Again, My Lord: A Twist Series Novel by Katharine Ashe Read Free Book Online

that yet. Her stomach twisted with hunger and she felt wretchedly faint.
    “
Dear
Lady Calista, don’t you remember
me
?” the yellow-haired woman said.
    “I’m afraid I don’t.” It was hopeless. The gown was ruined, and probably the petticoat and her stays as well. And she only had these. She must wear them all day, wet and smelling like coffee.
    Lord Dare and the constable had settled at a table with a handful of farmers and tradesmen and she heard words like “flood line” and “recede” and “downed bridge.” She didn’t bother listening. What did talking about it matter if she was trapped anyway? Her fate when she returned home would be the same tomorrow or any day after that.
    “Where did that girl go?” she muttered and looked toward the door where Mrs. Whittle entered to set plates of food before other patrons. “Have you any soda, Mrs. Whittle? Or soap?” She was revealing that she must clean her own clothing. But after a full day in this tiny inn in this tiny village, everybody would know she traveled with no maid, only a drunken coachman. And that she could not pay for both breakfast and dinner, never mind lunch.
    “Of course, my lady,” Mrs. Whittle said with the same gamely harried smile. “I’ll have Molly bring it up to your chamber.”
    “No.” She’d had enough of Molly’s help at present. “I’ll come for it myself.”
    “Dear,
dear
Lady Calista, you must remember
me,
” the woman with the gorgeous hat insisted. “It’s
Harriet
. Harriet Ryan! I’m married now, of course, as we
all
are, naturally. But you
must
remember.”
    Calista looked up from her stained gown. “Harriet Ryan.”
    “You
do
remember me. But I am Harriet Tinkerson now, of course. I
knew
you would remember. We sat beside each other in watercolors at the Bailey Academy for Young Ladies for two full years, after all.”
    “How nice for you.”
School
. The exile her father had sent her into when she was fourteen, intending to make her a tasty prize for a wealthy man. A school of such low tuition that she had been surrounded by tradesmen’s daughters and noblemen’s illegitimate by-blows, ashamed and wishing she were back at Dashbourne, wishing she were already married, wishing she were
dead
—anything but this blot on her pride.
    But her father’s plan had worked. She had become a treat for a very wealthy man who paid generously for her, and then, as soon as the vows were said, hoarded his gold like Midas. And now she had one traveling gown, stained irreparably with coffee. When she returned home, she would dye it brown to match the stain and it would have several more years’ good use.
    “It
was
nice! Delightful, in fact,” Harriet Ryan said at her shoulder. “Are you a guest here?”
    “No, I am a chambermaid at this establishment, of course.”
    “Ha ha! You always were
wonderfully
diverting, Lady Calista. But of course you are a guest here. It is an inn!”
    “I am just passing through,” she mumbled and moved toward the doorway.
    “And now with this flood you will be here until tomorrow.” Harriet followed her. “How splendid! I have a shop now. A millinery shop. Isn’t that
perfect
? You know I always did like hats better than painting or French or anything else those horrid spinsters made us study, didn’t I? My shop is right in the middle of Swinly, on the high street, safe from the flood. I will adore giving you the
grand
tour of it today,” she said with a horrid faux French accent. “Oh,
do
say you will come see my darling shop. I daresay it’s as elegant as any shop in London you’ve ever seen.”
    Calista had seen precious few shops in London. During the three weeks her father had permitted them there six years ago, he had not allowed them to shop. They had barely afforded the servants and food, let alone clothing and other fripperies.
    “I really don’t see how I can, with my gown and what-have-you to see to.” Calista smiled thinly. “Good day.”
    “But you
must
. I