Free The Lady’s Secret by Joanna Chambers Page A

Fellowes’ story was going to play out, to insinuate himself into its very pages and become a player himself.
    And so it was that as the clock struck two, Nathan placed the letter back where he had found it, on the dressing room floor, and went to bed.
    And the next morning, when he walked into the dressing room for his morning shave, Fellowes was standing, waiting next to the basin of steaming scented water, the blade in his hand.
    The letter was gone.
     
    Once Harland was dressed, Georgy raced up to her room to put Harry’s letter away. Thank god she’d found it before Harland had. Not that it gave anything away, but it was rather suspicious sounding. Stupid of her to read it in his rooms like that—she’d nearly died when he’d strode in last night and caught her lounging in his chair. Even more stupid to drop the letter.
    She scanned its contents one more time before putting it away. Harry had never been a great letter writer and they had agreed that he should keep his notes brief, and direct them via Max, in case they should fall into the wrong hands.
    Not that there was anything to report anyway. Harry had been making his way through the hamlets of Yorkshire for weeks now and his single vague reference to a new “titbit” of information wasn’t very heartening. More and more, she was convinced it was down to her to find something at Dunsmore Manor. There was no question of her reconsidering and going home now.
    Three more days. In three days, they would travel to Bedfordshire and the opportunity she had been working toward all these weeks would finally present itself.

Chapter 7
    19 December 1810
    The night before they were due to leave for Dunsmore Manor, Georgy felt like a limp rag.
    She had spent all day pressing clothes, packing valises and hatboxes and making travel arrangements. It had been a long, tiring day and it was not yet over. At almost nine o’clock in the evening, Harland was still in his bath. He was going out with his friend Viscount Maybury and she was waiting to dress him. Once he had left, she still had to tidy the dressing room and finish the packing before she could retire.
    She yawned, perching on the edge of Harland’s bed so as not to crease the satin bedspread.
    God only knew where the two men intended to go—Maybury had a shocking reputation—but wherever it was, Harland would be home very late.
    Nevertheless, Georgy was under strict instructions to wake him at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. He would be able to sleep in his carriage on the way to Bedfordshire, of course. His carriage was upholstered in luxurious velvet and tomorrow morning it would be stuffed with cushions, travelling rugs and hot bricks for his feet. Unlike the travelling coach that Georgy would be sharing with Harland’s luggage, which would be quite devoid of such comforts.
    It had been a relief to be hard at work today. She had needed work to take her mind off the worry of having to convince a whole new set of people that she was a male servant. She had become comfortable in Harland’s London townhouse and she dreaded the upheaval and the real possibility of discovery that changing households threatened. What if she had to share a room with another servant at Dunsmore House? And then there was the fact that she would be right under Dunsmore’s nose.
    Harland was singing to himself in the bath. He did that sometimes when she left the room. She closed her eyes, giving in to her weariness for a moment while his pleasant baritone nudged at her consciousness. Lord, but it would be lovely to fall backwards onto the thick mattress behind her and just sleep.
    A rush of water heralded that Harland was at last rising from his bath. She pictured him naked, pale skin glowing in the candlelight, water streaming from his body, droplets clinging to the hair on his chest and groin and long thighs. She hastily suppressed the image and stood up, smoothing down her breeches. The door between the bedchamber and the dressing