She stood blushing with pleasure, recognizing the glow of confidence that came from within.
Then his attention shifted from her. A lovely vision dressed in mauve with violet stripes made her entrance through the double doors. Starling had the only view of Lavender’s back. With a desperate lurch, she sprang at the lady.
Only the bottom button on Lavender’s gown sat in the right hole. The other three had been misaligned. The lacing of her stays showed. If anyone saw Lavender from the back they would suspect she’d been dressed by a drunken lover. Starling knew she’d been dressed by Freda.
Starling reached over, put her arm around Lavender’s waist, and turned into the lady, as if caught. “Oh, no, what have I done?” She pretended to tug away. “I can’t think how, Lavender, but somehow I’ve trapped the edge of my sleeve in your buttoning. So clumsy. Would you mind coming into the hall with me? I can’t get loose without undoing your gown.”
“Really, Starling,” Lavender’s mouth said, while her eyes said “useless, stupid creature.” “Hurry up about it then.”
At that moment, Freda appeared with the dinner gong. “Not yet, Freda,” Starling said. “I want you in the hall for a moment.”
Freda put the gong on a side table, made an apprehensive face, and followed Lavender and Starling into the hall.
“See what you can do with this.” Starling indicated the back of Lavender’s gown.
When Lavender turned to Freda, Starling saw the back of the blonde’s hair: a bird’s nest of inexpertly pinned curls. A pit formed in her abdomen. Lavender’s hair looked perfectly coiffed at the front. This disordered snarling where she couldn’t see the style could be nothing other than deliberate.
Holding her arm over Lavender’s back, she waited while Freda unbuttoned Lavender’s gown, hid her stays, and neatly buttoned her up. Whether for the perceived transgression with Derry or the scathing contempt of her sister, Freda had purposely tried to make Lavender look ridiculous. Starling wished she didn’t have to be in the middle of an obvious act of vengeance.
With a wide sweep of her arm, she wrecked the remainder of Lavender’s hairdo. Wincing, she put her hand on Lavender’s. “I’m so sorry. I can’t apologize enough, Lavender. Perhaps I’m nervous or clumsy, I don’t know, but now I’ve ruined your hair. Freda will have to take you back to the bedroom and begin again.” She shot Freda a glance that said “or else.”
“This isn’t accidental.” Lavender jerked her hand out of Starling’s hold. She narrowed her eyes, shrinking her lips with anger. “Your jealousy is so petty. So unworthy. Come, Freda. Let’s repair the damage.”
“I’m wanted in the kitchen. Mrs. Trelevan’s about to serve cheese soufflé with the first remove.”
“I’ll tell her to hold it back for half an hour,” Starling said.
Lavender laughed. “Really, Starling. Soufflé can’t be held back. It has to be served the moment it’s ready. You tell the cook to make more,” she told Freda, “and then come straight to my bedroom.”
“Cook doesn’t have time to make more soufflé. That’s my job,” Freda said. “I’ll send Ellen to you instead. She’s better with hair.”
“If I have to listen to any more insubordination from you, I’ll tell Mr. Seymour. Do as I tell you, now.”
“But Ellen can’t make—”
“I’m sure she can’t. That incompetent creature can’t do anything. Both of you deserve to be put off and only the fact that I’m dreadfully sorry for you has prevented me from speaking to Mr. Seymour.” Lavender walked regally toward the bedroom wing. “Move along because I can’t promise my good nature will last.”
Freda glanced at Starling, as if waiting for instructions. Taking a deep breath, Starling nodded, indicating that Freda should obey Lavender.
With a dejected slump of her shoulders, Freda made her way to the kitchen. Starling wished that she had the right to countermand Lavender’s orders. The sisters should have been left to do the tasks they did best.
* * * *
Starling had never eaten soufflé before and quite enjoyed the crisp chewiness. Everyone else left the dish. As Ellen came to collect the first set of plates, Alasdair stabbed his flat disk with his fork. “What’s this?”
“Cheese soufflé,” Ellen said brightly. “My first attempt.”
