Free Lady of Shame by Ann Lethbridge Page B

with another female living in the same house made her stomach churn. Yet she could not afford to pass up any opportunity. For Jane’s sake.
    And for the sake of the Montagues. It was a heavy responsibility Crispin had asked her to bear on behalf of the family. But it was only fair.
    Outside the kitchen, her heart began to beat a little faster. Monsieur André did that to her each and every time they met, and they had been meeting more often because of these dinner parties.
    A chef? Surely not? It was simply a feminine appreciation of a handsome face and a strong manly form. Nothing more. Any woman with blood in her veins would notice. She certainly knew better than to believe that what was on the outside in any way reflected a man’s worth.
    She straightened her spine, let a mask of cool reserve fall over her features and stepped into the large warm room. Flames from the huge fire danced in the surfaces of pots and pans stacked neatly on shelves. Windows in the walls provided fresh air and daylight to augment the candles in wall sconces. The scent of baking bread filled her nostrils.
    There was something completely entrancing about the smell of warm yeast. Heart-warming. Earthily seductive. And here was Jane with her chef’s cap listing over one eye, crumbs and jam around her mouth, sipping a cup of tea with two young women. Becca the scullery maid and one of the kitchen maids, Agnes.
    Becca leapt to her feet, wringing her hands and bobbing sporadically, while the other kitchen maid rose slowly, staring at her with interest. Of Monsieur André there was no sign.
    Disappointment dipped her stomach. Followed swiftly by anger. At herself. This was how she’d ruined her life before. Falling under the spell of an unsuitable man. This time she would keep her impulses firmly under control.
    ‘Good afternoon, Becca,’ she said coolly. ‘I am sorry to interrupt your tea, but Miss Jane is required to accompany me.’
    ‘Did you know Monsieur André fought with Napoleon?’ Jane said, setting down her cup.
    Becca flushed scarlet. She gestured weakly at the other girl. ‘Agnes was telling her.’
    Gossiping servants. This was why she should keep Jane away. She shot the other girl a severe look and held out her hand. ‘Come along. We are going for a walk.’
    Jane popped up from her stool. ‘They murdered the king and all the arist…arist…people with titles in France. Like Uncle. I’m glad I don’t have a title.’
    ‘England is not France,’ Claire said, holding out her hand. ‘And the King of France is back on the throne.’
    ‘Without his head?’
    Becca fled for her scullery. Agnes picked up a broom and began sweeping the flagstones. Gruesome creatures, filling the child’s head with lurid tales. Or was it the chef who had done so?
    ‘A new king,’ Claire said. ‘Come, let us get you cleaned up and we can talk about what happened in France on our way to the Dower House.’
    ‘Are we going to see the baby?’
    She had told Jane about her cousin earlier in the week. ‘Perhaps. That will depend upon his mother.’ They walked along the corridor side by side. ‘Where is Monsieur André this morning?’
    Oh, no, had she really asked that? She felt herself warm. Well, she needed to know if he had left Jane alone with those girls after he had agreed Jane would not spend time in his kitchen.
    ‘He went out.’ She shrugged.
    It was a very small shrug, like the one Monsieur André often employed. On the man, it was a slight lift of very broad shoulders, and heart-stoppingly attractive. On the little girl, it made Claire laugh.
    ‘You, young lady, are a minx. You were supposed to await me in the school room. Now we will have to wash your face before we can set out.’
    ‘I finished my book.’
    ‘You could have started another.’
    ‘I wanted to see what Monsieur André was cooking for supper.’
    ‘You wanted sweetmeats.’
    ‘That too.’ Jane grinned up at her.
    Claire pulled her close and gave her a quick