Gentleman Never Tells (Regency Historical Romance)
Page 20
Hope that in time she would be able to erase the memory of her mother’s broken and lifeless body at the bottom of the stairs; the memory of her father at the top of the stairs, staring down at her with the same loathing and contempt he’d shown for her mother. Hope that her father would think her dead and not seek her out.
“All right then!”
Isabelle jumped at the abrupt reentry of the housekeeper and sought to control her racing pulse once again.
“A bit jumpy, aren’t ya?” The older woman smiled at her and then set a plate of warm biscuits before her. “Perhaps you’re a bit hungry as well?”
Isabelle looked from the biscuits to the woman and back again, very aware that she was salivating at the mouth. She’d had little to eat since she’d fled her father’s Mayfair home in the dead of night, three days ago. But she wondered if this was a test. Her father had never taken kindly to the servants taking what was not theirs, and that included food that had not been rationed to them. Certainly, their servants had never enjoyed such delectable-looking biscuits. Gruel and bread crusts were more like it.
“Well, go on before they turn cold,” the housekeeper urged, pushing the plate closer to Isabelle.
She couldn’t take it anymore. If she lost the position, it might very well be worth it. She reached for a biscuit, but stopped when the housekeeper let out a loud “Oh!”
Isabelle looked up at the woman. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, taking her hand away and tucking it into the damp fabric of her skirt. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You’ll of course want something to wash those down with!” The housekeeper wasn’t even paying attention to her now that her head was buried deep in an ice chest. “They’re a bit rich—the kind that stick to the roof of your mouth.” She poured milk into a glass and slid it across the table to Isabelle. “Well, what are ya waiting for, dearie? You must be starving. Never seen eyes so round with hunger in my life.”
And with that, Isabelle dove into the warm biscuits, heedless of crumbs, uncaring if she looked like a rabid animal as she stuffed them into her mouth. All she cared about was the slightly sweet, buttery taste on her tongue and the empty feeling in her stomach that was quickly disappearing.
“There now,” the housekeeper crooned. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Isabelle nodded, her mouth too full to speak. She took a gulp of the milk and swallowed down the last of the morsels. “Thank you. I-I…suppose I was hungry after all.”
“Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself.”
Isabelle gulped over the sudden formation of a lump in her throat. What the devil was she supposed to tell this woman? She couldn’t very well say that she was the daughter of a highly regarded member of the ton. Or that she’d watched her father—that highly regarded man—only three days ago, shove her mother down a flight of stairs to her death.
Her heart ached at the thought of her mother, and it was all she could do to focus on the task at hand. Somehow, some-way, she must convince this housekeeper that she was an orphan, completely alone in the world, with not a penny to her name. And even more importantly, she needed to convince her that she could serve a tea tray and roll out biscuit dough, and whatever else might be expected of her now. Now that she was a servant.
Drawing herself upright on the stool, Isabelle held out her hand, and said, “My name is Becky Thorn, and I am a maid.”
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Jerrica Knight-Catania
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The Wetherby Brides Series
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And Wetherby Short Stories
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About the Author
Jerrica Knight-Catania left her “glamorous” life as an actress in favor of becoming a romance author, where she could write about truly glamorous lives. She currently resides in New York City with her real-life hero of a husband, their shy Russian Blue, Dr. Snuggle, and their beautiful daughter who is most definitely a princess-in-training.
Visit Jerrica’s official website to learn more about her other books, the Wetherby family and to see what’s new in her writing world!
www.jerricasplace.com
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