Page 103 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“Yes. Lady Ophelia Lyttleton.”
“Nobility. I knew it. You was too proper.”
“Marla, I wanted to thank you.”
“I didn’t do nothing.”
“You taught me to manage Mr. Darling’s residence. You taught me how to shop for asparagus. You became my friend.”
“You don’t thank someone for being your friend. You just be their friend in return. I know that’s not possible now—”
“I was hoping it would be. I know Mrs. Turner is elderly and I don’t wish to upset her routine or her household, but when you find yourself in need of a position, I hope you will call on me. There will always be a place for you within my household.” She extended her card.
Marla took it with reverence. “I don’t know what to say.”
“If you ever need anything, anything at all—” Then in spite of her best intentions, she shifted her gaze over to the other residence.
“He’s not there,” Marla said. “Hasn’t been for a couple of days now. But if you want to have a look-see, for old times’ sake ...” She reached into her apron pocket and removed a key.
“He gave you a key?”
Marla nodded. “He asked me to keep a watch out. I’m not sure for what, though, unless it was for you.”
Phee looked back at the residence. She’d been in a frightful state the morning she’d left. Did he think she’d return for her things? What things? was her next thought. Someone else’s cast-off clothing, books that belonged on his shelves, a silver brush, comb, and mirror? Why would she want any of those items? They weren’t really hers, just props for his farce.
Yet she was drawn toward it. Wanted to see it again: the floors she’d scrubbed, the mantels she’d dusted, the banisters she’d polished. She snatched the key from Marla’s fingers. “I won’t be but a minute.”
Marla gave her knowing grin. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
She’d descended two steps before Marla called out, “By the by, it’s to the back door.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Phee smiled. “Thank you.”
She hurried down the narrow path between the houses until she came to the mews and the back gate. Opening it, she was disappointed not to see Daisy about. Even though she knew the beast was being cared for at a very fine stable, it didn’t seem right that she not be here. Then her heart soared at the sight of Rose on the porch. The large dog lifted his head, shoved himself to his feet, and lumbered toward her in an uneven gait, tongue lolling out. When he reached her, he circled her three times before jumping onto his hind legs, placing his front paws on her chest, and releasing an enthusiastic bark.
Phee laughed as she ran her hands over the dog. “Look at you! You’re still here, and you’ve put on weight. Aren’t you a handsome fellow with a little meat on your bones? I daresay if I didn’t know better, I’d think someone had been brushing your coat as well.”
He barked again before dropping to all fours and loping along beside her as she walked to the terrace. She couldn’t refrain from reaching over and petting Rose from time to time. She wondered how Somerdale would feel about having a dog at his residence, if Drake would give him up.
Leaving Rose to nap on the terrace, she went inside, halfway expecting to find Pansy lounging on the wooden table where she’d shared meals with Drake, but all she found was a very tidy kitchen. She supposed he ate at the club now. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t kept the cat. She wondered if she roamed the neighborhood if she would find it. Probably not.
She wandered the familiar hallways. Nothing had changed except now a light sprinkling of dust seemed to have settled in everywhere except his desk. Did he work there from time to time? Did he think of her when he did?
In the entryway was the hideous table she’d purchased. Atop it was the vase she’d knocked over her final morning here, pieced back together, evidence that it had once shattered clearly visible. She ran her finger along one of the jagged lines. Strange how the imperfection didn’t detract from its beauty. Nor did the absence of flowers. She was half tempted to snitch a few roses from Mrs. Turner’s garden to brighten the entryway. Perhaps she would so Drake would know she’d been there. Where had that thought come from? What did she care if he realized she’d stopped by? She didn’t want him making any more of her visit than a simple journey through nostalgia. And why in God’s name was she nostalgic about the place?
It wasn’t as though it had ever truly been hers to see after.
Peering into the parlor, she came up short.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips. Astonished, she stepped into the room.
The black and gold wallpaper, exactly as she’d sketched and described it. On the walls. Black draperies at the windows. And the furniture, black velveteen, edged in mahogany. The shape of each piece—sofa, chairs, tables—exactly as she’d sketched it, arranged in the room precisely as she’d laid it out on paper. Just as elegant as she’d envisioned it would be.
Curled on the corner of the sofa set near the fireplace was Pansy, watching her, just watching her, with slow, slow blinks.
“No enthusiastic greeting from you?” Phee asked as she sat on the sofa and ran her fingers through the soft fur. Pansy purred deep in her throat. “That’s better.”
Feeling a nudge against her skirts just as she heard a mewling, she glanced down to see a small white kitten weave itself between her ankles. Laughing, she lifted it up. “And who are you? Drake Darling was most insistent there not be a menagerie in his home, so how did you come to be here?”
