Chapter Five (part 2)

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"I hope you are recovered," Mr. Byrne was saying as he took her gloved hand, "from the events of this morning."

Emilia wondered why he was scrutinizing her so. Perhaps because she'd practically scolded him earlier over his very tasteless jokes about the dog. She stood by it, more so than she might have if she were Emilia Finch, a servant telling off her betters. She was Prudence Crewe tonight and Prudence Crewe could carry it off.

"There was nothing to recover from," she replied, trying for that casual, almost bored tone Prudence seemed to affect so effortlessly. "I thought he was lovely. Did the footman catch him?"

Mr. Byrne smiled slightly. "Sadly, no. He's off to terrorize other young ladies."

"I'm glad of it. There was nothing terrifying about him. I've never received such a warm welcome, nor such enthusiastic kisses." She felt her stomach drop and her cheeks redden as she realized what she had just said. To be sure, she was talking of a dog, but to be speaking of kissing in the company of men... She wondered if it was possible to fall straight through the floor and be deposited into the servants' quarters where she belonged.

Mr. Byrne, however, laughed — a low chuckle that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. "I confess, his kisses didn't have the same effect on me."

She felt tempted to smile, relieved she'd not scandalized him. "I'm surprised he kissed you at all, with your threats of drownin'?" She resisted the urge to cover her mouth. If she was to pass as a lady, she should speak more like one. Out with the girls, she often hid her Yorkshire accent as she was positive most found it more fitting for a scullery maid than a lady's maid.

But he only smiled. "He's not very discriminatin' about who he's kissing," he replied, adopting the same casual tone. "I've seen him attempt it with many others, so take care with him. He's a scoundrel."

They'd not spoken much before, but she detected something of an odd lilt in his voice as well. Not odd, maybe, but new to her. Her travels outside of Yorkshire had really only extended to London and Scotland and the inns between. She couldn't quite place his accent, but there was something about that sing-song lilt she wouldn't mind hearing more of.

She quickly pulled her hand away. She was not here for that sort of thing. "I will do. I mean... I mean I shall." She turned to Mrs. Baddeley, a less confusing presence. "Thank you very much for the headache remedy, Ma'am. It did the jo... I mean, it worked magnificent wonders." Was that too flowery? Was it too obvious a fib?

Mrs. Baddeley didn't seem to mind, beaming. "Why, thank you. It is a potion of my own devising. I shall send the recipe with you for your mother, the poor thing. Your dear aunt is always telling me what terrible headaches she endures... something like that."

Emilia thought it more likely that Lady Dartmore was always telling her friend what a headache Lady Crewe herself was to endure. But Mrs. Baddely seemed a sweet, well meaning woman who probably took it in the nicest possible way. She'd seen the type over the years, those kind companions or poorer relations who strove to include everyone, even a maid like herself, in conversations. "I thank you, Ma... er... Mrs. Baddeley. I'm right sure... er... certain she will be grateful." Emilia didn't like the idea of lying. But considering the lie she was starting out with, she supposed she would have to get used to it.

She was glad when supper was announced. Perhaps she could focus on her food rather than the fact that she would be dining with real life French nobility. She'd only just convinced herself to stop staring at Lady Adele when she found herself unable to look away from Miss Vanessa Poole. It was hard to help. She'd never seen a person with dark skin before, except those ghastly charicatures in the papers that were less than flattering. She was quite pretty and her gown was of the latest fashion, though Emilia noted that the fussy neckline was doing her no favors. Something simpler would show off her long neck to more advantage.

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