Page 9 of Hazard a Guest (Ladies’ Revenge Club #3)
W hen Penrose finally peeled off, leaving them with their luggage-bearing servant escorts, Ember felt herself release a pocket of air that had been holding in the rear corner of her lungs since the instant the carriage had stopped.
If she’d been alone, she might have just let herself slump to the floor for a bit, holding her knees to her chest and having a nice, maniacal indulgence in a mix of laughter and sobbing.
She was exhausted.
And they’d only just arrived.
“Did you see Beck?” Freddy whispered to her, drawing Mr. Cresson’s attention as well. “I didn’t notice him in the crowd.”
She hesitated, a cold realization settling over her shoulders. “You know what, Freddy?” she said with a weary chuckle. “I have no idea what that man looks like. I might have shoved him directly out of my way and I wouldn’t even know.”
“Oh dear,” said Mr. Cresson. “Perhaps we can inquire?”
“No need,” said Freddy glumly. “I know him.”
At that, Ember did stop walking, her teeth clacking together with the force of that revelation.
Freddy immediately turned, his face a mask of pleading. “I thought you did too,” he said with no little amount of desperation. “Let’s not make this into a scene.”
“Did you not think,” Ember shot, forcing her feet to unstick from the ground before their escort could observe their sudden halt, “that it might have been worth discussing what you already knew during the three-and-a-half bloody days we just spent in captive quarters?!”
“Lord Bentley,” Mr. Cresson said chidingly, sounding just as exhausted as Ember felt.
Freddy grimaced, giving his neck a crack to the side. “No, you’re both right. That was … that was foolish.”
“Oh, was it foolish, Freddy?” Ember snapped. “D’you think it might’ve been foolish? God, if you’re listening, do you think Freddy here was being foolish?!”
Mr. Cresson coughed. The cough sounded suspiciously amused.
She cut her eyes to him. “Got something to say?”
He was definitely amused, his face as placid and polite as he could make it but for the tugging twitch at the corners of his lips.
“I was only thinking,” he managed to say in his best barrister’s voice, “that if he was in the foyer just now and you did blow right past him without a thought, it might have worked in our favor.”
Ember paused, brows rising. “How’s that, then?”
“It would immediately remove any suspicion that you are only here to deal with him personally, wouldn’t it?” Mr. Cresson suggested, those silver eyes twinkling. “You would have inadvertently made him think you’re still oblivious to his designs on the Forge.”
“God above,” Ember murmured, her eyes widening. “You’re right! Oh, Mr. Cresson, I could kiss you!”
He let himself smile then, not the full-toothed devastation of a true grin, but enough for those dimples to pop into his cheeks. Enough to make her needy little soul say look what you’ve been missing into her ear.
He didn’t blush at all, she noted. She liked making him blush very well, but perhaps making him smile was even better.
Freddy himself indulged in a long, relieved exhale.
“Don’t you get too cozy,” she told him, poking him in the arm. “I need you sharp.”
“Me?” said Freddy, allowing himself a little smirk. “Sharp?”
“Sharp,” she confirmed.
“If you say so.” He sighed and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Ah, look, I think this one’s yours.”
One of the servants had already begun to tote her luggage inside, her red leather valise and the additional trunk of her clothing.
She squared her shoulders and peeked inside, suspecting somewhere under her sternum and behind her lungs that she’d find something fit for a new maid: a narrow cot and perhaps a washbasin.
Mercifully, Penrose was not that petty.
There was a gorgeous and obscenely large bed wedged between two sash windows along the wall. A stocked vanity and two wardrobes flanked it on either side, and best of all, there was a massive claw-footed tub and washing sink tucked into the corner.
Luxury! And here she’d been bracing for pain.
She sent a hum of gratitude up toward heaven, thanking Brigid for her mercy, gave a little finger wave to the men, and kicked the heavy door shut behind her.
Then, and only then, did she allow herself that collapse she’d been craving with one addendum: she aimed her body at a soft feather mattress, not the floor.
