Chapter Seven

Inis felt a little ridiculous being let out by the front door of Dansworth House when she returned from the shopping expedition, but she supposed the driver of the hired carriage had no idea she worked in the stable and was not a guest.

The coachman climbed off the bench, opened the carriage door, and put down the step. Inis exited, thinking Alex had probably tipped the man well to do so, or maybe he was impressed with the size of Dansworth House. In either case, he stood there waiting for her to go to the massive front door, so she couldn’t very well start walking around to the back of the house. She could well imagine what Evans, the butler, would think when he found her on the steps. She didn’t think it would be positive.

Inis smiled at the driver. “Thank ye so much for bringing me home. Ye doona have to wait.”

The man didn’t budge. “The gent said I was to wait until ya were inside.”

Drat Alexander Ashley. This was probably supposed to be part of a lesson in deportment. Ladies didn’t go around to the back door. Not that she looked the part in the ill-fitting dress she wore. She kept the smile plastered on her face. “Very well.”

She turned and ascended the steps, lifted the heavy brass knocker, and tapped it twice. With the speed at which the front door was opened, she realized Evans must have been standing watching by one of the mullioned windows on either side of the entrance.

He blocked the entry, looking past her. “Where is his lordship?”

“He dinna tell me where he was going.” For a moment, she thought the butler might not let her in, but then he stepped aside with an almost imperceptible arch of one brow on his otherwise impassive face. She bit back a grin. No doubt he felt it beneath his dignity to hold the door, the front door, open for a groom. The only thing worse than snobby aristocrats were snobby servants. Butlers seemed to be the worst of the lot. Her uncle’s man acted much the same way, although not to her, of course. She nodded ever so slightly and sailed by Evans. She heard a slight huff as he closed the door, but she didn’t look back.

She changed quickly back into her breeches and shirt once she got to her small room and was about to go out to the stables when Elsie tapped on her open door.

“You have half the staff in a complete dither,” the maid said as she stepped inside.

“Why is that?”

“Fern told everyone last night that his lordship approached her and asked for her dress.” Elsie giggled. “She tried to make it sound like he was asking her to take off the one she was wearin’.”

Inis frowned. That thought had not occurred to her. “Was it?”

“Oh, no.” Elsie shook her head vigorously. “His lordship would never take advantage of a servant like that.”

Inis bit her lip. Alexander Ashley had certainly taken advantage of her today walking into the backroom when she was wearing nothing but a chemise. Rake that he was, she knew he’d done it on purpose. For an instant, her body warmed as she remembered being in his embrace. Lordy. If she took a deep breath, she could still smell his cologne where he’d touched her bare arms. She stopped halfway through doing just that and exhaled. “Mr. Ashley doesnae flirt with any of ye?”

Elsie looked aghast. “Flirt? Why would he?”

She probably had a point. From what Caroline had said, Alex kept himself quite busy concentrating on the wives of the ton. “I thought Mr. Ashley had a wee bit of a reputation, ’tis all.”

“That may be with the likes of Society.” Elsie shrugged. “But many of us want to work here because his lordship shows respect, not like some of the other aristos.”

That was true. Inis had never seen or heard him insult a servant or make unnecessary demands. “So what has everyone in a dither then?”

“You.” Elsie grinned. “When we saw you leaving the house today in Fern’s dress and his lordship puttin’ you in a carriage… Well, it sparked talk.”

Inis could just imagine what kind of talk, too. She needed to offer some kind of explanation, or the servants wouldn’t start thinking she had given her virtue to Alex or had thoughts of becoming his leman. Once the new dress arrived, that would only confirm the gossip. To say nothing of a blue gown, which she intended to keep well hidden.

“Ye remember when I told ye Mr. Ashley wanted to give me an education? To get rid of me brogue?”

Elsie nodded. “I remember.”

“And ye remember when Miss Nash came to call?” When the maid nodded to that, too, Inis continued. “Well, Miss Nash thought ’twould be more suitable for me to have those lessons dressed in something besides breeches, but I told Mr. Ashley I dinna have a gown.”

The explanation seemed to satisfy Elsie. “His lordship is a generous sort.”

“I fully intend to pay him back from my wages,” Inis said. When Elsie told the rest of the staff—which was inevitable since half of them were probably waiting downstairs—she wanted to make sure it was understood that the dress was not a gift in exchange for favors.