He raised his eyebrows at Starling, not in a smiling way but as if he wanted a comment. She obliged him. “It’s delicious, Ellen. Thank you.”
He muttered something inaudible and toyed with his wine.
Despite the late beginning, dinner proceeded well. Starling had seated Hamilton Fredericks diagonally opposite Lavender, which probably suited Lavender because the placement put her closer to Alasdair. Staring at Lavender suited Mr. Fredericks because every time he spoke to anyone at the table except Starling he had Lavender in view. Each time the gentleman addressed the lady, he changed his voice from a decisive and rather charming one to a carefully bland tone, as if he didn’t want to startle her.
Unfortunately, she made a joke of him, luring him into explaining a witticism to her and then, while he pondered an answer, turning her full attention to Alasdair. Neither man thought her behavior unbecoming. Perhaps Lavender saw her rudeness as a form of flirting.
After a stuffed mutton roast, a dish of buttered artichokes, and a clear soup had been served, Lavender emphasized a point to Alasdair by stroking the back of his hand. Ellen, delivering another dish, tripped.
A tray of cream-covered tartlets hit Lavender. One clung to the side of her face, one sat on her shoulder, and the others slid slowly from her skirts to the floor.
Lavender’s face turned an angry red. “You’re in this together, are you? First Starling, and now you.” She gathered the tarts from her face and her shoulder and slammed them onto the table.
“No, Mrs. Frost. It was an accident,” Ellen replied. She glanced at Starling.
Alasdair also glanced at Starling. His eyes stayed longer. “Clean it up, Ellen,” he said.
Ellen grabbed Lavender’s table napkin and wiped at the sticky meringue and cream on the side of her face. Lavender threw the maid’s hand off her. “Don’t touch me.”
Ellen lifted the napkin up high, staring at two dangling ash blond curls in amazement. She swallowed. “I think these belong to you,” she said with a strangled gasp. She dropped the false curls into Lavender’s lap and giggled nervously. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, truly.”
“Get her out of here,” Lavender said in a voice of repressed fury.
A muscle worked in Alasdair’s jaw. “Out!” The motion of his head emphasized his order.
“I know whose idea this was,” Lavender said with acid inflection as Ellen scurried from the room with as many tarts as she could gather in the napkin. Straightening her shoulders haughtily, Lavender stared directly at Starling. “I can only thank God that I was bought up as a lady. I wouldn’t consider humiliating a guest this way. No lady would ever be so chummy with servants unless she wanted to use them in her vicious little plan.” With a tilt of her lovely chin, she rose to her feet. Preparing to leave the room, she gave everyone a perfect view of her furious expression.
Starling gasped. One half of Lavender’s face, the part that Ellen had wiped, had lost all color, causing her to resemble a half-painted plaster mold. One side was Lavender and the other, no one.
Experiencing a helpless ache of sympathy Starling rose to her feet. “Lavender, I’ll help you clean up.”
Lavender had been exposed as far more than a self-indulgent, spoiled brat. She’d also been exposed as a female who painted her character on her face. Possibly, in someone else a natural appearance wouldn’t have been noticed, but Lavender’s glamour relied on paint.
“No, thank you,” Lavender said with an expression of disdain as she swept from the room. “I’ve had enough help from you for one day.”
Starling glanced at the others, who stared back at her. Not knowing wha
t else to do, she sat down again, wishing that the accident had occurred to her instead. She wouldn’t have been half as offended and probably would have done no more than wipe her face and ask Ellen if she had hurt herself in her fall. However, she didn’t think that the world revolved around her.
“There might not be any more tarts tonight,” she said apologetically.
Mary smiled at her plate. “Not lemon tarts, at least. They did look lovely, too, especially the one on Lavender’s shoulder. I think,” she lifted her napkin over her face, “I’m going to cough.” The noise she made didn’t sound like a cough.
Starling didn’t want to laugh. She could see Alasdair was definitely not amused.
