Kitabı oku: «One Night with a Regency Lord», sayfa 6
‘Does he know that you have a sister staying here?’ she ventured tentatively.
‘He knows,’ came the short reply.
‘You didn’t tell him my name?’
‘No,’ he said in a distant voice.
Her face wore such an expression of relief that his distrust once again blossomed.
‘Your fears are unfounded, my dear, your identity is safe.’ His tone was caustic. ‘I doubt that a man of Glyde’s position would consider it interesting or worthwhile to spread scandal about a maidservant, even if he knew her name.’
Euphoric at her escape, Amelie hardly noticed his tone and unwisely pushed onwards.
‘Thank you for not giving me away.’ And when he didn’t reply, she said again, ‘Thank you.’
‘Spare me the gratitude,’ he grated.
There was a pause as he looked her fully in the face, wondering how he’d allowed himself to be taken in by a girl so adept at lying. He’d begun to believe his judgement of womankind faulty, but it seemed that she shared generously in the attributes of her sisters—she was no different from any of the women who’d passed briefly through his life.
‘He thinks you’re my doxy,’ he said deliberately, then added with undisguised bitterness, ‘And who could blame him? You behaved like one—scuttling for cover instead of facing him honestly.’
The words came out of nowhere and fell like hammer blows on her ears. Scarlet with mortification, she ran from the room. How could he throw such a vile insult at her? Even if she were the simple maidservant she purported to be, she would be justified in protecting her good name. Yet by his reckoning she’d committed an unforgivable offence in running away; she was no better than Haymarket ware.
Once in her bedroom, she grabbed the faithful cloak bag and hurriedly packed the few items she still possessed. Then she ran down the stairs and out into the backyard. Will was busy washing the cobbles.
‘Will, come here,’ she called urgently to him. ‘Mr Wendover has taken a turn for the worst. He needs the medicine that the doctor prescribed in an emergency. I must get to Wroxhall immediately.’
Will rested from his labours, leaning on the broom with one hand and scratching his head with the other.
‘Mr Wendover were fine this morning. Happen he’ll come about again soon.’
‘No, Will, he won’t. He’s been feeling poorly for hours, but didn’t like to complain. Now his fever seems to have returned. We must get to Wroxall.’
‘I’d like to help, Miss Wendover,’ he said doubtfully, ‘but I’ll have to ask the missus. Mrs Skinner do like to know where I am. And she don’t like it if the horse is taken out without her permission.’
‘Mrs Skinner is out,’ Amelie lied recklessly, ‘and Mr Skinner, too. I saw them on their way to visit neighbours.’
Will shook his head slowly. The image of the Skinners visiting their neighbours was one he was having difficulty with.
‘Please help me,’ she pleaded urgently. ‘You don’t want Mr Wendover to become really ill again, do you?’
Will shook his head, but still looked unhappy.
‘It could be a matter of life or death, Will. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.’
She felt guilty about deceiving him, but refused to think of his likely punishment for helping her. She had to get away. Unwillingly, Will put down his bucket and brush and went towards the trap, which stood backed into the corner of the rear yard. He carefully moved it into the centre and arranged the leather ties. The mare had then to be led from her stable and harnessed. For Amelie, desperate to leave the inn behind, every minute seemed an impossible age. One or the other of the Skinners could put in an appearance at any time and ruin her escape.
Will might be slow, but he was methodical. Finally the trap was ready and she jumped up on to the passenger seat.
‘Please make haste,’ she enjoined him as they turned out of the yard onto the highway.
Will, who had begun to enjoy his freedom from cobble washing and enter into the spirit of the adventure, whipped the placid bay into something approaching a trot. They were very soon out of sight of the inn and she sighed with relief. She never wanted to see Gareth Wendover again. His words flung at her so coldly and dismissively had finally cut whatever cord existed between them.
Chapter Six
She stood beneath the white portico of her grandmother’s house. The rain had been falling in torrents ever since she’d alighted at the White Lion Inn and she was now soaked to the skin from the brief walk to Laura Place. The weeping skies seemed an echo of her present mood. After all the obstacles and alarms she had encountered since leaving London, the final leg of her journey to Bath had been deceptively simple. Once in Wroxall she’d given Will the slip, with only a few pangs of conscience. There had been less than an hour to pass before her coach had departed and she’d found it easy to hide herself away and board the stage without anyone recognising her. Now with her escape plan almost complete, she should be flushed with excitement. Instead, she felt a dawning fear. What if her grandmother were out of town? What if Brielle were so outraged by her granddaughter’s conduct that she refused to receive her?
