I have only just come awake—’tis perhaps an hour before noon, by the way the slants of sunlight come blistering into my chamber—when I notice the girl lingering in the courtyard of my father’s home.
Her back is to me, but I recognize her to be Rosaline’s maid, the one with the remarkable ginger-colored curls and sweet giggle. I admire her a moment before addressing her through the window.
“Good morrow, pretty one.”
She spins away from the topiary she’s been examining, startled by the closeness of my voice. (My rooms are situated on the house’s main level. As such, my window is somewhat near to the ground.)
She offers a curtsy. “Good morrow, my lord.”
“Marie, is it?” I fold my arms upon the windowsill and smile out at her. “Pray tell, what brings thee to my garden, Marie?”
She rises from her genuflection, her ringlets bobbing, her deep brown lashes fluttering. “Sir, I am to deliver you a message from my lady.”
“Are you, now? Well, surely I must remember to thank my dear cousin for sending me a most adorable messenger.” I extend my hand through the window opening, crooking my finger in a beckoning manner.
Wide-eyed, she draws nearer. Her pretty chin comes even with the window sash. With a wink, I tap my forefinger upon her dainty nose, then catch one of her enticing pink-gold curls gently round my thumb.
“My lady did instruct me to deliver the message at a particular hour,” she informs me. “’Tis not yet time, which is why I have been waiting here in the garden.”
“You are as conscientious as you are charming.” Her blush encourages me. I lean farther out the window toward her. “As it seems you have some time to kill, may I insinuate myself into your fine company?”
Her lips part in surprise. Ah, and then that giggle …
“I shall take that to mean yes.”
In moments, I have ducked out the window and dropped into the garden, where Marie obligingly flings her lovely self into my arms.