Page 22 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
Chapter 7
Removingher chemise was not as painful as it had been earlier in the evening at Kingsley House.
Mrs. Windle, who had made no comment at Graciela’s lack of stays, had her stand facing the warm fire and peeled the lightweight cotton over her shoulders and down her back. Graciela grasped the cloth in front and covered her breasts. Behind her, gruff, mumbling, half-swallowed oaths poured from the older maidservant.
A soft warmth settled over Graciela, a velvet wrap so plush she rubbed her cheek against it. It smelled of a light lilac perfume. She let the chemise fall to the floor and stepped out of it.
“I should beat the man who did this to you myself if he was here,” the servant said. “Has Mr. Everly seen this? No. Of course he hasn’t.” She clucked her tongue. “Best he not, or he will go a murderin’. Wait here. I have a salve to help the broken places heal and ’twill keep the cloth from sticking. Drink up your tea, my lady.”
Graciela smiled. “I am but a miss, Mrs. Windle. Miss Kingsley.”
“Aye then, Miss Kingsley. We’ll get you fixed up fast.”
She went to the door and whispered to the man outside. It was a far longer chat than needed to conduct her business.
Mrs. Windle returned clutching a silver handled hair brush. “There now. Master Charley will get the salve, and I will brush your hair. Please to be seated on this ottoman.”
Bemused, Graciela clutched the wrapper closed and settled onto the backless cushion. The little housekeeper had just sent an earl’s son on an errand. It was expedient, and he had not balked. Such would never occur at Kingsley House. She did not know what to make of it.
Mrs. Windle’s fingers were as gentle as ever Francisca’s would be untangling her unruly hair.
This feminine chamber must belong to the lady of the house. The four-poster was not overly large, but would easily accommodate two. The wing chairs and table by the fire would make for a comfortabletête-à-têteor dining. She wondered about the couple who used this home but didn’t live here, and especially the lady, whose room and hair brush she was usurping.
“Have you served the family a long time?” Graciela asked.
“Aye. Decades.”
“Will her ladyship be angry that I am here using her things?”
The hand paused. “Lady Sirena? No. She was in much the same circumstance as you. Lord Bakeley rescued her from a ruckus on the docks and brought her here. They were married the next day.”
Awareness raced through her in a jumble of nerves. She could not be carried off into marriage, not by anyone. She would never marry.
Yet...Mr. Everly’s gentle touch. His scent. His warmth. And he was handsomer than sin, with his light brown hair and merry eyes. He sent her nerves spinning.
Because he was a rake and a rogue of course, a man who would always have many women falling at his feet. And he would always pick them up in the moment. Each of them. All of them.
She must remember that.
“She had not suffered as you have, though. ’Twas her men who had been beaten, not her. Lord Bakeley and his brother rescued them all.”
“Mr. Everly?”
“Ah no, there is another brother, Bink Gibson. He is Lord Shaldon’s eldest. Born on the wrong side of the bed, he was. I’m not speaking out of turn; it is but a fact, and a fine man, he is.”
“The father has acknowledged him?”
“He has.”
Then perhaps Lord Shaldon truly was honorable, and she could indeed trust him, as her father had said.
She thought about the other rescued lady. She would like to hear that story, to help gauge her own danger.
Or perhaps she should just cut to the heart of it. “You’ve known Mr. Everly for some time?”
“I was a nursery maid when he was young.”
“I see.” She tried to frame her next question, and was not sure what she wanted to ask.
