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into a hall and kissed her, and she’d felt then how unbearable her situation was. Lady Delia’s friend Sir Carey had passed by them, excusing himself to Mr. Singer with an amused smile and of course ignoring her.
    She didn’t truly belong to the world of service, but would anyone believe she was a gentleman’s daughter? When Sir Carey was gone, she’d admonished Mr. Singer. “Sir, if you won’t consider your place, then do think of mine.”
    Then she’d agreed to meet him again on her next free day!
    In the kitchen, Matthew Peter brightened when he saw her, but she avoided him. She asked Cook for a pot of tea and took Mary aside to speak to her near the kitchen fire. “Mary, I’ve spoken with Mr. Peter. You’re going to have to continue on as Lady Delia’s maid.”
    “Oh, Miss Gray!” 
    “I’m sorry, Mary. But you know the duke makes up handsomely for her ladyship’s failings.” Susan never thought of the duke as Millie now. He was no longer a family friend and benefactor. He was her employer.
    He often invited Lady Delia to stay at Gohrum House when she was in town. Not only did she fail without fail to bring her own maid, she never left anything for the one the duke provided. He always gave a generous present to the maid, usually Mary, who drew the duty, but Lady Delia was so demanding and critical that it wasn’t really worth it.
    “She’ll be with us for the month. I know you will do your best.”
    When Mary left, Matthew Peter took her place. “I missed you last night. You were out late.”
    “I was visiting a friend in Highgate,” she said. “Not that it’s your business.” Her tea was ready, and she took the tray to her room. She didn’t like to be unkind, but it would be worse to encourage him.
    Had her excellent brain any sway with her unrealistic heart, she would forget Leopold Singer and love Matthew Peter. Everyone called him by his full name to distinguish him from his father. He was good-natured and very good-looking. He was exceedingly kind, and he adored her. She didn’t love him. She would never love him.
    She’d meant to walk away from Leopold Singer as soon as he replaced those eggs and never think of him again. Straight off she’d felt his desire for her, and when she really looked at him she saw how handsome he was. How noble in truth if not in birth. He was the kind of young man she had dreamed of loving once, when life permitted such dreams.
    So she had thought, why not ? It was unlikely she would ever marry, and it wasn’t as if she were some Vestal virgin. Why should she not have a taste of the happiness Fate had stolen from her?
    Matthew Peter was in no way stupid, but he wasn’t educated. He didn’t read. No matter how low she fell, Susan could never think of a man who didn’t read. She wouldn’t give false hope.
    She continued to visit Leopold Singer in his rooms on her free days, and on occasion she stole time with him while away from Gohrum House on errands. He became a sickness with her, an addiction as potent as opium.
    In December word came from Bath that her mama was ill. She welcomed the excuse to get away from London, away from Leopold. She sent him a letter explaining her departure. She expected he would be as glad to be rid of her. She suppressed the hope he might miss her, or even follow her.
    He did.

Bath
     
    Leopold wrote to Susan from his rooms at the Sidney. He’d left London the day he received her note. Susan stayed with her mama for three days and came to him for the next ten. As it was midwinter and the weather was frightful, they stayed mostly indoors.
    Once near midnight, a storm punctuated their lovemaking with thunder. Flashes of lightning illuminated their forms. During a lull while he waited to be ready for her again, a clock began to chime. “Why did you not learn German?” he asked.
    “I told you that so long ago,” Susan said. “I’m surprised you remember.”
    “I remember everything you’ve said to me, Susan, sir.”
    The