LITMIR.BIZ

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into the bathing room and prepared herself for the day.

      Olivia did not miss her maid’s services until it came to dressing her hair. No elaborate knots were possible, so she simply wove a dark green ribbon into her hair as she refashioned her braid. She liked the weight of the plait at her back and decided then that it would be acceptable to wear her hair in such a manner until she was returned home. The likelihood that Truss would be able to secure the services of a maid for her seemed small. Olivia also deemed it unnecessary. She had many more years of experience doing for herself than she did having anyone do for her.

      She had returned to warming herself at the fire when her door rattled gently at a knock from the hallway. She opened it cautiously, needing to assure herself it was not some late-night reveler still stumbling about Breckenridge’s hell looking for an exit. It wasn’t. Olivia recognized the footman as the one who’d carried the tea service into the viscount’s study yesterday morning. She nodded a greeting and bid him enter.

      “It’s tea and a few points of toast, miss, just as the doctor bid us prepare for you. Cook allowed that you might be feeling more the thing this morning and added a bowl of porridge. You can eat it or not as you wish.”

      “Thank you.”

      He set the tray down on the bedside table nearest him. “It seems you should have a proper table in here, miss, and another chair to sit at it. I’ll see what I can find.” His face reddened as he was unable to stifle a yawn. He ducked his head. “Pardon me.”

      “Of course. I feel quite certain this service falls outside the hours you typically keep.”

      “It does that.”

      “Then I’m the one who should beg your pardon. I have no liking for being a bother to others.”

      “I didn’t mean it was a bother, miss.”

      “I know.” And she did. “What is your name?”

      “Foster.”

      “And what are the names of those young lads I saw yesterday?”

      “They’d be Wick and Beetle. Wick, because he cleans the lamps and sees after the candles, and Beetle…Well, that is because he scurries about like one.”

      Wick and Beetle. Hardly the names their mothers would have given them. “Thank you, Foster. Will you come to take the tray or should I ring?”

      “I’ll come back directly but ring if you require something. Mr. Truss informed us that we’d hardly know you were here, and he had that from his lordship. I don’t mind, though, if you come to realize there is a service I can do for you. Pulling on the cord will bring me here.”

      “That is very generous, Foster, but I shouldn’t like to make trouble for you. I will manage, I’m sure.”

      “Just the same,” he said, backing out of the room. “Truss says I’m to look after you and one pull will do it.”

      “One,” she repeated, smiling gently. “That is good to know.”

      Once she was alone, Olivia sat on the bed and ate. She was actually quite hungry and had to restrain herself from eating too quickly. The tea, toast, and milky porridge all settled reasonably well in her stomach. Had the cook provided a more generous serving of the last, she still could have eaten all of it.

      She had removed herself to the chair and was reading from the Malthus when the door rattled again. Thinking it was Foster come to take away the tray, she bid him enter. Her eyebrows lifted when she saw it was Breckenridge’s valet.

      “Mr. Mason,” she said, setting her book on the floor. “I did not expect that it would be you.”

      “I had not meant it to be a test, Miss Cole, but it is just as well that it happened in this fashion. I feel strongly that his lordship would want me to caution you to see who it is at the door before allowing anyone to enter.”

      “That is good advice, Mr. Mason. I was careful earlier, but you have seen for yourself that I lowered my guard.” She offered a small, slightly perplexed smile. “Do you suppose his lordship has considered the benefits of a key?”

      “If he has, it would be to lock you in, I’m afraid.”

      “Oh.” That wasn’t what Olivia had in mind. “Then I hope you will not mention it.”

      “No, Miss Cole, I won’t.”

      Had his eyes danced? Olivia thought they might have. His mouth, though, remained flat. “Why are you here, Mr. Mason, if not simply to caution me?”

      “Dr. Pettibone’s instructions are that you should take a daily constitutional. It’s his lordship’s wish that I accompany you on your walk.”

      “Really?” It was difficult not to be skeptical. “Lord Breckenridge wishes that?”

      “He does. Are you agreeable?”

      “Yes! Oh, yes! Allow me to get my pelisse.” She stopped suddenly, remembering that her outdoor garments were not in the armoire. They had been taken away yesterday after her arrival and not been returned to her.

      “I have your things, Miss Cole. This way.”

      The things Mason had for her were not precisely her things. Instead of her pelisse, a hunter green cloak was held out to her. The attached hood was trimmed in red fox fur, a color that very nearly matched her own hair. Mason also showed her a red fox muff to replace her worn kid gloves.

      “I can’t accept these,” she said, trying to push them back. “Where are my garments?”

      Mason gave no quarter. “They’re not fit for walking in this weather. You must have noticed that it snowed overnight.” He glanced toward the nearest window. “It’s snowing yet. Lightly, to be sure, but enough that heed must be paid.”

      “I’ve walked in my things many times.”

      “Yes, miss. It looked as if you had.”

      Olivia flushed. She was aware that her garments were gently worn and no longer of the latest fashion, but that Mr. Mason should be moved to comment, however carefully, stung.

      “I meant no offense, Miss Cole. His lordship thought that you—”

      “Pray, do not trouble yourself to explain, Mr. Mason. I will accept them, now that I know their full cost.”

      “I don’t think you under—”

      Olivia turned her back on him, effectively cutting him off. She allowed him to place the cloak on her shoulders, but she fastened the silk frogs herself. The wait by the door seemed interminable as Mason put on his own coat, scarf, and hat.

      The bracing air did not do as much to improve Olivia’s mood as the walk itself. By the time she and Mr. Mason reached the end of Putnam Lane she was regretting her churlish behavior and prepared to apologize for it. While the valet most kindly assured her that no apology was necessary, Olivia made him listen to the whole of it anyway.

      “It must be entirely confessed,” she told him, “else it will always weigh on my mind.”

      When she finished, his grave acceptance brought a smile to her lips. “How is it that you became my escort this morning?” she asked as they crossed Moorhead Street. “The truth, Mr. Mason. I am glad of this opportunity so I will not be put out if you came to it with all the enthusiasm of a young man confronting a press gang.”

      Mason’s prominently rounded chin puckered a bit as he chuckled. “It was with rather more willingness than that. His lordship could not escort you, of course. He has that much concern for your reputation, and he is known by sight in this part of London.”

      Olivia was unsure what that meant precisely, but she was loath to ask for an explanation. Was Mason saying that she would be seen in a poor light if the viscount accompanied her? It was difficult to fathom. He had rank, after all, and much was forgiven because of it. As she tried to

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