Chapter 11
Starling undressed behind the screen. “I like Mr. Fredericks,” she said, hoping a break in the silence of the room would ease the tension.
Alasdair hadn’t said a word to her since Lavender had left the table. Mr. Fredericks had stayed another hour, offering intelligent and amusing observations. Not having been brought up as a lady, Starling’s vision of right and wrong was how one person’s conduct affected others. He pleased Starling by keeping the atmosphere light because the party was, collectively, more embarrassed by Lavender’s non-reappearance than by her accusations. Starling didn’t understand why Lavender hadn’t returned. Perhaps continuing an absence was acceptable behavior and not vengeful sulking.
Venturing a tentative glance around the screen, Starling saw Alasdair propped against the headboard, exposing a muscle-hard and rigid upper body, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes shot silver daggers.
Apprehensive, she made her way to the bed.
“Why did you do it?” he asked in a dangerous voice.
With a shivery breath, she lifted the covers and slid beneath, sitting with the sheet drawn to her chin as protection.
“I’ve never seen such an exhibition of female spite in my life! Did you imagine that little bit of groping today gave you some rights over me?”
She slanted a glance at him. “I—”
“From the first you’ve been nothing but trouble,” he said through barely moving lips. “I hired you to be my wife because I thought you could look like a woman a respectable man might marry. I expected you to choose clothes suited to your new position. What did you do? You found the ugliest, most ill-fitting gowns available.”
“You told me to look plain.”
“I told you nothing of the sort. My sister called me a miserly brute for not buying you finer gowns. She is under the impression I chose your clothes for you. When she chose one... You could see for yourself the effect her choice had on everyone tonight.”
“It did?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “As for your behavior toward Lavender, you have continually made a game of her, making sure she is not welcomed by my family and friends.”
“If you mean the Burdons, she didn’t want to meet them.”
“And tonight, you insisted on treating her to an exhibition of spite worthy of an alewife. Fredericks, a cousin of the governor, sat at my table. Would he likely accept me as a gentleman now, eh, with a wife such as you?”
“He accepted Lavender as a lady.”
His eyes flashed at her. “You have a harsh tongue, Miss. I offered you a great deal of money for this deception, but you have no more on your mind than making a fool of me.”
“I had no more on my mind than making money for—”
“Money,” he said with the disdain of one who has more than fifty thousand pounds. “Let alone you wormed yourself into the good graces of my servants. Why? Or are you planning to try blackmail? Is that it?”
“No. No.”
“Of course not. You would only make a joke of yourself. You decided on a better plan this evening. You think I’m panting after you. Think again.” His mouth narrowed. “I can buy women like you for four shillings.”
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. She slid down in the bed and pulled the covers over her ears.
He ripped the sheets down to her neck so that she could hear every horrible word he said. “You can’t drag Lavender down to your level. She is a lady. How did you so easily manipulate my servants? By taking from them the tasks they prefer and promising them their jobs back when they’ve fulfilled your unworthy little schemes?”
She bumped out of the bed and stood, prepared to run if need be. “Learning from you, do you mean? You took my job from me. You promised me money when I had fulfilled your hopes and schemes. I didn’t ask to be here. I know I don’t belong. I don’t know the first thing about servants or...or...”
“Civilized behavior? And you don’t need to learn because I want you out of here tomorrow.”
“Good,” she said, wiping her nose with the back of her fist. “Because I can’t stand living with a dog turd.” She turned her back on him and marched over to the settee, where she sat clasping her knees to her chest.
He edged down in his bed and pulled the covers to his shoulders.
Her lips trembled and she sniffed, but she didn’t move and she didn’t cry. She clamped her jaw so tightly that her teeth hurt. He turned down the lamp and she sat in the same position in the dark, wishing she could open the curtains and at least gaze at the stars. When she finally heard him breathe slowly and rhythmically, she crept to his cupboard and wrapped herself in his dressing robe, amazed that for the first time in her life, she’d had the last word.
She wished she’d said “canine excrement” instead of “dog turd.” He was right. She had no class. She would never pass as a lady.