“Please tell Fern I will launder her dress myself before I return it,” Inis said. She’d have to keep the too-large shoes for now since Alexander hadn’t taken her to a shoemaker.

“No need for that,” Elsie replied. “The dress is yours. His lordship gave Fern two guineas for it.”

Inis felt her eyes widen. “Two guineas?” Sweet Mary. The homespun dress along with the worn shoes were not even worth one guinea. Paying that much would only spur more gossip.

Elsie nodded. “Fern’s gloatin’ about it, too.”

“Thank ye for telling me. I’ll have to add that amount to what I owe.” Inis managed a wan smile. “I had better get down to the stables and start earning my money.”

They walked out and down the servants’ stairs, parting ways when Elsie turned toward the kitchens and Inis went to the stable. By the time she joined the rest of the staff for dinner in the huge kitchen at dinner, the story of what had transpired this afternoon would most likely have been blown completely out of proportion. Inis considered taking some bread and cheese to her room instead, but hiding out wasn’t going to do any good. Better to face the servants as soon as possible and squash any ideas that Alexander Ashley intended anything other than teaching her a little proper etiquette.

She was his hostler. She would do well to remember that herself instead of thinking about the backroom of Madame Dubois’s dress shop.

…

Miranda kept her face and demeanor perfectly schooled for what seemed like hours in hell before the blasted tea party was finished and she could take her leave.

Once safely inside her carriage, away from prying eyes and ears, she released her anger. Reaching up, she tore one of the curtains off a window and raked her nails into it. The material, weakened over time by sun and weather, gave way. She liked shredding things. It gave her great satisfaction to tear something apart and leave it worthless. For a moment, she was tempted to take the penknife she always carried in her reticule, jab it into the squab, and make deep cuts through the leather. But she stayed her hand. Her not-very-bright husband would believe a cat got into the carriage and went wild with the curtain, but he’d draw the line at a cat doing extensive damage to a leather seat. More likely, he’d call the physician again and make sure she was medicated.

She didn’t need to be lying in a half stupor from laudanum. Living with the Earl of Benton was boring enough. Besides, there was nothing wrong with her that a night of hard rutting with a virile man wouldn’t cure.

A man like Alexander Ashley.

She raked her fingers through the ragged curtain once more, not caring that she tore a fingernail in the process or that it bled. Jeannette Compton had purposely made her aware that Melanie Linford had enjoyed Alex’s consummate sexual skills. And Melanie, the bitch, had actually blushed. Since Miranda knew Melanie had taken lovers before, the blush was not because Alex was her first. The blush had no doubt been because of what she remembered him doing… Miranda balled the ruined curtain and threw it on the floor. She remembered quite well herself how very talented Alex’s hands and mouth were, to say nothing of the size of his manhood. He hadn’t stopped at her first climax, either. He’d made her come twice more, and she’d almost passed out the last time. Alexander Ashley had the devil’s own stamina.

And he was going to be hers.

She didn’t for a moment believe he would not visit her again. The other women in that silly club might sigh and bemoan the fact he only bedded them once, but they probably didn’t know how to pleasure a man like she did. She had wondered, though, why he hadn’t gotten in touch since their night together. Now she knew. That red-headed hoyden had her claws into him.

His groom. That had to be the flimsiest excuse she’d ever heard. Did Alex really think anyone would believe that? Of course, he probably didn’t want to admit he was dallying with a stage actress. The trollop must have put on quite an act to have him actually take her to Madame Dubois. How did this slattern merit such attention?

A thought struck Miranda with such force she actually fell back against the seat. What if that red-haired baggage was actually his mistress? Not just a passing diversion? By the gods and demons. Was Alex purchasing a wardrobe for that strumpet? What if he had set her up in a small house outside Mayfair and provided an allowance?

She closed her eyes and imagined raking her nails across the little hussy’s face instead. She had to find out who the damn bitch was. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes as the carriage slowed in front of her house. She remembered her personal maid saying she had a sister who’d applied for a position at Dansworth House. At the time, Miranda hadn’t thought much about it. Perhaps the sister—Miranda thought her name was Fern—had been hired. If she was, Miranda would be able to get all the information she needed.

She smiled. No mistress was going to get in her way.