rest of him, hence the jest was permitted between brothers when private, but Ash’s remark was still… a bit much, particularly following an unreciprocated blow. “I am out of sorts, and I do apologize.”
“Are you managing, Ash?”
“I am tired, and Chastain’s wife accosting Della at breakfast was the outside of too much. Mrs. Chastain was pleasant, but Della was upset by the encounter. I thought to leave my wife some solitude to gather her wits. Perhaps I’m in need of a nap myself.”
Sycamore gave him the sort of up-and-down perusal that made Ash want to howl.
“It can start like this,” Sycamore said. “You get irritable and nasty, and then the melancholia descends.”
A thousand irritable and nasty retorts sprang to mind, which only underscored Sycamore’s point.
“I know,” Ash said. “Damned if I have a clue what to do about it.” Particularly with Della begging him not to let her out of his sight, Chastain circling like a hungry boar hog, and two more weeks of Lady Wentwhistle’s dubious hospitality to endure.
“Not the shawl,” Della said, retrieving it from the maid’s grasp. “I keep that with me.” Moreover, washing a crocheted shawl when that article was clean made no sense.
The maid, a rosy-cheeked, blond young lady by the name of Trask, curtseyed for the fifteenth time.
“Sorry, my lady. I do beg your pardon. I’m not really a lady’s maid. I’m barely a chambermaid, but Lady W needed the extra hands, and here I am.”
“I am very pleased to have your assistance,” Della said, though she would have been more pleased to finish her nap. “I’m sure Lady Wentwhistle has faith in your potential, or she would not have relied upon you to take up these duties.”
Trask gazed at Della as if she’d spoken in Finnish.
“She trusts you,” Della said, “and to be honest, my needs are few. Sponge off a few frocks, iron a few others. Mend the occasional tear, and mind my linen doesn’t get lost in the laundry.”
Trask’s shoulders dropped two inches. “I can do that, ma’am. I mean, my lady. I’m a laundry maid, truth be told. I’ll see to your clothes and make a proper job of that. You don’t need me to tend to your hair?”
“I will manage that myself.”
Trask smiled, revealing perfect teeth. “I’m that relieved. I have no idea what to do with a lady’s hair. Never used a pair of curling tongs except once when my sister was trying to catch Whit Sylvester’s eye. That did not go well, though she’s Mrs. Sylvester now, with two little ones underfoot. Names are Jenny and Jake. I can mend and wash and iron with the best of them, but I’m not the fancy sort.”
Trask was not the quiet sort either. She chattered as she gathered up Della’s carriage dress and riding habit. She chattered as she tidied up the clothes in the wardrobe. She fell silent only as she wrestled with the window sash, which had refused to close the last inch.
“I’ll run a bar of hard soap along the sides,” she said. “Works a treat. It’s this weather. Too dampish for me, makes the wood swell. My mother always said…”
Her prattling ceased as she peered down at the terrace.
Della joined her at the window. Ash could very likely get the damned window shut without anybody using any expensive soap. Della had watched him circling the maze, though now he stood talking with Sycamore near the foot of the garden.
“If I might ask, who is that gent by the steps, my lady?”
Oh, him. “The blond fellow?”
“He’s been in and out of the gazebo since luncheon.”
“His name is William Chastain. He and his new wife are among Lady Wentwhistle’s guests.”
Trask’s fair brows drew down. “He has a new wife?”
William and Ash would not be able to see each other, given the height of the privet hedges. Della did not like knowing they were in the same county, much less the same garden.
“He does, a pleasant lady of French extraction.” About whom Della had myriad reservations, though at least the dreaded confrontation had been dealt with.
“Oh, the Quality,” Trask muttered, moving away from the window. “I’ll have your clothes back to you by tomorrow, my lady. You’re sure I can’t brush off that shawl for you? I’ll be ever so careful.”
“No, thank you.”
Though it took three more curtseys, Trask eventually went bustling on her way. Della considered returning to the bed, where she’d been all but asleep when Trask had interrupted her. To have been roused from near