The Earl's Mistaken Bride - By Abby Gaines Page 0,50
hand over her mouth, not fast enough
to hide a giggle. “No, Mir—Miss Bligh, I didn’t mean
that.”
Reluctantly, Miriam smiled. Katie was one of the
Chalmers staff who came up to London for the Season,
so they knew each other well. “There are more
important things than looks, Katie. A kind heart, for
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one. That’s what God sees.”
Prompted by her own lecture, she held the door open
for Katie.
“Thank you, Miriam.” Katie didn’t notice she’d let
the name slip, and Miriam didn’t remind her.
The maid left the room, freeing Miriam to select Lady
Spenford’s afternoon and evening attire. She liked that
her mistress trusted her judgment, accepting Miriam’s
recommendations for her toilette and hairstyle. She only
wished she could be certain the countess’s faith wasn’t
misplaced.
Hmm, the sprigged muslin walking dress had a tear in
its white flounce. Miriam examined it. She could fix it
in a jiffy—she patted her pocket for her needle case.
Not there. She must have left it out last night after
darning her stockings. She’d been so tired, she could
have slept on the blighted needle without noticing.
She grimaced at the thought of trudging up two
flights of stairs just to fetch a needle. Maybe Powell
would lend her one, if she wasn’t busy with the
dowager’s mending. Or maybe…Miriam glanced at the
door connecting to the earl’s chamber. Tom Harper
would have a needle and white thread.
She hadn’t spoken to Tom since that day Lady
Spenford had taken her to visit him.
When she’d betrayed her feelings for him.
She’d seen him, of course, at mealtimes. But they
hadn’t talked.
The longer she left it, the harder it would be. This
was the perfect excuse to speak briefly to him, to show
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she didn’t feel any awkwardness—though that last
might take a miracle.
Her stomach churned as she turned the handle of the
connecting door, and pushed.
It didn’t move. She pushed again.
How odd that it should be locked. She turned the key
and found it stiff with disuse. Eventually, it yielded, and
she was able to open the door.
Tom stood at the other side of the earl’s bed. Like
her, he was engaged in the task of laying out his
employer’s wardrobe for the day.
“Can I help you, Miss Bligh?” he asked stiffly.
In the servants’ dining room, she hadn’t allowed her
gaze to rest on him. Now, she noted, he was paler than
he used to be, maybe thinner around the jaw. She had a
stupid urge to fatten him up.
“I’m after some white thread and a needle,” she said.
“I left mine upstairs.”
Without speaking, he fished in his pocket and pulled
out a needle case much like hers. As she took it, her
fingers brushed his. She pulled quickly back.
“Are you all better, then?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t feel so knocked about as I did,
but every so often I feel like I might keel over. The
doctor says I need more sleep to recover proper, but
that’s not going to happen.”
“That doesn’t sound too good.” She scrutinized him.
She’d show the same interest in anyone newly
recovered from influenza, she told herself.
“Maybe if you asked the earl for some more time
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off…” she suggested.
“What, and risk my job?” he said scornfully. “His
lordship doesn’t have much time for malingerers, even
them that are truly ill.”
Miriam could imagine.
“If I was to take off much longer, I’d get back here
and find some footman lording it in my position,” Tom
said.
“Then you can’t do that,” Miriam agreed.
“I’d best get back to my work.” He picked up the
brush Miriam assumed would be used on the earl’s coat.
She turned to go, more miserable than she’d ever
been. A glance back at Tom told her he was just as
miserable. Because of his illness, or was there more to
it?
Lady Spenford had been unhappy this morning, too.
Miriam would swear she’d been crying. And she’d
heard a sharp tone from the earl through this very door
earlier.
Something was wrong around here.
“Tom, did you notice,” she blurted, “the door
between these rooms was locked?”
He looked up from the coat, brush in hand. “Couldn’t
help but notice, with you rattling at the keyhole.”
Uneasy with the subject, they eyed the door, rather
than each other.
“Lady Spenford doesn’t seem happy,” she said. “She
puts a brave face on things, but…”
Harper looked around, as if someone might overhear.
“His lordship doesn’t have the air of a happy
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bridegroom. Especially not this morning—never seen
him in such a stinking mood.”
She could tell he was as appalled by his own
indiscretion in discussing such a thing as she was by
hers.
But it needed to be discussed. Almost every waking
hour of Miriam’s life was spent in Lady Spenford’s
service. It was the same for Harper. If their employers
were unhappy, that was bound to rub off. Besides, Lady
Spenford