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“I don’t know, Kitty Kat,” Tricia said, though she certainly hoped one of them would. “You go back to sleep now.”
At those words, a giant yawn split Kat’s mouth. “I suppose I am fatigued.”
“Of course you are, love. Now get some sleep. I’m frightfully sorry that my light bothered you.”
“Will you tell me absolutely everything in the morning?” Kat asked.
“I guarantee you that I will.”
Though truthfully she couldn’t tell Kat everything that had happened.
She walked over to Kat’s bed, pressed a kiss on her forehead, and tucked her in.
Should she go back down to the ball?
She already told mother she was tired.
But she wasn’t tired. She could read more of The Ruby, but the light would bother Kat.
When she heard Kat’s breathing turn shallow, she knew she was fast asleep. Tricia blew out her lamp and left the room, locking it behind her.
She had no intention of going back to the ball, but she was rather peckish. She could sneak down to the kitchens and get a plate of goodies. She walked briskly down the stairwell. Her cheeks warmed as she brushed by a lady and a gentleman in a clandestine embrace. Why would they be on the third-floor stairwell? Wouldn’t they be more comfortable on a balcony in the fresh air? Or perhaps the library? The art gallery?
She paid them no mind and swiftly walked down the two flights of stairs to the first floor, where she bypassed the ballroom and headed toward the kitchens.
A young maid scurried toward her. “Yes, my lady?”
“Good evening,” Tricia said. “I don’t wish to return to the ball, but I find I’m a bit hungry. I thought I might get a small plate.”
“Yes, of course, my lady.” The maid hurried toward one of the chefs, whispering to him. A moment later she returned to Tricia with a plate that contained a lemon cake, some fresh strawberries and raspberries, and some lovely clotted cream.
“Thank you truly,” Tricia said.
The maid curtsied. “Oh, it’s my pleasure, my lady. Would you like me to set up a place in the dining room for you?”
“Oh, please, don’t go to any bother. I’ll eat over there.” She glanced toward a small table on the edge of the kitchen surrounded by seven or eight chairs.
“My lady, that would hardly be proper.”
“I don’t believe I asked whether it would be proper,” Tricia said. “Thank you so much.” She headed toward the small table.
What did it matter whether she ate in the kitchen or the dining area?
The answer to that was that it didn’t.
Perhaps part of her would never get completely used to having servants. The Ashfords and her grandparents, the Denbighs, treated their servants very well, with much politeness. However, in the last four years, she had borne witness to those of the peerage who did not treat their servants thus.
Tricia felt sorry for those servants, as she had been treated that way herself. Though she was never a servant, she was considered lowborn, and she had often been treated less fairly than the ladies of the peerage whenever she found herself going into town.
She was looked down upon, whispered about.
She grew to loathe being around the highborn.
But then there were the times where she felt perfectly at ease. During the pagan festivals, for example. At the age of fifteen, she was chosen as the May Queen.
Most people of the peerage did not attend such follies, though some did. The Duke of Lybrook and some of his contemporaries were often seen at the festivals. The duke was quite talented with a bow and arrow and loved to compete in the archery contest. Tricia couldn’t help smiling at the memory of the year Cameron had bested him.
But the Ashfords never attended. The late Earl of Ashford had been a devout Christian who frowned upon such pagan frivolities.
