Free Miser of Mayfair by MC Beaton Page B

mean?’
    ‘Naw!’ said Joseph. ‘I been out wiff her on her errands.’ Then he shook his head as if giving his slipping accent a shake to get it back into his mouth again. ‘Simple, if you esk me. Wrapped herself ehround with thet cloak of hers, covered from head to foot. Never said a word to me.’
    ‘I am afraid Miss Fiona is somewhat naive, Lizzie,’ said Mrs Middleton. ‘Forget her. Tomorrow we eat beef. Let us plan the menu.’
    Lizzie, who slept in a makeshift bed in the scullery, said her prayers that night. Unlike the others, she worshipped Fiona, thinking her a goddess. She began to believe everything Fiona had said about getting them money and clothes and food. She decided to forego her share of the beef and see if MacGregor would allow her some vegetables.
    She rose at five in the morning as it was her duty to serve the other servants with their morning tea. There was a little package beside the scullery sink. Lizzie could barely read, but she recognized her own name, neatly printed on the outside of the package. She put her shaking hands to her mouth, thinking the fairies had crept in during the night. At last, she crossed herself and opened the little package.
    Inside lay one long cherry-red silk ribbon. Lizzie thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. There was a small slip of paper with it with only one sentence of writing. Something stopped Lizzie from asking Rainbird to read it to her. Something stopped her from telling any of the others about her present. She did not want anyone to laugh at her or possibly take the ribbon away from her.
    Between her duties, she returned to the note, painfully deciphering each word until by evening she had it all. It said simply, ‘To tie up your hair. F. Sinclair.’
    A warm comfortable glow spread through Lizzie’s thin frame. Even when MacGregor dumped a plate of raw vegetables down in front of her and gave a cackling, jeering laugh, she still continued to glow. The others ate roast beef while abovestairs Mr Sinclair and Fiona fought with a leathery and athletic piece of venison.
    But Mr Sinclair was well pleased. They had had many callers including a certain Lady Disher, who had been most gracious to Fiona and had invited her to tea on the following day. ‘Not
you
, Mr Sinclair,’ Lady Disher had teased. ‘Ladies only.’
    And Mr Sinclair, flattered that Fiona’s newfound friend should be a lady of quality, eagerly pressed her to accept the invitation.

FIVE

    What have I done, so very wicked, that I may not ever again behold him? I will wait at his door, every night that I ascertain he is from home, and, the first time he happens to return on foot, I cannot fail to see him; and one word he must say to me, if it is but to order me home. Something like the man who boasted of having been addressed by the Emperor Bonaparte; What did he say to you? somebody asked.
Va t’en, coquin,
answered this true Christian.
    HARRIETTE WILSON’S MEMOIRS

    The Earl of Harrington pulled his shirt on after a bout in Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. John ‘Gentleman’ Jackson was English boxing champion from 1795 to 1803, although such was his enormous strength that he needed to appear in the ring only three times.
    The earl’s friend, Mr Toby Masters, looked wistfully at Harrington’s powerful chest and slim waist and then ruefully down at his own corpulence. Mr Masters loved eating and drinking, preferably to excess. He was uncomfortably aware of the heat of the room and the itching of his skin beneath his tight corset.
    ‘Have you heard about the latest beauty?’ he asked.
    ‘Hear of all sorts of beauties,’ said the earl, shrugging his broad shoulders into his coat. ‘Who is the latest fair charmer?’
    ‘A Miss Fiona Sinclair.’
    The earl stood very still, his coat half up over his shoulders. ‘I have met a Miss Fiona Sinclair,’ he said slowly.
    ‘Lucky dog,’ said Mr Masters. ‘Have you called on her already?’
    ‘No, not I,’ said