At Beaumont House I’d slept in milady’s dressing room on a hard wooden pallet. Here I was given a proper bed in a room adjoining the nursery. It was covered with a featherbed so thick I longed to jump up and down on it like a child. It was hard for me to pay attention to the rest of the Countess’ words. “Anyone who comes to us from the Marquis is a friend,” she was saying as she dandled Rose, her baby, on her hip. I knew little of tending babies, but I’d always thought highborn ladies left that work to their servants. The Countess of Dorchester seemed to be unusual in many ways. “Oh but I didn’t…” “I understand you were working for his late wife.” An expression almost like pity crossed her face. “A fascinating woman, God rest her soul.” “Yes, milady.” She went to the small window that looked down over the formal gardens to one side of the house. This was one treat I promised myself once I was alone. I wanted to gaze upon the riot of pink roses and the intricate boxwood hedge to my heart’s content.
