Wicked Godmother by MC Beaton Page A

promised to take you driving this afternoon and take you driving I will. But after that, I hope and trust you will avoid my company on every occasion. I shall certainly do my best to avoid yours.’
    Harriet felt a stab of fear. The girls had been so very happy, so very elated at the prospect of meeting the Marquess of Huntingdon. When she had timidly mentioned his reputation, they had both laughed her to scorn. The only gentlemen worth having were rakes, Sarah had said with that worldly-wise air of hers that always made Harriet feel like a country bumpkin.
    She rose and sank into a curtsy. Her blue eyes swimming with tears were raised to his own. ‘Please accept my deepest, my most humble apology,’ said Harriet.
    He took a step towards her. He wanted to take her in his arms and crush her against him, to feel that soft body against the length of his own. And then he backed away, feeling like some awful slavering satyr. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked out.
    Harriet sat down in the chair again and indulged in a hearty burst of tears. She was a failure. She had learned enough of the world to know that this dashing marquess was a leader of the
ton
. If she had slapped Beau Brummell’s face in the middle of Almack’s, she could not possibly have done more damage to her social reputation.
    After a few minutes, Harriet dried her eyes. The damage was done. All she could do was promise to school her tongue and behave as prettily as possible when he called again that afternoon. Sarah and Annabelle must never know how badly she had behaved. They would be so disappointed in her!
    Then Harriet remembered Lizzie, the scullery maid, and took herself off down to the servants’ hall. Beauty, overcome with his exertions, had fallen asleep and did not try to follow her.
    There was only Mrs Middleton and Angus Mac-Gregor in the servants’ hall.
    ‘Where is Lizzie?’ asked Harriet.
    ‘She is lying down on her bed,’ said Mrs Middleton, curtsying. ‘She will be about her duties soon.’
    ‘I do not think she should rise from her bed this day,’ said Harriet, looking worried. ‘You may engage more help if you wish. Where is Lizzie’s room?’
    ‘She doesn’t have a room, ma’am, there being so little space, but she has her pallet in the scullery.’
    ‘Please show me where she is,’ said Harriet.
    Mrs Middleton led the way. Lizzie tried to struggle up when she saw Harriet. Harriet looked sadly down at the thin straw mattress on which Lizzie lay.
    ‘I must ask you to rise for a little, Lizzie,’ she said gently. ‘Perhaps, Mrs Middleton, you could help me lift her.’
    ‘Bring a chair, Angus,’ called Mrs Middleton. Once Lizzie was lifted onto the chair, Harriet bent down and raised the thin mattress. Straw was sticking out all over it and the underside was damp.
    ‘Are you sure there is nowhere else she could sleep?’ asked Harriet, looking worried.
    ‘We don’t have the space,’ said Mrs Middleton. ‘She’s only a scullery maid, so it is not as if she can move in with me.’
    ‘I think,’ said Harriet, ‘a truckle bed with fresh blankets is needed here. Please fetch Mr Rainbird.’
    But Rainbird entered at that moment with a physician. The staff and Harriet retired to the servants’ hall while the doctor examined Lizzie.
    At last he came out and said, ‘The girl has merely caught a bad chill from sleeping on damp straw. Get her something dry to sleep on, and I will give you a resorative cordial for her.’ Then he cheerfully told Harriet he would send her his bill and bustled off.
    The butler said with Miss Metcalf’s permission, he would purchase a truckle bed that very day.
    Later, when Lizzie was tucked up in her new bed, the servants discussed her health in low voices. They had not realized how badly off little Lizzie had been, sleeping on that dreadful mattress, but servants had their rigid caste system and after all were more callous to their inferiors than any lord or lady.
    But soon