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She sighs. “I already told you—”
“The lord is an idiot. He won’t notice.”
“He is a drunkard, yes. Quite oblivious, but not dense.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Even if he did not notice my decades old wounds have healed, I would notice. My scars are reminders of my survival, my Alessia.”
I eye her skeptically. It’s incomprehensible why she refuses to let go of her pains. She could move about better without the ache in her leg. But I let it go. Anytime I bring it up, she shuts me down. The horrors are too awful for her to rehash, so it’s best I don’t press her.
She wipes her hands on her apron, before embracing me. Even though I don’t want to dirty her, I’m glad she doesn’t mind. Her familiar scent of lemon soap and peppermint cream softens my shoulders.
After a tender moment, I break the embrace. Without the lingering pain on my backside, I move more swiftly. Heading to the hearth, I stoke the fire, allowing its warmth to fill the air. It’s a nice reprieve from the otherwise bitter bite of winter.
“You said the lord will be gone all week?”
“Yes, dear.”
Thank gods. “He’s been called away a lot lately. Not that I’m complaining. I’ll take any blessings we can get.”
Rowdy laughter echoes down the hall, followed by a shattering.
Char shuffles toward the door with a groan. “We best get out there. We have dallied long enough.”
Her sharp eyes pierce me as she reaches out to fuss with my hair. I avert my gaze, wishing she didn’t know what Felix and I were up to in the cellar.
But it’s Char. Of course she knows.
Hours later, the party is still going—even in lieu of the the lord and lady’s presence. Liquor sloshes around, chatter and cigar smoke pollute the air, and there’s a hum of randy energy found in aggressive touches and non-discreet kisses. It's an entirely different energy from the stuffy dinner earlier.
Char stands at the long, cherry bar stationed at the parlor’s far wall, refilling glasses, while I fetch ice from the icebox out back and get more wine from the cellar. Even with Char’s cream, my legs and arms scream at me every time I run an errand. On the last trip to the icebox, I was tempted to ask Felix for assistance.
Unfortunately, he’s preoccupied.
Sitting on one of the four couches perched around the room, a beautiful older woman at his side, he leans back leisurely, one arm thrown over the back of the couch behind her perfectly coiffed head. She grips his thigh with one hand while she tosses back her liquor with the other. He gives her a charming grin—one I recognize all too well—and she leans forward, purposely giving him a view of her abundant cleavage.
Sure enough, his eyes fall to her breasts before slowly dragging up to her face.
I fight an eye roll, leaning against the wall and fisting my hands at my side.
My stomach flips over, but I can’t stop watching them. It’s not jealousy—not in the way Char must think as she shoots me motherly glances every few seconds. No, it’s jealousy of their freedoms.
I wish I could be the one sitting on the plush couches, being fed alcohol and pastries for once.
It could be worse, I remind myself. At least the lord is gone.
Felix throws his head back with laughter at something the woman says. His eyes catch mine, and the joy dies out on his lips. He shifts uncomfortably, but does nothing to stop the woman as she leans in and plants her lips on his neck. His hand shoots to the crotch of his pants, and he adjusts himself, giving me an apologetic look.
My cheeks flush and I turn away, heading to the other side of the room, away from him and away from Char’s judgment.
I don’t need their pity.
A group of five of men are playing cards, smoking cigars, and speaking in hushed whispers at a round table at the back of the room. Sir Dougrey’s shiny head peeks through the haze of smoke like a beacon, and I slink over there under the guise of checking for empty beverages. Really, I’m hoping his lips are even looser now that he’s intoxicated and the lord isn’t here to punish me for eavesdropping.
No one notices as I meander past their table.
“I went to take a piss and accidentally ended up in Edvin’s office,” one of the men says.
“Just like last time, when you accidentally ended up in his bed with his wife’s lips on your cock.”
A few hearty chuckles litter the air. I frown at the crude conversation, tempted to turn around. But it’s the promise of gossip keeping me rooted in place.