Ember knew she ought to dress again after her bath and venture out into the party, but she also knew there would be much gained if she allowed herself to sleep off the weariness of several days on the road before she needed to spar with anyone.
She took her time picking through the creams and ointments on the vanity table until she found some things she’d like to try. She slathered her body with luxury, allowing the maids who’d brought her bath water to unpack her things at their own leisure.
One of them, a short, plump woman who couldn’t have been much older than twenty, brightened at each new dress she pulled out, whispering to her colleague, “Look at the braiding on this one! It could be real gold!” or “Look at this stole! Mink, but dyed green! Genius!” until she was harshly shushed.
Ember made a point to smile at her. “Would you mind terribly helping me with my hair? I see you’ve got the same curls I do.”
“Oh, ma’am, of course!” said the girl, winning a narrow glance from the side by the maid who’d shushed her. “We’ve a lovely rose oil, and I’ll wrap it for sleeping!”
The girl was called Merryn, Ember came to learn, and she was native to the lands around Blackcove.
“Of course the place is a bit of local yarn,” she chattered as she used her nimble fingers to coat each and every ringlet on Ember’s head with the fragrant oil, using her fingers over the comb if she encountered any snarls.
“Mammy told me from a fresh young age I’d end up working here if I was lucky, and so I suppose I am! ”
“Tell me about this yearly festivity, Merryn,” Ember bade her. “Is it the same faces every year?”
“Well, it’s only my third year, I’m afraid. There are a lot of usual faces, of course, but every year is new folk too. I’ll figure out their names dreckly, then the whole thing is over until I’ve forgot them all again!”
“Isn’t that always the way?” Ember chuckled.
“The other young lady sharing this room is proper lovely, though,” the girl continued, plucking away knots and gnarls with a painless, familiar turn of her fingertips that spoke to the perfection of her own tight blonde ringlets bouncing merrily on her forehead.
“You’ll like her plenty, miss. I’m sure of it. ”
She ensured Merryn would be her personal attendant for the duration of the stay before she let the girl go, tucking two shillings into her apron without an ear for protest.
By the time Ember was alone, the room was fully settled.
Her dresses were hanging neatly in the wardrobe, her hair was washed, dried, and wrapped in a fine linen, and her body was feeling something she might almost call relief.
There was nothing left to do save unpack the tiny velvet sack of particulars she always left in the exterior flap of her valise.
Often, it was overlooked, but the Blackcove maids had found it, handled it with care, and left it waiting for her on the vanity.
Ember waited until her skin had fully absorbed the bounty of her toilette before retrieving it, falling back on the pillows with her turban of sweetly cool fabric brushing her cheeks and nape.
She even drifted for a bit, just a moment, before returning to herself and remembering what she’d wanted to do before chasing sleep in earnest.
She tipped forward, only supporting her own weight for the breadth of a step there and one back, snatching up the little pouch and cradling it in her lap as she landed again in the sweet confines of the bed.
She loosed the strings holding the bag together and reached inside, her fingertips finding the glossy grooves that had appeared after a decade of touching and holding. She fished out the old deck of cards inside, frayed at the edges, faded and shiny in places.
“Well, Mr. Withers,” she said as brightly as she could, “I’ve made it to Blackcove. Now I just need to save our little house, don’t I? I need to protect the Forge.”
She ran the cards through her fingers, shuffling and stacking, finding something reassuring in the motion of it.
“We never had a child, but we have a progeny all the same,” she told him. “I expect you to help me protect her.”
She cut the deck, sucking in a little breath, and turned the top card over.
Ace of Hearts.
“Well, that’ll do, I suppose,” she said with a click of her tongue, “though really a man ought to think of his wife as the queen, not the wild card.”
She pulled it out and held it up, tracing the line of the heart. “Very well,” she decided, standing and walking back to the vanity.
She tucked the ace into the mirror so that she would see it every time she prepared herself to go to the tables. She met her reflection in the mirror and nodded to it, and she reminded herself of the most important thing of all.
The house always wins.