India Black And The Widow Of Windsor - Plot & Excerpts
I yawned my way back to Flora’s room. I was spent from reading the Holy Scriptures to the marchioness during the wee hours, interrogating Cook and Robbie Munro, and narrowly escaping becoming the Prince of Wales’s latest conquest. I needed a tranquil night, which, of course, I was not to have, for just as the long-case clock in the hall struck midnight, a footman I hadn’t seen before knocked loudly on the door and woke me from my slumbers. I opened the door to him in my shift, which struck the poor man dumb. “The marchioness?” I queried, and the bloke nodded silently, tearing his eyes away from my décolletage with difficulty and stumbling away down the hall, having delivered his message. I dressed, not without difficulty as my fingers were clumsy and stiff from the cold and lack of sleep, and blundered groggily through the corridors with a candle in my hand. The marchioness was sitting up in bed, nursing a whisky and looking damnably pert for this hour of the night. Dispiritedly, I contemplated another session with that lively band of fun seekers, the Old Testament prophets.
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