She stared at the ebony door with its brass lion head. In her disquiet it seemed to challenge her right to be there and she had to summon all her resolution to lift the knocker. The resulting clatter reverberated through the hall beyond. Tense minutes of silence followed. She was just lifting her hand to knock again when she heard footsteps coming towards the door and in a minute the butler’s familiar person stood before her. Horrocks was looking at her strangely, seemingly trying to puzzle out just what or who had arrived on the front steps.
‘You should go round to the back entrance,’ he said reprovingly as he took in the bedraggled figure in front of him.
‘Horrocks, it’s me, Amelie,’ she cried, pushing back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face fully.
‘Miss Amelie?’ Horrocks stared in disbelief. ‘Whatever are you doing here? Her ladyship said nothing of your coming. And where is your escort? You surely cannot be alone.’
He peered up and down the empty street in a vain search. Then, recalled to his duties, he ushered her quickly into the house. She slipped gratefully past him into the warmth of the hall. The house looked little different from the last time she’d seen it as a child, perhaps a little smaller, a little less grand.
‘Her ladyship is out this evening, Miss Amelie, but I can send a messenger to fetch her home immediately. She is only a few minutes away.’
‘No, don’t do that, Horrocks,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll wait until she gets back. I don’t imagine that she keeps very late hours.’
The butler looked grateful. ‘No, indeed. But you should get out of those wet clothes straight away. I’ll send Miss Repton to you.’
She’d never heard of Miss Repton, evidently a new addition to the household whom she supposed must be her grandmother’s dresser. Horrocks led the way upstairs to the small sitting room overlooking Laura Place. This was Brielle’s favourite retreat, even though she had a far more elegant drawing room at the back of the house with views over a surprisingly large and immaculate garden.
Miss Repton turned out to be a disapproving middle-aged woman, manicured to within an inch of her life. She looked Amelie up and down with disbelief.
‘You’ll need dry clothes, miss.’ She sniffed. ‘Where is your valise?’
‘My luggage was mislaid during my journey, Miss Repton. It will be coming on later.’
She hoped her lie would satisfy this haughty woman, but the dresser continued to gaze at her with barely concealed disdain.
‘I’ll try to find something of milady’s to fit you, but it won’t be easy.’
Amelie, unused to such disrespect from a servant, answered sharply, ‘It really doesn’t matter. If you will be so kind as to take my cloak, I will dry my dress by the fire.’
Miss Repton looked scandalised and even more so when the discarded cloak revealed Fanny’s plain, and by now, severely dilapidated dress. Amelie looked her in the eyes, challenging her to make a comment. The woman remained mute and made for the door, carefully holding the sodden cloak at arm’s length.
‘I’ll ask Horrocks to send up tea, miss,’ she said tonelessly.
Relieved by the dresser’s exit, she sank into a comfortable chair and closed her eyes. The fire burned brightly and warmed her chilled body. The peace of the room gradually soothed her and by the time Horrocks brought her tea and toast, she was in a fair way to thinking that all would be well once her grandmother returned. But as the minutes ticked by and there was no sign of Brielle, tormenting thoughts once more began to possess her. Her grandmother might have led an unconventional life, but she was a stickler for proper conduct. She would be greatly disturbed by her granddaughter’s flight from home. Brielle must be won over, made to understand the nightmare that was in store for her if she were forced into marriage with Rufus Glyde. Perhaps that would not be too difficult. But how to explain where she’d been since leaving London, how to gloss over all that had happened this last week without provoking unwanted questions?
She suddenly felt very alone and a little scared. With a start she realised that all the time she’d been at the George, she’d never felt this vulnerable. Her mind drifted to Gareth and she wondered what he was doing.Was he thinking of her, too? What nonsense, of course he wasn’t. He would never have spoken so shockingly if he’d had an ounce of feeling for her. From the start he’d made it clear that she was simply entertainment for him; when she’d refused that role, he’d pursued her out of pique. Any fleeting moments of tenderness they’d shared were just that, fleeting. He was a loner, happy to use any woman who crossed his path, but just as happy to dismiss them from his mind if they angered him or ceased to be of interest.
