Free A Love by Any Measure by Killian McRae Page A

double, then stick it in the oven to bake. It’s more about the size of it than the time.”
    A twinkle of bells in the front of the store alerted the women that the calm of the mid-morning lull was passing and the banking crowd was soon to arrive. Wiping her floured hands over her apron, Katie turned to Maeve.
    “I’ll bring up some loaves from the racks. Can you handle?”
    Two English ladies, modest in the fashion befitting their station, stood at the counter chattering like little music boxes gone mad. Their expressions were mischievous and haughty, as though they were privy to some great secret and couldn’t believe their luck at the lot of it.
    “How can I help you?”
    Their response to Maeve’s inquiry was a snide glare.
    The one to the right sneered as she overly enunciated the request in the Queen’s proper English, as though speaking to a slow child. “Six baguettes and three white loaves, for Sir Edmund Gantry, charged to his account.” She tossed a cotton sack on the counter with little concern where it landed.
    A quick nod to acknowledge the order, and Maeve turned to the other maid with an inquisitive gaze.
    “Nothing for me, thank you,” the second woman returned, her voice kindly. Her companion gave her a little nudge as Maeve took the cotton sack. “Cecily, whatever did you do that for?”
    “Oh, Margaret! ‘Nothing for me, thank you,’” she mocked as Maeve pulled out the baguette basket and began to sort through. “So polite to the natives, are we?”
    Maeve gnashed her teeth, wondering if Cecily really believed that a distance of five meters rendered her unable to hear. Still, she knew better than to raise ire against the English bit; having it out with a customer on her second day of employment wouldn’t reflect well on her—or Owen. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on the loaves as Cecily continued.
    “Oh, then again, your lady is half-native, isn’t she?”
    Margaret sounded almost admonished in her response. “Yes, Lord Grayson’s mother was Irish. To the best of my knowledge, the pedigree has done Miss Caroline no ill.”
    Feeling a little jolt of surprise, Maeve stood erect and spun around. Her sudden movement drew curious glances from the English maids, but Maeve made quick her recovery.
    “Sorry, miss. Was that five baguettes?”
    Cecily scowled, her lip curling. “Six, and snap to.” As she turned back around, Maeve heard the venomous voice continue. “My dear, the pedigree, as you so diplomatically put it, is the least to blame for poor Caroline Grayson’s lack of decorum. She was practically an orphan, don’t you know? Her mother died when she was a child, and they say that Emmanuel Grayson sent her off to live with her governess even before that. They say Caroline looks so much like her mother that he couldn’t stand the sight of her. I heard she hadn’t even seen her father or brother for ten years when the old frog croaked.”
    “But she’s with him now,” the kinder of the pair countered. “Miss Caroline told me herself that the first thing Lord Grayson did when their father died was come collect her. They’ve barely been separated since, and it pained him to leave her behind in England to come set up Shepherd’s Bluff. Her arrival was quite the event. You should have seen Lord Grayson yesterday. He was positively alight with glee.”
    Despite herself, Maeve smirked. Until Cecily spoke again.
    “Oh, Lord Grayson.” From the tone, Maeve could imagine her swooning, even if her back was turned. “I would do nearly anything required to make him … alight with glee.”
    “Cecily!”
    But she refused to be ashamed. “Come now, Margaret. He’s handsome beyond all measure. Surely, sometime late at night after your Mistress goes to bed, you could chance into his chambers to offer ... to fluff his pillows.”
    Glancing back over her shoulder as she stuffed the rest of the bread into the sack, Maeve saw one girl looking wholly embarrassed as the other