did not belong here and never would.
“Sir.” A servant paused next to James, tray in hand.
“Thank you.” James set his flute upon the tray and started to turn away, intent on capturing at least one new client that night.
“No,” the man whispered furiously.
James paused, glancing back. The man’s face was utterly red with embarrassment. He didn’t speak, merely slid a folded note toward James. Frowning, James took the missive and moved away. Another mysterious letter. Surely Alex wasn’t contacting him here, of all places. He slipped behind a column, hidden from view, and opened the note.
Head through the kitchen and meet me in the back garden.
Dare he hope that Lady Beckett had written the note? No, he wasn’t that lucky. But it was obviously from a woman, if the feathery handwriting and floral scent were any indication. It must be a client, one who frequented the estate, for they were the only ones who would be so bold. He glanced toward Lady Lavender, and as she met his gaze, she understood. He needed no permission, as long as he was working.
He placed the note into his jacket pocket and followed the corridor toward the back of the house. The dancing, laughing guests did not notice, for he’d learned early in life to become one with the shadows. The farther into the house he traveled, the quieter it became. He followed the dimly lit corridor past many wealthy paintings of landscapes and dour-looking relatives. Past maids and footmen scurrying to get drinks to spoiled guests. Even past a few couples kissing in the shadowed corners. It was a ball that was not for the innocent. Nothing surprised him anymore.
At the end of the corridor he could see the serving maids rushing around the kitchen, various meals in midpreparation. He breathed deeply the scent of bread, roasted duck, and other delicious servings. It was one of many benefits of his station in life… the meals. Meals he never could have imagined, let alone tasted, as a lad. He turned left and headed out the back door. Heknew the layout well, for he had entertained more than one tryst in Lady Rutherford’s gardens.
The night air was cool and crisp. Only a few stars were visible, for they were not far enough away from London to escape the gray cloud of smoke produced by the factories. He shifted his gaze west to the stone wall and beyond. There was the countryside. Just beyond those hills. And out there, hours away, his mum and sister breathed in the clean air. Perhaps tonight they were eating his mother’s famous beef stew and wondering where he was, what adventures he was on. The thought made him uneasy, melancholy.
He smoothed down his jacket and glanced around the garden, looking for signs of a gown, the giggle of feminine laughter. No one. He moved down the shallow steps and followed the gravel path around the corner to the rose gardens, the air heavy with the sweet scent of roses. A scent that reminded him all to clearly of Lady Beckett. He paused near a fountain of a naked baby spewing water from his mouth.
Not a soul, which was odd. Usually there was at least a couple or two kissing in the privacy of the gardens. He started to turn when he was greeted by the crunch of feet over gravel. Not the soft whisper of feminine slippers. No, these were heavy, hurried. A shiver of unease raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. James spun around.
The two hulking forms that suddenly appeared from the shadows didn’t exactly make him feel better. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
Gentlemen, for they were dressed in evening attire. But they were young, pocked-faced lads who were barely out of the schoolroom; spoiled brutes who were all too common in the
ton
. They were looking to prove their worth, and unless he could talk his way out of the situation, he had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.
“Yes, you can help us by leaving,” the shorter man said, heading left as his friend went right. “You don’t belong here.”
Contempt
“Sir.” A servant paused next to James, tray in hand.
“Thank you.” James set his flute upon the tray and started to turn away, intent on capturing at least one new client that night.
“No,” the man whispered furiously.
James paused, glancing back. The man’s face was utterly red with embarrassment. He didn’t speak, merely slid a folded note toward James. Frowning, James took the missive and moved away. Another mysterious letter. Surely Alex wasn’t contacting him here, of all places. He slipped behind a column, hidden from view, and opened the note.
Head through the kitchen and meet me in the back garden.
Dare he hope that Lady Beckett had written the note? No, he wasn’t that lucky. But it was obviously from a woman, if the feathery handwriting and floral scent were any indication. It must be a client, one who frequented the estate, for they were the only ones who would be so bold. He glanced toward Lady Lavender, and as she met his gaze, she understood. He needed no permission, as long as he was working.
He placed the note into his jacket pocket and followed the corridor toward the back of the house. The dancing, laughing guests did not notice, for he’d learned early in life to become one with the shadows. The farther into the house he traveled, the quieter it became. He followed the dimly lit corridor past many wealthy paintings of landscapes and dour-looking relatives. Past maids and footmen scurrying to get drinks to spoiled guests. Even past a few couples kissing in the shadowed corners. It was a ball that was not for the innocent. Nothing surprised him anymore.
At the end of the corridor he could see the serving maids rushing around the kitchen, various meals in midpreparation. He breathed deeply the scent of bread, roasted duck, and other delicious servings. It was one of many benefits of his station in life… the meals. Meals he never could have imagined, let alone tasted, as a lad. He turned left and headed out the back door. Heknew the layout well, for he had entertained more than one tryst in Lady Rutherford’s gardens.
The night air was cool and crisp. Only a few stars were visible, for they were not far enough away from London to escape the gray cloud of smoke produced by the factories. He shifted his gaze west to the stone wall and beyond. There was the countryside. Just beyond those hills. And out there, hours away, his mum and sister breathed in the clean air. Perhaps tonight they were eating his mother’s famous beef stew and wondering where he was, what adventures he was on. The thought made him uneasy, melancholy.
He smoothed down his jacket and glanced around the garden, looking for signs of a gown, the giggle of feminine laughter. No one. He moved down the shallow steps and followed the gravel path around the corner to the rose gardens, the air heavy with the sweet scent of roses. A scent that reminded him all to clearly of Lady Beckett. He paused near a fountain of a naked baby spewing water from his mouth.
Not a soul, which was odd. Usually there was at least a couple or two kissing in the privacy of the gardens. He started to turn when he was greeted by the crunch of feet over gravel. Not the soft whisper of feminine slippers. No, these were heavy, hurried. A shiver of unease raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. James spun around.
The two hulking forms that suddenly appeared from the shadows didn’t exactly make him feel better. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
Gentlemen, for they were dressed in evening attire. But they were young, pocked-faced lads who were barely out of the schoolroom; spoiled brutes who were all too common in the
ton
. They were looking to prove their worth, and unless he could talk his way out of the situation, he had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.
“Yes, you can help us by leaving,” the shorter man said, heading left as his friend went right. “You don’t belong here.”
Contempt
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