The noise of the front door opening and closing drifted up the stairs. She heard voices below and her stomach churned. Suddenly, her grandmother was there and she was swept up in a warm, perfumed embrace.
‘Amelie, dear child, what is this that Horrocks is telling me? Let me look at you, you poor little thing.’ Brielle held her granddaughter away from her, taking in the drab dress now dried in creases, the sadly bedraggled chestnut curls and the anxious pinched face before her.
‘You’re in a sad way, my dear, but I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you’re safe. I’ve been out of my mind with worry. This evening was the first invitation I’ve accepted since I knew that you’d left your home. And this is the evening that you arrive on my doorstep! But thank God for that.’
And once more Amelie found herself pulled into the jasmine-scented embrace she remembered so well from childhood. Whether her grandmother approved or not of what she’d done, it didn’t matter. Brielle loved her and would care for her. She bit back the treacherous tears.
‘I’m so sorry to have worried you needlessly, but I can explain,’ she pleaded.
Brielle took her granddaughter’s hands in hers and squeezed them lovingly. ‘I’m sure you can, but first we must make you comfortable. I really don’t understand why you’re wearing that dreadful dress, but you should have changed it immediately. I can’t think what my woman is about. Why didn’t she find you a dressing robe at the least and order your bedchamber to be made up?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I was comfortable here and Horrocks brought me tea.’
‘Tea! What are my servants thinking of? What you need is a proper meal and to get out of those clothes. The next thing we’ll know is that you’ll be running a fever.’
She rang the bell energetically and her butler appeared rather too quickly. Like the rest of the household, he had been greatly intrigued by Miss Silverdale’s dramatic and, unexpected arrival and hovering by the sitting-room door, had been hopeful of learning more.
‘Horrocks, ask the housekeeper to make up Miss Amelie’s bedchamber immediately, and get Cook to put together a tray of something nourishing, and I don’t mean just soup.’
‘Yes, milady, immediately,’ the butler murmured, suitably abashed by his mistress’s sharp tone.
Brielle was still fiery, Amelie observed, even though the years had begun to take their toll. Her grandmother, elegant in dove-grey Italian crepe, seemed smaller and frailer than when she’d last seen her.
‘Horrocks is getting old,’ Brielle said, excusing her butler’s oversights. ‘He doesn’t think so clearly now.’
‘He looked after me very well,’ Amelie declared loyally, making ready to accompany the housekeeper upstairs.
She instantly recognised the room. Eau-de-nil hangings and bedcovers created a tranquil aura of pale green shadow: her mother’s favourite colour. A portrait of Louise was displayed prominently above the dainty cherrywood writing desk. A deep tub was even now being filled with hot water by one of the housemaids. As soon as the servants had left, she quickly stripped off the despised dress and dropped it in a heap on the floor.
By the time her grandmother joined her once more, she was ensconced in one of the large easy chairs, wearing a robe of the finest chenille silk.
‘This robe is far too beautiful for me to wear, Grandmama. Miss Repton must be in anguish.’
‘Never mind about her. She has far too high an opinion of herself. Though she does have a way with my hair and makes her own complexion cream from crushed strawberries. Otherwise I would never keep the creature.’
Her grandmother put down the tray she was carrying. ‘I’ve brought your food myself so we can be quiet together. Make sure you dine well. You look as though you’ve barely eaten all day.’
It was true. A sparse breakfast had not been followed by lunch. She’d been too busy hiding from Rufus Glyde to think of eating, and then Gareth’s unexpected abuse had sent her flying from the inn to Wroxall and finally to Bath. She attacked the cold chicken with relish.
While she ate, Brielle kept her amused with anecdotes of Bath life. It was clear that she viewed English provincial society with some irony, but she had put down secure roots and now had many friends and acquaintances in the locality. The quintessential French woman had become almost English.
She let her granddaughter finish her meal in peace before saying, ‘Now what’s this nonsense I’ve been hearing?’
‘Nonsense, Grandmama?’ Amelie’s stomach clenched. The inevitable moment had arrived.
‘About a week ago I received a most unwelcome visitor. His name was Hyde or Glyde or some such. He told me some faradiddle about your being pledged to him in marriage.’
‘He was lying,’ Amelie said quietly. ‘I never agreed to marry him.’
