The Secret Life of Lady Julia by Lecia Cornwall Page B

to open it to a procession of liveried male servants carrying Dorothea’s luggage. “Please put the trunks in the dressing room,” she directed. A maid was already there, setting out the small things, waiting to unpack the trunks.
    “Well hello, sweetheart. Have you been assigned to these dull English ladies?” one of the porters boldly asked in German as he entered the dressing room.
    “Hush, Hans. You must be more discreet!” the maid warned, casting a glance at Julia, giving her a flat imitation of a smile. “What if they speak German?”
    Julia’s senses warned her, and she gave no indication she understood them for the moment. In her time as a servant she had been surprised to find out just how outspoken those hired to serve were about their masters. They gossiped like the most expert ton cats and knew far more damaging secrets. She waited to hear what their Austrian servants had to say about the new arrivals. If the conversation grew too bold, she could reprimand them in German, but something told her this wasn’t ordinary servants’ gossip. Perhaps the quick, furtive glances they cast at the papers on the desk or the interest they took in Dorothea’s trunks suggested they were more than mere footmen and maidservants.
    “Why should I be careful?” Hans asked insolently. “Are these women important?” He turned to look at the crests on Dorothea’s trunks.
    “Well, they are not princesses or countesses or royalty, if that’s what you mean,” the maid sniffed. “I believe this lady is merely the sister of a mere assistant to the ambassador. This is quite a dull assignment for me. I was promised a post with a Russian princess.” She sighed and ran a dismissive hand over the first trunk. “Ah well, perhaps I will unpack some elegant clothing or jewels of note, but I doubt it. These English do not know how to dress.”
    Hans chucked her under the chin. “You do not speak Russian, liebchen . You speak English, and you must keep your eyes and ears open. You never know what this lady might hear from her brother or his fellows and repeat while she is— What do English ladies do to pass the time between balls?”
    “They embroider, I hear, or write long letters complaining of the food, the weather, and the local customs and saying how bored they are. Hans, I shall go mad with boredom myself!”
    “Just do your job,” he said dryly. “I shall be downstairs, doing the same. If you hear anything of interest—” The maid giggled.
    Julia had heard enough. With shaking fingers she opened the door fully. They spun to regard her with sharp eyes for a moment, then the porter bowed and the maid dipped a respectful curtsy.
    “Can I help, madam?” she asked in accented English.
    “Would you see that Lady Dorothea’s own maid is sent up?” Julia asked in English. “Then you may go.”
    The Austrian girl reddened. “But she will need help with all the unpacking, and I have been assigned to assist you.”
    Julia stepped aside, brooking no arguments, and indicated the door. The maid could do nothing but bob another curtsy and go. The porters followed. Julia followed them to the door as they left, and listened.
    “Do you think she understood what we were saying?” the maid asked breathlessly.
    “Impossible,” the first porter grunted. “English ladies do not speak German.”
    “Such an odd sounding language, don’t you think?” Dorothea mused behind her, and Julia turned. “I wish I understood what they were saying. If they are to serve us, I suppose we must ask that they do their best to speak English, or there will be no communicating at all. I am glad I brought Ellie. She knows what I want without my even having to ask, and so do you, Julia. I’m so glad you’re here.”
    Julia wondered if she should warn Dorothea to be careful of what she said. She glanced around the room, chilled by the idea there might be spy holes, or someone listening even now. The lovely palace suddenly felt