Hester’s mouth set in a prim line, but the morning light streaming through the kitchen window betrayed the furtive look in her eyes. "Why, I'm sure I don't know what yer ladyship would be meaning." "And I am perfectly sure that you do." Phaedra whisked past the spit boy turning a haunch of beef over the kitchen's massive hearth. She followed Hester round the broad oak table heaped with biscuits, cakes, and enough hunks of gingerbread to feed an army of hungry boys. Hester reached for a straw basket, affecting to count the currant cakes. "I heard you talking to someone. A man," Phaedra persisted, her temper fraying. She'd had too little sleep, and was oppressed by the heat rolling from the cook's fires. "It must have been past two o'clock in the morning." "I am not the sort of woman to be found entertaining gentlemen in the gardens after midnight." Hester sniffed. "It must’ve been one of the parlor maids.” "I know your voice quite well," Phaedra said. "It was you, although I could not tell who the man was." "Couldn't you?" Hester's smile was smug.
