Free Brighton Road by Susan Carroll

encounter the day
before.
    Garbed in that unbecoming gown, she sat in a
straight-backed chair fingering her bonnet with a forlorn
expression on her face. She took no notice of the cup of tea the
solicitous Leatherbury placed upon the table beside her.
    When Ravenel entered, the host met his
questioning look with a frown. "The maid seems to have vanished, my
lord, and Miss Vickers has been telling me her fears that a
sleep-inducing agent was introduced into her milk last night. We
have no choice but to conclude that Mademoiselle Colette was the
culprit."
    This information occasioned the baron no
surprise, but Miss Vickers's expression did. Earlier she had not
been in the least perturbed to find her belongings plundered; now
she appeared excessively troubled.
    "It is not that I mind so much about my
things," she said. It was only a parcel of frocks and fripperies
after all. But it is most distressing to be betrayed by a person
one knew and trusted."
    Aye, thought Ravenel. Miss Vickers, for all
her grim imaginings about villains and evildoers, was exactly the
sort of lady who would trust everyone, who cherished complete faith
in her fellow creatures. As he observed the puzzled hurt welling in
her luminous green eyes, he was astonished to feel a strong urge to
find that French trollop and wring her neck.
    He strode up to Gwenda, took her hand, and
patted it. "My dear Miss Vickers, a dishonest wench like that is
hardly worth fretting over. I am sure it will be only a matter of
time before she receives her just punishment and your belongings
are returned."
    Gwenda glanced up at Ravenel, astonished by
both the gesture and the gentleness of his tone. The kindness and
sympathy on his face did much to mitigate the natural severity of
his features. She wondered if the man had any notion how
devastating his eyes were when they glowed softly like that. His
hand was quite large and strong, engulfing her slender fingers in a
warm clasp. She felt oddly breathless and had difficulty
concentrating on what he was saying.
    "Perhaps there might be some clue in your
maid's background, Miss Vickers. Who referred her to your
service?"
    His palms were slightly callused, likely from
riding. She could picture him masterfully gathering up the reins of
a fiery black stallion, its glossy mane the same midnight color as
his hair.
    "Miss Vickers?" Ravenel prodded gently.
Gwenda came out of her daydreaming with a start. He had been asking
her something. What was it? Oh, yes. Colette's character
reference.
    "She didn't have one," she replied.
    "Didn't have one!" the baron echoed, looking
nonplussed.
    "No, we met her one day in a millinery shop.
Mama hired her because she spoke such beautiful French."
    Neither Ravenel nor Mr. Leatherbury appeared
to be following her logic, so Gwenda explained patiently, "My
mother is deeply concerned about Napoleon, the threat of a French
invasion. She thought it would be good if we perfected our command
of the language."
    "But—but," Mr. Leatherbury protested, "why
didn't she engage a tutor?"
    "I didn't want a tutor," Gwenda said. "I
needed a maid."
    "Of all the cork-brained—" Ravenel dropped
her hand and fixed her with a stern eye. "Are you giving me to
understand that you simply plucked this woman out of the
streets?"
    "Not out of the streets," Gwenda said,
resenting his tone. "Out of a hat shop."
    He shook his head in disgust. "Then I fear
you have gotten exactly what you deserved, Miss Vickers."
    Gwenda was stunned by his change of attitude.
But if he had suddenly lost all sympathy for her, she was beginning
to feel out of charity with him, especially when he launched into a
long homily about the folly of hiring servants without
references.
    This was Lord Ravenel at his positively most
stuffy, Gwenda thought. When he squared his shoulders in that
pompous manner, she longed to stick a pin into him. She crossed her
arms over her chest, wondering how such a man could ever have made
her heart skip a beat, even for the