The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,79
better look out the window, and a soft exclamation fell from his lips. “What the devil? I tell you, Gray, you’ll want to come and take a look out the window.”
Tristan stayed where he was, his gaze hardening as he fixed it on Lyndon’s back. “Did you hear me, Lyndon? I’m not turning this business over to Sampson Willis. I can’t.”
Lyndon made an impatient noise in his throat, then beckoned to Tristan with one hand, keeping his gaze on whatever was taking place outside. “For God’s sake, Gray, cease your blathering and come here, will you?”
“Unconventional? Er…yes. You could say that.” Lyndon flapped a hand toward the window. “See for yourself.”
Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “I grant you she’s unpredictable, and not the sort of lady we’ve ever known before, but for all her unpredictability, I don’t believe she’s up to anything truly unscrupulous.”
“No?” Lyndon turned and leaned back against the windowsill with his eyebrow raised. “Well, then. I suppose there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation why I’ve just seen her darting about in the mews, dressed as a milkmaid, with a yoke over her shoulders and a bucket of milk in each hand.”
Tristan stared at him for one frozen moment, then leapt from his chair and rushed to the window. He glanced from one end of the mews to the other, then peered directly below before turning to Lyndon with an incredulous expression. “Have you gone mad, Lyndon? She’s not down there!”
“The devil she isn’t.” Lyndon crowded into the window beside Tristan, and pointed at the mews below. “She right there, Gray, at Lord Everly’s kitchen door.”
Tristan nudged Lyndon aside. He could make out Everly’s servants’ entrance at the edge of the window, and he caught a glimpse of dark hair and drab skirts before the kitchen door opened, and the small figure disappeared into the depths of Lord Everly’s townhouse.
Chapter Sixteen
“Yer not Polly.” A slovenly-looking creature in a soiled apron stood in the doorway to Lord Everly’s kitchen, glaring at Sophia. “What’s ’appened to Polly?”
Not a thing had happened to Polly. On the contrary, she’d come upon Sophia at precisely the right time, and met with an extraordinary stroke of good luck. Polly had taken one look at the shiny gold sovereign in Sophia’s palm, snatched it up, and turned over her garb, yoke, and pails without a single question or a word of argument.
“Polly’s ill. I’m her, er…her sister.”
Just before Sophia had knocked on the door, she’d uttered a quick prayer Lord Everly didn’t employ one of those despotic French cooks—they were a fussy lot, always asking questions—but it seemed his lordship had gone in quite the opposite direction.
The woman swept a critical look over Sophia, then let out a derisive snort. “Sister, eh? Polly’s got two stone on ye, girl. Ye look like yer about to topple over with them pails.” She shifted half a step away from the door. “Aw right, then. The master must ’ave ’is milk, one way or t’other.”
Sophia stepped over the threshold of Lord Everly’s townhouse and into his kitchen, grinning to herself over the success of her plan. Yes, she was trussed up with a wooden yoke over her shoulders like a pair of oxen, but aside from the heavy milk pails she was staggering under, it had worked brilliantly.
Even better than the pediment roof.
Thinking of Lord Everly’s roof instantly conjured up thoughts of Tristan, but Sophia pushed them resolutely away. If she could judge by the scowl on Lord Everly’s cook’s face, she wasn’t the chatty, friendly sort, which meant Sophia had only a little time to work out how to get her business done before she was tossed out the door.
She glanced around, noting the layout of the kitchen, particularly the doors and windows. There was a tiny sliver of space underneath the door behind her. Sophia fingered the small metal buckle she’d pried off her shoe and shoved into her pocket. The gap was awfully narrow, but a good shove with her toe might see the thing done.
There was another doorway at the opposite end of the kitchen, but it was impossible to tell where it led. Then there was the one window behind her that looked out onto the mews. Sophia narrowed her eyes, considering it. It was small, but she might be able to slip through it if she were careful—
“Don’t stand about gaping like a half-wit, girl. Do yer work, and git.”