The Crimson Gown

Chapter Twelve

Lydia fell asleep in Lord Cailvairt's arms, the both of them curled around one another on the narrow span of Anna's former bed. When she awoke, it was to find herself alone and tucked into her own bed, the first rays of dawn washing the window above her with a pale, grey light.

It was early, yet she already heard the tramp of footsteps sounding from the other bedrooms, the rush of one of the other maids tripping lightly down the stairs, the faint noise of a door closing.

She rose from her bed, and immediately her limbs began to protest, her muscles stiff and sore from her most recent coupling with Lord Cailvairt. Her gaze flicked towards the door, where the both of them had stood only a few hours before. It seemed almost something of a dream, that he had been in here with her, that he had sought her out when she'd failed to appear in the library as he'd requested.

She turned away when her mind began to recall some of the things he'd said to her. He'd begged her not to return to her father, that he would help her find a position in another household if she did not want to see him again. In the chill air of morning, her body aching and the insides of her thighs tender and soiled, his promises became ephemeral things that only possessed a life in the darkness and were as quickly blinked out of existence by the first glimmers of daylight.

The water she poured into her basin was cold, and she shivered as she stood in her slip, cleaning away as much of the dried perspiration and other fluids from her skin as she could. She dressed again, in her other gown with the buttons she had reattached only the day before, and set the rest of her body to rights before going downstairs to join the rest of the servants.

There were no subtle glances or secret whispers behind hands as she entered the kitchen, where breakfast had begun a few minutes before. The majority of the conversation she overheard was nothing more than commonplace chatter and gossip, with Anna's name still garnering a few comments from the youngest members of the female staff.

In this way, Lydia knew that Lord Cailvairt's presence in her room the previous evening had not been discovered. And if it had been, it was not something to be discussed and dissected over mugs of coffee and plates of oat cakes and ham. Mrs. Latimer sat in her usual place at the end of the long table, attending to her meal in silence, only sparing a harsh glance for any of the maids or footmen who dared to raise their voices too high or laugh for too long.

Lydia watched her for a moment, but when the housekeeper's sharp eyes turned towards her, she quickly lowered her head, her cheeks warming as the blood rushed into her face. No doubt the older woman knew where her master had been the evening before, even if none of the other servants were privy to his prowling about their own quarters while they'd been downstairs, clearing away the remains of their dinner.

After she'd helped to clear the table and wipe it down, while one of the other maids had banged around the legs and seats with a broom to sweep up everyone's crumbs, Lydia stepped into the corridor and waited for Mrs. Latimer to sweep past, her keys jangling as she strode down the hall.

"Ma'am," Lydia said, then repeated herself when her voice came out as a mere reedy whisper. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

Mrs. Latimer paused and turned around in the middle of the corridor. A group of footmen walked past her, breaking like a wave before reforming into their group once they had moved beyond her. "Is this a private matter?"

Lydia swallowed. She understood the housekeeper's question, and the tone underlying it. "I simply wish to request a reference," she said, her eyes darting from Mrs. Latimer's face and down to the floor. "Should I desire to seek work elsewhere..."

Mrs. Latimer's jaw set, her mouth drawing into a thin, pale line. "Of course. And is there any specific time by which you will need it?" Her grey eyebrows lifted slightly, creating a fine row of creases in her forehead.