‘Then why did he think you had?’
‘Papa decided I should marry him. I decided I would not.’
‘But why should your father wish you to marry a man you so clearly dislike?’
‘Sir Rufus Glyde is a very rich man, I believe. Papa thought to help the family by marrying me to him.’
‘The family, perhaps, but not you, it would seem. Your father is a selfish man and I won’t hide from you that I do not hold him in a great deal of affection. But I’ve always thought his love for you showed him at his best. Why would he try to enforce such a marriage, knowing how you felt?’
She had no idea how much her grandmother knew of the Silverdales’ financial difficulties and did not want to alarm her unnecessarily, so she said as nonchalantly as she could, ‘The family have a few money problems.’
Brielle looked at her straitly. ‘Your father has always lived high, that’s certain, but surely the income from the estates he holds must be sufficient to cover even his expenditure.’
‘There are other problems,’ Amelie began awkwardly. ‘Robert.’ And her voice trailed off.
‘Ah, Robert, an unfortunate boy by all accounts. Even in this backwater we’ve heard tales of his legendary gambling.’ Brielle fixed her granddaughter with a sharp eye. ‘Exactly how bad is the situation, Amelie? Tell me the truth.’
‘Sir Rufus holds the mortgage on the house in Grosvenor Square and that is all we have left.’
Brielle let out an audible gasp. ‘I knew your father and brother to be foolishly extravagant, but I had no idea that things had come to this pass.’
‘Grandmama, I cannot marry Rufus Glyde. Please help me.’
‘My darling, you shall not marry a man you hate. Your father will have to think again. And until he does, you will stay with me here in Bath.’
Amelie’s brown eyes sparkled through a mist of tears as she launched herself at her grandmother and hugged her so tightly that the older woman was almost crushed.
‘Hush, child, you’ve squeezed the breath out of me. You’re a loving and beautiful young woman. You deserve better. We may even find you a Bath beau to take the place of this Glyde person.’
Amelie’s smile faltered a little. ‘I’m not looking for any other man. I don’t wish to marry. Just let me stay here with you. I can be useful, I’m sure, even more as you get older.’
‘What nonsense is this? To waste your youth and beauty on running errands for an old woman. Certainly not! Why are you so opposed to the idea of matrimony? It is every woman’s destiny, after all.’
‘I don’t think it mine,’ she retorted. ‘In my experience men are either frivolous and foolish or they feel compelled to dominate me. I’ve no wish to be either the master or the mastered.’
‘You have been unlucky in those you’ve met. But that’s not to say that a strong man with the confidence to allow you independence does not exist, or that you won’t encounter him.’
‘Even if I were to meet such a paragon, how could I ever be sure that he would remain so?’ Amelie ventured.‘Mama …’ And she allowed the rest of her sentence to fade into the air.
Her grandmother gazed unseeingly into the fire, and it was a while before she spoke. ‘You must not allow your mother’s difficult life to determine your own choices,’ she said at last. ‘A woman’s duty is to marry. But we’ll say no more for now. I shall introduce you to Bath society while you’re with me and who knows, the right person might just appear on the threshold.’
Brielle’s thoughts were already ranging across the eligible males she knew and had begun to centre on one name that she thought might just alter Amelie’s mind. But for now she was content to change the subject.
‘You haven’t told me yet how you escaped from Grosvenor Square.’
Amelie recounted the tale of the sheets and the stagecoach, carefully omitting the entrance of Gareth Wendover into her life. Brielle enjoyed the story immensely, even more so because it was a rebuke to a son-in-law she did not trust and a suitor she had disliked on sight.
‘Grandmama, can we send for Fanny, please? I promised her I would do so as soon as I could.’
‘I’m not at all sure about that, my love. Fanny aided you in what was a foolish and dangerous escapade. I’ve been enjoying your tale, but that’s because you’re safe here with me. When I think what might have befallen you! And Fanny would have borne a grave responsibility for it.’
‘That’s unfair,’ her granddaughter cried hotly. ‘Fanny tried to persuade me not to escape, but I made her help me. And no doubt she’s suffered already for her loyalty. I cannot make her suffer doubly.’
Brielle blinked with surprise at this passionate outburst. ‘You’re far too hot at hand, my dear. I’m not surprised you’ve emerged from your first Season unwed. A fiery temper is not perhaps the best asset a young woman can possess.’
