The Valet Who Loved Me - Valerie Bowman Page 0,44
her face had been replaced with one of pure loathing.
While she hadn’t expected a warm welcome, Marianne certainly hadn’t expected this level of animosity. She fumbled to remember her story.
“I, uh, you’re Lady Hightower’s maid, Ramona, correct?” she blurted.
The maid’s eyes narrowed further until they were barely slits in her face. “I’m no such thing! Now get out o’ here before I call one o’ me master’s footmen to rid the doorstep of ye.” And with that the maid shut the door in her face.
Marianne stood there for a few surprised minutes, blinking and wondering why exactly the maid had been so hostile to her. Now that she’d seen her up close, she didn’t recognize her. Marianne sincerely doubted she was one of Lord Clayton’s servants, who’d been nothing but friendly. No, this woman was one of the guests’ servants, and she clearly wasn’t employed by the Hightowers.
Marianne moved off toward the servants’ staircase cursing her ill luck. She’d hoped that, if she guessed at the woman’s identity, the maid would feel compelled to tell her who she truly worked for. That ploy had backfired, obviously, and Marianne was no closer to learning the girl’s name than she had been when she knocked on the door.
Marianne shook her head as she made her way past Beau’s door and down the staircase toward the servants’ hall. Whoever the maid was, she’d certainly been rude and unhelpful. In fact, she’d been so rude and unhelpful, Marianne began to wonder if she was hiding something. Something other than a man leaving her bedroom in the wee hours of the morning—something Marianne could hardly fault her for, having just done something quite similar herself.
As she stepped into the servants’ hall, a friendly voice greeted her. “G’mornin’, Miss Notley. Ye’re certainly up early today.”
Marianne turned to see Mrs. Cotswold, the housekeeper, busily trundling around the corridor, carrying a teapot toward the kitchen.
An idea leaped to Marianne’s mind. She might not know who all the servants were, but she guessed Mrs. Cotswold might know. “Good morning, Mrs. Cotswold,” she called back, a slight smile popping to her lips. “I need yer help, please.”
The housekeeper stopped and her smile widened. “I certainly will help if I can, Miss Notley.”
“Excellent,” Marianne replied. “I’m hoping if I describe a maid ta ye, includin’ the room where she be staying upstairs, ye can tell me who she be.”
Chapter Twenty-One
In addition to the mind-numbing sex he’d shared with Marianne last night, Beau had had a particularly busy night and morning. After Marianne had tiptoed back to her room soon after they’d laid together for the second time in as many days, Beau had sneaked downstairs to speak to Kendall again.
He couldn’t help himself. He had to hear from the horse’s own mouth what had happened in the dining room between Kendall and Miss Wharton last night. Turned out, Miss Wharton had run away from the earl precisely as Marianne had described. And while Kendall had chased after her and attempted to explain himself, Miss Wharton had refused to listen.
Which is precisely what Kendall had done when Beau attempted to provide the man with additional unsolicited advice telling him he had to keep trying. Kendall had finally told him to get out, and suggested that Beau go speak to Miss Wharton directly if he wanted her to change her mind. Beau had thought about it for only a few moments before deciding to do exactly that.
Of course, he’d had to wait until morning dawned and Miss Wharton had gone to Clayton’s library as had become her habit. But Beau had sauntered in and had a brief talk with Miss Wharton, a talk he believed just might have served to change the lady’s extremely stubborn mind.
Beau wasn’t patting himself on the back quite yet, however. It still remained to be seen if Miss Wharton would, in fact, forgive poor Kendall. And the story Beau had told the young woman in an effort to convince her had come at a price.
For the second time in as many days, Beau had been forced to reminiscence about the worst mistake of his life.
“There’s not a day that goes by that regret is not my constant companion,” he’d told Miss Wharton. “Take it from me. The moment you make the decision you’ll regret for eternity can also feel very much like being perfectly right.”
Add that to the fact that there were only five more days left of the house party and he’d yet to uncover the Bidassoa