Chapter 1
“Ah… ah… slower…” Vivienne Ashcroft’s voice caught against the pillows. The heavy curtains around the bed kept out what little light had begun to gather beyond the windows, leaving the room warm and dim around them. Edmund Harcourt, Duke of Ravensmere, had one hand braced beside her shoulder. He slowed when she asked, though only briefly. Vivienne’s fingers tightened in the sheet, and another breathless sound escaped her before she turned her face into the pillow. By the time Edmund finally went still above her, his own breath had roughened into a low, hoarse groan.
For several seconds neither of them moved. Then Vivienne laughed softly, still catching her breath. “You are already thinking about something else, aren’t you?” Edmund shifted away from her and reached for the shirt that had landed on the floor beside the bed. “The lease on the southern farm,” he said. Vivienne stared at him, then laughed again, this time with genuine disbelief. “I should be offended.” “You have never been easily offended.” “Fortunately for you.”
They had known each other for years, long enough that neither mistook nights like this for a promise. Vivienne knew there was always a room for her at Ravensmere when she visited, just as Edmund knew she would send word when she came to town and wanted company. Marriage had never been part of it. Neither had jealousy. Whatever existed between them had survived precisely because neither tried to make it larger than it was.
Edmund pulled the bell. His valet appeared a short while later without reacting to the state of the room. “Your Grace?” “Hot water.” The man bowed and withdrew. Vivienne found her robe draped over a chair, slipped it on, and stood barefoot while fastening the sash. She kissed Edmund once at the corner of the mouth on her way past, told him not to spend the entire morning with his farm accounts, and left for the adjoining dressing room. By the time the hot water arrived and Edmund had gone to dress, the private part of the morning was already being cleared away.
A little later, the master bedchamber changed worlds. Discarded clothing was gathered, fresh coal was laid on the fire, the bed hangings were drawn back, and laundry baskets came up through the service corridor. By the time Edmund carried the first bundle of correspondence toward his study, twenty-year-old Lydia Ward entered with another housemaid.
The servants had been awake long before either of them. Lydia had washed in cold water in the attic, pinned her hair under a clean cap, swallowed bread and tea in the servants’ hall, and collected the first linen list before the sky had properly lightened. The upper rooms were always done in an order Mrs. Bell could recite without looking at a page: fires first where guests were still sleeping, water next, then beds, windows, rugs, and whatever damage the night had quietly produced. Lydia liked the certainty of it. A room might belong to a duke, a guest, or some titled relation whose name she would never remember, but dirty water still had to be carried out and sheets still had corners.
Four years of service had trained her body into the house. She knew which stair creaked, which landing stayed cold even in summer, and where a full basket could be set down for half a minute without blocking anyone important. At sixteen she had gone home every evening with aching shoulders. At twenty she could balance a linen basket against one hip, open a door with the other hand, and continue a conversation without slowing. The master bedchamber was more intimidating than most rooms only because the people who used it were still so near to the evidence of their private lives. The work itself was work.
She had worked at Ravensmere for four years. She knew perfectly well why a room like this might be untidy. She had found gentlemen’s cravats, ladies’ hairpins, and empty water jugs ordered at midnight often enough. Even so, standing beside a bed two people had only recently left and stripping the linen from it still made the tips of her ears warm. She picked up a silk stocking from the edge of the carpet and set it on a chair, then bent to tug a sheet free from beneath the mattress. One corner was wedged in tight. Lydia pulled with both hands. The sheet suddenly came loose, bringing a pillow with it, which promptly fell straight onto her face.
“Excellent,” Lydia muttered to the pillow as she dragged it off.
The other maid stifled a laugh while tending the grate. Lydia laughed too, then went straight back to work. Once the bed was stripped, she opened the window to air the room and crouched to check underneath the bed for anything left behind. Near the edge of the carpet, a deep red glint caught the early light. It was a ruby earring. The gold setting was delicate, ringed with smaller stones, and one glance was enough to tell Lydia that it was worth more than several months of her wages. She placed it carefully in her palm. She was about to call the other maid over when a voice behind her said, “What have you found?” She startled badly enough that she nearly dropped the earring after all.
Edmund had returned from the dressing room without her noticing, an opened letter still in one hand. He had clearly only come back for something he had forgotten. Lydia straightened at once, curtsied, then held out her hand.
“Your Grace. I found this beside the bed.”
Edmund recognised Vivienne’s earring immediately. He took it, asked where exactly she had found it, then slipped it into his pocket and thanked her. Lydia visibly relaxed, her gaze already drifting toward the unfinished bed. He had been about to leave. Seeing her standing there as though waiting for permission to return to work, he asked almost absently, “Your name?”
“Lydia Ward, Your Grace.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Four years. I came in May.”
Longer than he would have guessed. Ravensmere employed enough servants that there was nothing unusual about its master not knowing the name of a housemaid who had been there four years. Edmund nodded and gave the matter no further significance. Lydia, however, noticed that he was still standing directly where she needed to pass.
“May I finish the room, Your Grace?” she asked carefully.
He stepped aside. “Of course.” Only after the door closed again did she let out a long breath.
“What were you so nervous about?” the other maid asked.
Lydia shoved a pillowcase into the basket. “For a second I thought he might think I’d taken the earring.” The maid glanced at the dirty linen still in Lydia’s hands. “If you were going to steal it, you probably wouldn’t stand there holding it until the owner came back.” Lydia had to admit that was true. She laughed at herself, hoisted the top basket into her arms, and told the other girl to hurry. Mrs. Bell would be checking the master bedroom soon. What Lydia actually cared about was getting the work finished before she arrived.