* * * *
When Ellen came with the hot water in the morning, Starling pretended to be sitting on the settee, waiting. She put her finger to her lips and the maid left silently. With her back turned, Starling quickly lay down when she heard Alasdair stir.
She listened to him wash, tear open the wardrobe door, slam wood on wood, rip out a drawer, and slap it shut. Canine excrement hummed through her head. Finally, she heard the bedroom door crash. She arose from the horsehair-padded settee and rubbed her aching back.
Like the lady of leisure she would never be, she sauntered to the washbasin. He had left his used water. Soapy scum floated on top. Wrinkling her nose with distaste, she lifted the bowl and bent for the slop jar...which wasn’t there. She only said dog turd once before she walked to the window, out of which a guttersnipe would hurl his used water. With the basin balanced on her hip, she lifted the window high.
Roses scented the fresh morning air and bees hummed with pleasure. The leaves on the trees glimmered in the early morning light. Lavender, who as far as Starling knew never arose until almost noon, walked through the vegetable garden. Wrapped in a shawl, she must have been taking a stroll before breakfast.
Starling had been unfairly blamed for the trouble Lavender had caused with the servants. Being drenched by the slops would be the perfect reward for the lady. Starling hefted her bowl, smiling tightly, expecting the blond beauty to come into range. More than likely she would enter the house by the French doors into the billiard room, right below. The moment she put her hand on the door, she would be drenched from her head to her toes. This retaliation would bolster Alasdair’s belief that Starling had encouraged the servants to misbehave. Then, when she left, they would be out of his line of fire.
With her bottom teeth clamped over her top lip, she waited. As Lavender came closer, Starling chewed her lip. Her arms trembled. She would have loved to douse Lavender, but she just couldn’t be so mean. Then the side door opened. Alasdair took two steps forward and grabbed Lavender into his arms.
Starling’s chest expanded with righteous fury. As easily as Meg dashed water at rutting dogs, Starling threw the water at the entwined couple.
The lovers sprang apart. Lavender shrieked and Alasdair turned his dripping face up to Starling. He roared, “I’ll kill you,” as he leaped back through the door, leaving Lavender blotting at her gown and wailing.
&nb
sp; Starling slammed the window hurriedly, put the empty basin on the tallboy, and jumped into Alasdair’s bed, pulling his blankets over her trembling limbs. With hot eyes and a swollen throat, she tried to regulate her breathing into something that might resemble the deep pattern of sleep. The door crashed open. She snored.
The blankets were ripped from her and she was gripped under the arms, lifted to her feet, and shaken by a dripping man with an expression as threatening as the low growl in his throat. “What is this need to make me look ridiculous?”
“You left your scummy water here. What was I supposed to do? Drink it? Put me down. I can’t pack while I’m hanging in the air.”
He lowered her feet to the floor. “Do it,” he said tersely. “Right now.” He grabbed at a towel and rubbed his hair.
With an insolent sway of her hips, she walked to the cupboard. No one had to tell Starling Smith to leave more than twice. She found the brown paper wrapping where she had put it in the bottom and some string. Taking her time, she folded her new gowns and the one that Mary had brought her, placing all the underwear except the petticoat and chemise she intended to wear on the top. With eyebrow-raised insolence, she took out the brown-striped gown, her new shoes, and the new hat she had bought—a plain straw pillbox decorated with a smart brown, spiky feather. He watched every move with a satisfied smile on his face.
“Do you intend to watch me dress?” she asked with hauteur.
He sat on the bed, patting a yawn from his mouth. “Who knows what you might steal if you were left alone.”
“I’ve always liked that dressing robe of yours.”
“It’s worth about two pounds.”
She ignored the bait and moved behind the dressing screen. When she had dressed in the gown, she saw he had changed into a dry shirt, which he had tucked neatly into his waistband. Despite him being the sort of man who jumped to erroneous and unfair conclusions, her belly performed an unnecessary clenching that almost made her groan aloud. She wanted him. She should have given in to him when she’d had the chance.
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