An Innocent Maid For The Duke. Ann Lethbridge
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it all,’ Jake gritted out. ‘It really is time we closed this place once and for all.’ It certainly didn’t fit with his new position in life. He glanced at the empty place at the table. ‘If this wasn’t the one place that might draw Nicholas back, I’d be for closing it down.’ The club had been Nicholas’s idea. He had provided the largest portion of money to get it started.
‘I’ll go.’ Frederick grabbed up his mask and cloak, the required uniform for all entering Vitium et Virtus. While people might guess at their identities, they had never admitted to owning the place.
On his way past, Frederick shot Jake a conciliatory look. ‘Water under the bridge, right?’
‘Right,’ Jake said. He forced a smile. ‘It’s a good thing Nicholas wasn’t here, or he’d be ribbing me about my thin skin for weeks.’
Fred picked up his pace as the door failed to keep out the noise of the rising mayhem beyond.
Oliver pushed to his feet. ‘Nicholas would have been ribbing you about your appearance, too. Take a look in the mirror next time you pass one. White’s wouldn’t let you through the door.’
Jake scraped a nail through his stubble. ‘Good thing Vitium et Virtus isn’t so fussy. Where are you going? Home?’
Oliver’s green eyes sparked mischief. ‘At some point. You?’
Jake grimaced, envying his friend his light-hearted grin. The idea of going back to the ducal town house caused his gut to clench. He hated walking through the door, let alone spending time there. He ought to go back, though. Duty called and all that. So much duty. ‘Soon.’
He’d have to go soon. His grandmother was expecting him to bid her goodnight. And then she’d look at him with such sorrow in her eyes...
He picked up the decanter and poured himself another glass of brandy. The best money could buy.
‘Want to talk about it?’ Oliver offered, concern in his gaze.
Sympathy was worse than self-recrimination. ‘I’m not in the mood for company,’ he said, deliberately avoiding the question, but telling the truth all the same. He rarely was in the mood for company any more. Burying one’s family did that to a fellow.
Only when the door clicked, did he realise Oliver had gone.
He swallowed the brandy in one gulp, poured another and headed for the office. These days, work and brandy were the only things that helped him sleep.
* * *
Rose stacked the last of the plates in the cupboard, removed her apron and stretched her back. Oh, it felt so good.
‘All done, Rose?’ Charity Parker, a middle-aged woman and housekeeper at the V&V, as the servants called it, swept a gimlet glance around the kitchen.
‘Yes, Mrs Parker.’ She hesitated, wondering if there was more to do.
The woman’s stern expression softened a little. ‘Go on, then, join your friends in the Green Room if you must, but don’t be staying up all night sewing their dresses. And be careful, Rose. Things are still in full swing.’ She bustled away.
Rose grinned at her back. Mrs Parker’s bark was far worse than her bite. But she was right. At this time of the night the gentlemen members were often half-seas-over and could be a little too friendly to anything in skirts. Even someone as drab and plain as her was fair game in their eyes. She certainly didn’t want to risk losing her position by breaking any rules. Mrs Parker and Mr Bell were very strict about the servants keeping to their proper places. For their protection as much as anything.
It was just one of the things that made her feel especially lucky to have found this position. The pay at the club was better than anything she’d ever received before and, best of all, she didn’t have to live in as she did when working as a housemaid in a gentleman’s home. Housemaids risked the advances of any lusty fellow under its roof. Men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves were the reason she’d left her last three positions. She knew the risks of a kiss and a cuddle under the blankets. She was likely the result of one.
No, she was better off going to her own place every night. Her own home, meagre though it was. No matter how kind and respectful the family might be to their servants, she always felt like an intruder. An outsider looking in on a happiness she had never known. Perhaps one day she would have family of her own. She was determined she would. The idea of it sent a chill down her spine.
Enough daydreaming. If she was to do a bit of mending for the girls before she went home, she needed to get going.
She slipped into the Green Room unnoticed. Not green at all, of course. Painted white and blue and lined with mirrors, the large open room was in the basement at the back of the house. It was here the girls who performed at the V&V changed into their costumes, practiced their acts and rested when not required on stage. Or wherever they performed.
It had none of the lewd pictures and murals covering the walls and ceiling of the rest of the place, or the statues and artefacts, thank goodness. She’d become used to them over time, even got used to dusting them, but at first she hadn’t known where to look.
The Green Room was a whole different matter. She loved this room full of chatter and laughter and singing as the girls swirled around in their brightly coloured costumes. It was nothing like the stark cold rooms at the Foundling Hospital where she had grown up. Or the kitchens and servants’ halls she’d worked in when she’d gone out into the world. In those places, everyone was afraid of their shadow and talked in whispers.
She sank into the old horsehair sofa in the corner and pulled out the needle case she’d made at the orphanage. A small embroidered book that safely held her few precious needles and pins. She sorted through the mending in the basket beside the sofa and pulled out pair of holey stockings. She loved helping the girls and if they occasionally slipped her a penny or two for her efforts, she was grateful.
From here, she observed the goings-on while she rested her poor aching feet before walking home. With a sigh, she unlaced her half-boots, rubbed at her soles for a blissful moment or two, then tucked her them up under her skirts.
Peace at last.
‘I ’oped you’d come by.’ Fleurette, whose real name was Flo, plopped herself down beside Rose. Her fair golden locks were arranged in the elaborate hairstyle Rose had helped her with earlier in the day.
It was Flo who had first asked for Rose’s help with her hair. When the other girls had seen the result, they had begged for help, too. She did what she could, but Mrs Parker only gave her a few minutes off here and there during the evening. Still, she made a point of helping whenever she had a moment or two, as well as after work. It was these snatched moments that had put the idea into her head that she might one day become a ladies’ maid or a dressmaker.
Flo cracked a huge yawn, then exploded in laugher. ‘I’m so tired I could fall asleep right here.’
Rose had liked Flo on sight. Apparently the feeling had been mutual. For the first time in her life, Rose felt as if she had a true friend.
Making friends at the orphanage had been frowned upon. They weren’t there for enjoyment. They were unwanted children and needed to learn how to make themselves useful as adults.
‘Was there something you needed?’ she asked after a moment or two of silence.
Her friend winced. ‘I wore that new red gown for my first number and caught my heel in the hem. The old besom will fine me when she sees I’ve damaged it already.’
She looked so downcast Rose wanted to hug her. ‘Give it to me. I’ll fix it and take it up an inch and then you won’t trip.’
‘I feel terrible asking. You’ve been here for hours—’
‘And you need it for tomorrow. I’m happy to do it.’
‘I’ll pay you.’
‘No! What are friends for?’