, updating him on the state of affairs in both villages, which Annabel used to begin a list of concerns they could address on their visits. She opened the last letter and looked at the signature first—Uncle Edgar. Reading no further, she put it back in the envelope and on the top of the pile.
The newspaper waited for her, and she needed to meet with the senior staff to discuss budgets, menus, and social engagements. She could also—
“You could stop delaying what you need to do,” she scolded herself, and slouched back against the chair.
