She considered giving her notice to Perkins and then informing her client he needed to hire another sleuth. But she’d never been one to accept defeat, especially as a result of something as innocuous as feelings stirred to life by a brief meeting. Bishop’s charm was such that she fully understood why women were falling into bed with him. But her moral fiber was such that even the thought of succumbing to his allure was revolting—or should have been. Instead, she wondered if he grinned at a woman while debauching her. She rather suspected he did, and it would be as intoxicating and pleasurable as the finest wine.
She also wondered why he went through lovers with the ease and frequency that most men changed shirts. Did he grow bored? Did he require a constant carousel of new ladies to hold his attention? Or did ill feelings arrive when the husbands sued him? Or perhaps the women were disappointed he’d not been discreet enough and their liaison had been discovered.
Not that any of it really mattered. The man was a devilishly handsome Lothario, and she would do well to remember that. No more fluttering heart, quivering stomach, or warmth whispering along her skin whenever she encountered him.
Still, as the days rushed toward that all-important Monday, she found herself hoping she’d run into him. In one of the many hallways. Or in one of the chambers that she was tidying. From what she’d been able to gather, he spent most of his day and early evening in his library. Breakfast, luncheon, and dinner were all served to him on a tray delivered by a footman. She’d considered volunteering to handle the chore, but didn’t need the distraction of him, and she was striving to be as unnoticed as possible. No one paid him a visit on Saturday or Sunday.
However, Sunday night from her bedchamber window, she caught sight of him strolling about the gardens, and she couldn’t help but think that he struck her as a solitary, perhaps lonely, soul. She was unable to take her attention off him, even considered slipping out and joining him. Her curiosity regarding him seemed to know no bounds, even as she knew time spent in his company would come to no good. She had to remain impartial and distant because once she’d gathered her evidence, she would speak out against him in court. She couldn’t experience any remorse at betraying him, and she wouldn’t be riddled with guilt if they shared no confidences, if their relationship remained as it should: employer and employee.
Yet it seemed such an odd thing to see him wandering about alone when he had women aplenty seeking his company. She wondered if he was reminiscing about one of them, absurdly would have welcomed him ruminating about moments spent with her.
She was grateful when Monday finally arrived, heralding what could turn out to be her last day of mixed sentiments where Bishop was concerned. As usual, before a single ray of sunshine peered over the horizon, Mr. Perkins called the servants together in the room in which they took their meals so he could alert them to any additional requirements for the day. Daisy didn’t see how another hour in bed would hurt. She was rather certain they’d still have plenty of time to get their chores done, and probably with a good deal more efficiency because they’d be bright-eyed with no cobwebs filling their heads. But the butler was a stickler for routine.
“All right then,” he began, his tone stern and uncompromising. She wasn’t certain he was capable of emitting a laugh or demonstrating a smile. “We have a busy day ahead of us. Following his dinner—as is his customary habit with a tray delivered to the library—the master will be enjoying the company of a friend. Mrs. Karson, he has asked for a platter of strawberries, a bowl of your chocolate glaze, and a few other sweets of your choosing, along with some cheeses, to be delivered to his bedchamber shortly after nine. Tom, you’ll see to the delivery.”
“Yes, sir,” the footman answered sharply with military precision. Daisy was surprised he didn’t salute.
“Today’s flower is to be lilies and baby’s breath. Sarah, ensure all is in order upstairs.”
“I always do, sir.”
He gave the tiniest of scowls before nodding. “Everyone else, carry on as usual. Remember, you are to clean without being seen.”
As the servants began to scatter, Daisy was relatively certain Perkins had his final words embroidered on a framed sampler hanging over his bed, because he ended any directions or discussion with them. She followed Sarah to the linen cupboard and held out her arms for the fresh sheets the chambermaid handed to her.
“I was wondering,” Daisy began hesitantly, “if the lady tonight might be the one I saw on Friday when I delivered tea to the library. A Mrs. Mallard.” Although she thought it unlikely. That woman had been fair and in no way resembled a raven.
“Ah, no,” Sarah said, as she began marching up the back stairs. “Monday is Mrs. Parker.”
Daisy’s breath caught. “You know her name?”
“Yeah. Tom heard it once when he carried a tray into the bedchamber. He told me.”
“Have you ever caught a glimpse of her?”
“No.” She winked. “I clean without being seen.”
Daisy smiled. “Perkins really does like saying that, doesn’t he?”
“We’re supposed to be quiet, unobtrusive. Lord of the manor isn’t supposed to know he has servants, is he? We’re like the cobbler’s elves, aren’t we, coming in and getting the job done, leaving people to think it’s all magic? But he pays well, so I never complain. Although Tom does often enough.”
“What has he to be unhappy about?” Daisy asked, well aware that crucial information could come from the most unexpected of places.
“He considers it beneath him to cart a tray about. Thinks it’s a chore best handled by maids. He sees it as an absolute waste of his talents . . . as well as those strong muscles of his.” She smiled sheepishly. “I can think of better uses for those lovely muscles.”
“Such as?”
Sarah laughed lightly. “Carrying me up these stairs for starters.”
At the landing, in front of a door, was a table. “Place the linens there,” Sarah said. “We’ll change Bishop’s bed once he’s up and about.”
She opened the door that led into the wide and elaborate corridor of bedchambers. Daisy followed Sarah’s lead, dusting and polishing and sweeping. She was gathering up the flowers in the vases that adorned several of the tables in the hallway when the door to his bedchamber opened and he stepped out. Halted. Stared at her.
But then she’d stopped as well. As had her lungs. She’d forgotten how devilishly handsome he was, dark hair, dark eyes, dark brows. She hadn’t seen his valet go into the room. Did he even have one? However, he was freshly shaven and immaculately attired.
“Good morning, Marguerite.”
Her arms full of wilting blossoms, she gave a quick bob. “Sir.”
“You probably believe me to have an inordinate number of flowers in this residence.”
“It does seem odd to have so many up here where few people see them.”
“My mum loved flowers. When I was a lad, I’d help her plant them, water them, and keep the weeds away from them. Having the blossoms about reminds me of her. I suppose in a way they are a tribute to her.”
“It’s lovely that you have such a special memory.”
“What of your mother? What did she like?”