‘Forgive me, ma’am, I didn’t mean to be discourteous, but I owe Fanny so much.’
‘Including a dress by the look of it,’ her grandmother remarked drily, looking askance at the miserable heap of cloth lying abandoned in the corner. ‘I was about to send a message to your father to assure him of your safety—I will ask him to despatch Fanny to you. We must hope that he hasn’t already discovered her perfidy and sent her packing.’
Amelie smiled her pleasure and then gently stifled a yawn. She hoped Brielle would take the hint and leave her to sleep. So far she’d managed to evade all mention of her stay at the George. But as she’d foreseen, her grandmother was not so easily satisfied. The stagecoach had left the White Horse Inn in London over a week ago—so where had Amelie been in the interval?
‘The stage had an accident,’ she lied, ‘and we had to find accommodation at a local inn. One of the passengers was hurt and I stayed to look after them. As soon as they were better, I finished the journey to Bath.’ How glib that sounded and how very far from the truth!
‘And were you the only two passengers at this inn?’ Brielle questioned shrewdly.
‘There were only a few other people on the stage. And they lived a short distance away and were able to finish their journey on horseback.’ More lies, she thought guiltily.
‘Who was this passenger you were so devoted to? Wasn’t there anyone else who could have offered their services?’
‘I felt obliged. They’d been very kind to me.’
‘But who was this person?’
This was the question Amelie had been dreading. ‘An elderly gentleman.’ Age is relative, she told herself. ‘You wouldn’t know his name. He was actually on his way to Bristol, so he’s not local.’
‘A gentleman? You were looking after a gentleman? Surely that cannot be right.’
‘I had to help. There was no one else who could devote the time to nursing him. The doctor called a few times and the landlord assisted when he could.’
Her grandmother was silent for a moment. ‘Just how old was this gentleman?’
‘I’m not very good at ages,’ she prevaricated. ‘A good deal older than me.’
‘And who else was at the inn with you?’
‘The landlord and his wife, and some of their serving staff. I shared a bedchamber with the kitchen maid.’
Brielle looked relieved at this information and decided not to probe any further for the moment. Amelie was looking tired and distressed. She sensed her granddaughter was not being entirely truthful and was determined in the next few days to get to the bottom of whatever mystery there was.
‘You must sleep now. Tomorrow we’ll begin to make up the deficiencies in your wardrobe. I understand from Horrocks that you arrived with only a cloak bag.’
‘I’m afraid so. It will be wonderful to wear a dress other than Fanny’s.’
‘I should think so indeed,’ Brielle lightly scolded her. ‘After breakfast, we’ll start our campaign. In the meantime I’ll make sure that Repton looks out a dress from my younger years—not too old fashioned, I trust—and alters it to fit you.’
‘Thank you. You’re too kind—I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’
‘I’m sure I shall think of something,’ Brielle replied, her mind firmly fixed on the man she intended to present once the girl was looking her best.
Amelie stayed awake longer than she expected. Her body was exhausted, but her mind continued to plague her. How was she to avoid telling her grandmother the true nature of her stay at the inn, for she knew that Brielle would not be content to leave the matter to rest? She smiled at the description she’d given of Gareth—he was neither elderly nor a gentleman!—but somehow she must maintain this fiction. Her smile died as suddenly as it had come—she must not think of him ever again. It had been foolish of her to allow an early attraction to melt her usual reserve and flourish unchecked. She’d grown far, far too close to him. She had never before felt such longing, such desire, and was left now bruised and baffled.
The insults he’d flung at her should have crushed such troublesome emotions. But apparently that wasn’t so. As she drifted half in and half out of sleep, his powerful frame invaded the room. It was as though he were there with her. If she reached out, she could trace the outline of his smile with her finger. If she reached out, she could know the raw strength of his embrace. Shaken by her need for him, she buried her head in the pillow and tried to sleep.
Gareth was also finding it difficult to sleep. His anger still burned brightly, but he knew that he’d offended Amelie beyond pardon. His fury over her wild escape and his deep suspicions of her relationship with Glyde were justified, he was sure. But to call her a doxy had been inexcusable. She was no such thing, as he knew to his cost. He smiled mirthlessly as he considered the countless women of his acquaintance who perfectly satisfied that description. No, she was not a doxy, but she was just as cunning and manipulative as any other of her sex. He’d learned his lesson well; a woman was worth only the pleasure she gave. Amelie had given him pleasure, it was true, but not as he’d expected: it had been something altogether deeper, more exciting and more disturbing—a dangerous delight. It was as well that she’d left when she had. There was no place in his life for loyalty, tenderness, love, even if he could be sure of her. And he couldn’t.
