Kate Noble

Kate Noble by Compromised Page B

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Authors: Compromised
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just need some fresh air, a hot bath”—Gail looked bleary-eyed to the hearth where two maids were filling a copper tub with steaming water—“and, of course, this .”
    Mrs. Bibb brought forth a tray, upon which sat a glass full of the vilest looking liquid Gail had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on.
    “What on earth is that?” Gail blurted out, eyeing the glass with clear distain and rising nausea. “Blood?” she ventured cautiously.
    “Lord, you are a silly girl some days!” Mrs. Bibb proclaimed. “It’s none but tomatoes, an egg, some other kitchen things, and a bit o’ hair of the dog.”
    “There’s dog hair in it?!” Gail looked aghast.
    “Miss Gail, no!” Mrs. Bibb sighed, exasperated. “By that I mean a bit of the liquor you took upon yourself to guzzle last evenin’! It’s a time-tested true cure for your complaints this morning. No dog hair, no blood. I swear on the grave of my dear Mr. Bibb.”
    Whenever Mrs. Bibb’s late husband’s grave was brought into the picture, her word was solid as scripture. But still, the drink looked absolutely evil.
    “Now,” Mrs. Bibb was saying, “drink up, hop into that tub, and you’ll feel right as rain in no time.”
    Oh, she couldn’t. She nearly lost her stomach just looking at it.
    “Please,” Gail begged, “may I just stay in bed today? Papa will understand.”
    Mrs. Bibb’s eyes narrowed. “Your papa might let you lay about”—her voice had the steeled edge that Gail knew not to ignore—“but I guarantee her ladyship would’na stand for it. She told me if yer not downstairs in a half hour’s time, she’s comin’ to get you herself. And she won’t be as nice as me, miss. If you think she was displeased last night, you donna want to see her this mornin’.”
    Gail didn’t have to be told twice.
    Nothing could have induced her to move faster than avoidance of the scolding she was bound to receive from her stepmother. Gail would do anything if it meant she could feel well and presentable enough to leave this room before Romilla entered it.
    She took the glass, and with a murmured toast of “cheers” to Mrs. Bibb, Gail mustered her courage, and swallowed the contents in one long gulp.
     
    “ IT will be impossible to get the girls vouchers for Almack’s now—”
    Romilla’s fevered rant was interrupted by a knock on the library doors.
    “Oh, what now?” she cried. “I told Morrison not to disturb us unless it was particularly important!”
    “Well, if I knew there was a ‘do not disturb’ order in place, I would have found a way to use our time to better advantage,” Sir Geoffrey replied, giving his wife a distinctly lusty look as he crossed to the door. As peeved as she was by her husband’s flippancy while she was trying to discuss something of great import, Romilla could not help but flush.
    “Morrison, I hope this is urg…” Sir Geoffrey’s voice died as he opened the door. Lord Fontaine stood, his back straight, hands at his sides, his face a picture of noble surrender.
    “Uh, Lord Fontaine, isn’t it? Lost your way to the drawing room, have you?” Sir Geoffrey inquired.
    “No, Sir Geoffrey. I do apologize for interrupting your private conversation,” he said as he made a sharp bow to Sir Geoffrey and then Romilla, as she joined her husband at the door. “But I’m afraid what I have to say will bear weight on your discourse.”
    Lord Fontaine paused, but since neither of his audience made a sound (beyond some raised eyebrows—which don’t make much noise in the first place) he took a breath and said, “I am the man who compromised your daughter last evening.”
     
    THERE were so many flowers, the maids were having trouble finding enough vases to hold them. Evangeline had never seen such a quantity in her life—it was like a sea of color. She sat on a marvelously sculpted sofa in the blue drawing room, papered and furnished to match her eyes and complement her complexion. Surrounding her were fields

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