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midday meal.
    Since she was distracted, Molly jammed the needle she plied into her finger. “Oh shit.” Molly stuck the digit into her mouth. When she made her fortune, she’d never darn another thing again as long as she lived.
    Hearing a soft rap on the outer door, she jumped up. Molly hoped that deliverance from the hated chore waited for her on the other side of the panel. She pulled it open. Phoebe stood on the threshold with Annabel’s garments draped over her arm. She stepped back to let the girl enter.
    “I’ll put these away.” The young maid brushed her fingertips over the satin and Valenciennes lace of the undergarment. “I’ve never seen or touched anything so fine. It must feel lovely against the skin.”
    “I’ll do it, thank you.” Molly relieved Phoebe of the freshly laundered clothes, brushed past Bess, and set them in the lavender-scented drawers in the armoire.
    “There’s tea and buns in the kitchens if you want a cuppa,” Phoebe offered with a shy smile.
    “She’s not thirsty.” Bess’ gruff refusal on her behalf set Molly’s back up and fuelled a small revolt. She’d pay for it later and she didn’t care.
    “Actually, I feel a little parched.” Molly hooked her arm through Phoebe’s, pulled Phoebe out of the room, and pretended she didn’t hear Bess’ sputters.
    “I need you to get a message to Logan or Graeme for me. Tell them I need to speak to them on an urgent matter,” Molly whispered as they all but skipped down to the kitchen.
    A gap-toothed grin spread across Phoebe’s face. “I’ll see to it for you, miss.”
    “Deliver my message to them, Phoebe, and I’ll see to it you get a pair of silk drawers worthy of the Duchess of Devonshire’s noble behind.”
    Phoebe let out a merry laugh, hiked up her skirts, and took off running. Her ankles flashed as she raced through the busy kitchen and out of the back door.
    “What’s got into that girl?” the cook groused, her arms elbow deep in the dough she was kneading. “Tea’s fresh and the buns just came out of the oven.”
    “Thank you, I’m suddenly ravenous.”
     
    * * * *
     
    It was a very subdued Annabelle whom Molly helped into a tea-gown just before four.
    “You’ve been as tight-lipped as a sinner at confession, what happened?” Molly demanded.
    Her mistress lifted her head to meet Molly’s stare in the mirror she stood before. “It’s much worse than you can imagine. Priscilla’s face lit up when she got to the castle. The marquis is a slug, and twice as slimy, but Priscilla acted like an abbess showing her Haymarket wares.”
    A little shocked but amused by her mistress’s words, Molly worked to stifle her laugh. “Miss Annabelle, where did you pick up such talk?”
    “I’m not deaf, Molly.” Annabelle shuddered with distaste. “He grasped my hand, slipped a finger into my glove and caressed my wrist. It was embarrassing how Priscilla fawned over him, and he used it shamelessly. He dangled his title and reeled her in like a trout.” Annabel got up and paced around the room, her movements agitated.
    “Did the earl see what happened?” Molly mumbled around the hairpins she held between her lips.
    Annabelle’s grim mouth softened. “He gave Haversham one steely glare which quelled any further improprieties.” A pleased smile spread across her face.
    “Did he now?” Well, well, what a fine turn of events. “We should take him into our confidence,” Molly suggested.
    “His regard couldn’t be any lower. My dear stepmamma was so obvious in her ambitions,” Annabelle moaned. “Given time I could grow fond of him.”
    “Fond? The earl didn’t strike me as a man with a mild disposition. If all else fails, you could seduce his lordship,” Molly advised, afraid that Priscilla would squeeze an invitation from the marquis.
    “He’d see that as an act of desperation and he’s too much of a gentleman to take advantage of me.”
    “Sex makes the wisest man a fool and a foolish one