He would leave her in peace to find a new situation and be on his way. Within the next day or so his ankle would be strong enough to begin travelling, but where he knew not. He was close to Bristol; a journey to the port would take half a day at most and once there he could book a passage to France. It would not be difficult to resume his old life at the tables of the slightly less respectable gaming houses or take whatever menial work was offered. That way he would never touch a penny of the inheritance so long denied him.
But why shouldn’t he enjoy his legacy? Would it not be sweet revenge to plunder the fortune his grandfather had so carefully conserved? Perhaps he would travel back to London after all, deal with Mr Spence and his formalities, and ensure a constant flow of funds to his pocket over the coming years as he wandered Europe. That would certainly spare him the discomfort of living off his wits. But what an existence! The one thing that had sustained him in seven long years of exile was the excitement and intrigue of a life on the edge. Take that away and what was left? A tedious round of places you didn’t know, people you would never see again, plans that held no interest.
One way or another, though, he would leave England and this time willingly and for good. There was nobody to mourn his departure—except perhaps Lucas Avery. He’d been his one true friend. He knew him to be living in Bath, a short distance away, with a wife and children that Gareth had never met. He wondered if he could risk a meeting or whether Lucas might have changed his mind about his old friend in the years since that fateful evening. The unknown wife, too, might not easily welcome a convicted card cheat. But he would have liked to have bid him a final goodbye.
And Amelie, he suspected, was also in Bath. If he chose to make the journey, he might even see her there. If he chose! In his heart he knew that the decision had already been made. Of course he would make the journey, of course he would see her. Be truthful with yourself, he thought savagely. She was dangerous to him; a threat to his plans and to his peace of mind, but somehow he couldn’t keep away. He might try to justify the trip to Bath in a dozen ways, but he was going there for one reason alone. He’d willed himself to forget this girl, but he could not: she was a constant refrain singing in his mind. London or France would both have to wait.
Amelie woke to the swish of heavy silk curtains being drawn and felt the warmth of the mid-morning sun streaming onto her bed. She hadn’t heard the entrance of the maid on the deep pile carpet, but turning her head she saw that a cup of steaming chocolate sat waiting and a large jug of hot water was already on the washstand. A refashioned dress of her grandmother’s was draped across the armchair, hardly the height of fashion, but acceptable enough for this one day. Miss Repton had been busy. She supposed she must thank her.
She lay back on the pillows and stretched luxuriously. Eventually she’d slept long and deep, cocooned in the comfort of the four-poster, a far cry from the straw mattress of recent days. At last she was at her grandmother’s. She’d succeeded in what she’d set out to do and the world felt good. Or at least a part of it did. Gareth’s figure once more crept unbidden into the corners of her mind. He would soon be preparing to leave the George and then where would he go? Whatever his decision, she scolded herself, it concerned her no longer.
This morning she was intent on pleasure for she knew it would be fleeting. She had no false expectations that Brielle would agree with her wish to remain single. For a woman of her grandmother’s generation, indeed for a woman of her own, marriage had to be the goal of life and anyone who rejected it was either unwanted or eccentric. How much better to live alone, she thought, than be chained to a man with whom she shared nothing but a roof. That was likely to remain a dream. There was one thing of which she was sure: her heart would stay her own. It would not be a difficult vow to keep; until now she’d felt nothing for any man she’d ever met. Until now. But Gareth Wendover was clearly ineligible and destined to travel through life alone. A misguided passion for him would ensure the very unhappiness she was trying to escape.
The bedroom door opened and her grandmother came into the room fully dressed and looking businesslike. ‘Good, you’re awake. Are you well rested?’
Amelie smiled her assent.
‘That’s as well—we’ve a lot to do today. I’ll see you in the breakfast room in thirty minutes.’
Brielle’s brisk commands were diverting. Her grandmother might be approaching old age, but she was as sprightly as ever and it was clear that she’d already been up some hours planning the day ahead. Amelie made haste to obey.
