The Viscount's Vendetta by Kathy L Wheeler

Author:Kathy L Wheeler [Wheeler, Kathy L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical romance, historical mystery, romantic suspense, regency romance
Publisher: Kathy L Wheeler
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty

M

aeve started down the stairs as she pulled on her white kid gloves. One thing she could attribute to Rowena Hollerfield, the house was splendid. At the bottom of the stairs, she glanced at the long clock. She was scheduled to meet Lorelei and Ginny within the hour for shopping at Trotter’s Bazaar. Trotter’s was located on a corner of Soho Square which, thankfully, would only take twenty minutes depending on the carriage traffic. Meaning, if she didn’t leave soon, she would be late. She wished to talk to Agnes regarding their evening meal first.

Strolling through the luxurious townhome thrilled her. She’d been in residence less than a sennight, but the sense of freedom exhilarated her with every step. From the entry hall, she turned to the back of the house and went down another set of steps to the kitchens. She had yet to hire an experienced cook, but Agnes did a wonderful job despite her youthfulness.

As Maeve neared the bottom, Parson’s voice came from the kitchens in a scathing hiss. “Her ladyship requires perfection when it comes to her morning fast.” Maeve had experienced Parson’s condescension on more than one occasion.

Heat-filled fury crawled up her neck. In her estimation, Agnes had managed the house stupendously. She reached the kitchens and found Agnes standing as rigid as a pole, even with Parson’s larger form angling over her with intimidating purpose. “And her toast, lightly browned.”

“I ain’t heard her complainin’ yet,” Agnes said in a low, steel voice.

Maeve half expected Agnes’s fist to swing up. “Parson,” Maeve snapped. “A moment please.”

“But—”

“Now.” Maeve swiveled on her heel and went up the stairs to the morning room. Like all rooms in this beautiful townhome, it was a large chamber with a huge window that looked out over a garden that at one time was probably breathtaking but now sadly neglected. The dining table was small for the space—a heavy round oak that would seat no more than six. There was a blazing fire in the grate that softened chill. The walls were papered with gold-threaded silk. The hanging pictures were of art rather than people. Landscapes and stills of different varieties. Maeve even ventured to think she recognized one or two original Harlowes. She would have smiled if not for the unpleasant task ahead.

Parson followed her, as Maeve knew she would. Maeve took a seat on a comfortable settee near the fire but didn’t offer the same to her maid. “Please explain yourself.”

“I’m sorry, milady. The girl is quite insolent.”

“In what way?”

Parson’s thin lips disappeared in her displeasure.

Maeve considered her for a long moment until Parson shifted her feet under Maeve’s scrutiny. It wasn’t in Maeve to be cruel. “Does it bother you?”

“What, milady?”

“Living in this house?”

The red in her face darkened. “Well, it did belong to a famous…”

“Demimonde?”

She gave a short nod.

Maeve’s gaze went to the window as she drummed her fingers on her knee, choosing her words carefully. “I should hate to lose you, Parson. But it’s clear to me that this relationship has been doomed since my return to London after Alymer’s passing.

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